Apples Under Gold – A Poem

There was something of a genius
about him
a hard wall eclipse
a spring I could not recollect.

Jaded and stoned he buys bouquets
equips an abbey
fermented berry flavors swirl
fragrant the cool air.

Militias draw the lines
but I never
count on them.

Let’s drink along the unmasking
collect the parlor man
a morose fool.

How he could outpace
a windstorm with single notes afloat
a steel string guitar
fruitfully sad.

You’re apples under gold
all bright and serious
and straying.

A bitter sun closes the day.

 

Lion’s Wake – A Poem

Lion’s wake.
We hear the old saw blade at rest.

I watch with nervous apprehension
the sun shine through the fog;
The morning hills rolling green under
the hazy weight of an
early light.

The pull of earth’s gravity
makes is hard for me to breathe.

I want to make a phone call
but lost any reason to do so,

so I end up doing the dishes.

Finches sing.
They dart in and out of nests
built into the rotting
remains
of the shed’s wood panels
and frame.
Its roof collapsing slowly.
Unhindered.

Juxtapose the broken glass
and the wire fence.
How they both still keep us
fastened and
Trapped.

It was three years ago
today.
Three years.
And where are we?

What are we?

An exposed shadow in a
closed circuit.