Monday, September 27, 2021

Méta II

Crisp air of your essence, 

clarity of its bouquet,

overwhelms all sense.


You mock my ardor,

but I will not surrender.

God was hardest upon

His most ardent prophets.


I love the chase as much as capture.

I know both sides of rapture.

In your arms being cast down 

or taken up is equal pleasure. 






Monday, September 20, 2021

Copenhagen

Lurid house-fronts line the banks

as tourist boats glide lifelessly by...

Songs never heard as shopkeepers 

toll waterways and patent every hue.

Smiles shine brighter than 

freshly minted coins.

Every boy and girl a budding 

Bounderby or Hetty Green.

This cashbox Venice that banished  

Santa Claus centuries ago... 

Where Soarin' Graveyards died hated 

and Jens cursed with his last breath.



Thursday, September 02, 2021

The Known Unknown Contagion

My breath is a menace I'm told,

whether indoors midst vents

or outside under towers.

There is no refuge, no Prince Galahalt

to slay invisible, variating, Dragons.

Overburdened Angels of Mercy

stoically vent about those

they've lost patience with and euthanize.

I look out between blinds and see

well spaced lines of bodies in masks

under Sun's kind light who look

like variants of the Stoic Angels 

knowing the tales and tailism are endless,

a terror induced enclosure without escape.