Sparks
With your red head and
My grand guitar
There could be sparks and
Children in the garden
nocturnal feast
Without doubting myself
excessively; nor prematurely
I can sense the grim reaper
approaching.
Shall I lock the keep
bar all entrances
or invite him in to
the nocturnal feast.
the days of thunder
the days of thunder cometh
a stampede across the plane
the broken and resisted
abandoned just the same
they carry forth desire
survival at all cost
though no one told the
leper to bring evidence
to the priests
it has begun
It was in Tel-Aviv
awkward at first but
the trust grew with time
the searching of bags
scanning of bodies
not trusting
only to keep us safe
I saw, finally.
Today again
in Paris on a
sunny day
the searching
the scanning
I did not even flinch
I know now
the world has changed
without return
to safer days
this is it
the future ahead
the days may be sunny
but the ruin of man
has begun
to say that I never lie would be a lie
if you want toย
know me
do no listen to what
I say
.no.
do not listen to what
I say
…
take heed of what
I write
as
my poetry never
lie
Undeclared
on occasion
I ask myself
what purpose serves
my writing
the answer invariably;
none and nil; as such
yet I carry on
in equal measures
boredom with
wrapping of hope
needless desire of
wanting where lust
wobbled and ability
faltered…
Baba Yaga
no mortal combat ensues
as Baba Yaga crashes the party
“that is how the cookie crumbles” she says
between mortar and pestle
no combat required
youth carried proud
is it wrong
the attraction I feel
the women I see
are kindered
their youth
carried proud
not young but
young at heart
young as am I
though the clock
is winding down
with every day
the closure comes
closer than
I ever will
acknowledge
is it wrong
the attraction I feel
and by feeling
the wrongs I
am doing will I
ever find belonging
among those I
do find close at
heart