Winter Winds

Cold to crack the bones

a nothwest wind doth send

sharpened teeth it hones

Ahoy, the winter wind !

Flesh from bone t’will rend

among the trees it moans

O the fire I shall tend !

Over the hill it groans

screaming round the bend

incessantly it drones

Ahoy! The winter wind.


Southern Porn

The full moon atop yon pine, prodigious, yellow and precariously perched

brings words like turgid, and tumscent to one’s mind.

The gently sweating cooler causes steamy, sultry, and torrid

to rush to your tounge.

Things waft and burgeon, the very air has a palatible texture

soft, silky, and damp

Scents hanging in a veritable miasma of sweetness.

Enormous Luna and Spinx moths flap by,

sipping from moon flowers that are popping open

like tiny explosions, hemming one in.

It is all too momentous, weighty, and substantial.

Fireflies flit about, providing neon lighting for the edges of the woods

while blinking their message of sex.

Shrieking crickets, screeching circadas, screaming frogs, and harumphing gators

all incessantly beg for love

shattering the serenity of the night into nonexistance with their ceaseless need.


A Poetess

A poetess I long to be

with fame and lauds perpetually

as I write whilst sipping tea

A poetess I long to be

though it seems I lack the clarity

and yet perhaps eventually

A poetess I shall too be

with fame and lauds perpetually



I sit there

listening to a bable of people and traffic

loud and busy.

I sit here

listening to a single dog bark

far off and away.

And I am me

alone inside myself

in both places.


Addled Adages

time and tide turn on a dime

the wise owl let theĀ dogs out

nosey parkers look in horse’s mouths

rolling stones drive up the wall

early birds are two per bush

quiet mice get pigs in pokes

flying timeĀ skins cats

running jokes fall on flat faces

sly foxes get what’s coming

dead ducks are daft as a brushes

cold turkey’s the end of the line



Runaway Sleep

Sleep eludes me

hiding under my pillow, slipping round the bedroom door

and running down the hall and away

to hide, laughing at me softly, behind the sofa

I look for it under the remote control

and in the screen of the television

It isn’t there

Nor in the refrigerator, where I look next

I think it has escaped into the darkness beyond the windows

or maybe gone to play with the cat, who seems to find it easily

Perhaps in the guest room?

Or the cookie jar?

Eventually I give up the search and begin to write

Then, as dawn is breaking,

sleep slinks shamefaced into the room and taps me on the shoulder

expecting to be welcomed back like a prodigal son

and I do

folding it into my arms and rushing it off to bed

before it changes it’s mind


The Blackberry redux

The wild vine binds and twines

scrambling here, rambling there


burying hills

surrounding trees


upon some gating

like porcupine quills


Cat Fur

My trouser cuffs are vaugely blurry

perhaps because they are so furry

my shoes are looking rather shaggy

and so much fluff makes my sweaters baggy

my hat it seems is all abristle

resembling a battered thistle

the sofas are all quite hirsute

never mind my beleagured suit

all this hair is not from me

my cat is shedding don’t you see


Aching Insomniac

It is early, and I ache

And I think that I will make

A resolution

To find a solution

For this late night turbulance

That keeps me awake


The Embers

the heat is still there, a shimmering glow

but the flame is not as high nor as hungry

yet a banked fire still burns

passion’s white heat in abayance

conserving it’s finite fuel

but a banked fire still burns

it only takes one leaping spark

one smouldering obsession,

for a banked fire still burns

some small scrap of fuel may ignite

a conflageration that burns down the house

yes a banked fire still burns

so tread carefully near the hearth

be wary of the fuel you add

because a banked fire still burns

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