Thursday, October 16, 2014

Memorial Park

Many have risen. Not all oaks
are nymphs converted. Other folks,
their bite exhausted, left with bark,
arose again, to point a park:
not as a plant, but through a bole,
not as they were, yet as a whole.

They bear their branches. Who believes
that green is all there is to leaves,
both food and feeder? In their arms
they cloud first, then support the swarms
who fancy live apartments. Birds
pay their respects, in other words.

They die, and some are seen again.
Some fall in cords, and some in pain.
These find no end, no fine full stop.
Dead at the root, dead from the top,
bent double as in desolation,
somehow some last. Some consolation.

Thursday, October 09, 2014

Kindergarten In Hell

That's the mess. When the brass bell rings,
You find a seat. There's prayers and things,
And then you eat. It tastes like crap.
And then there's prayers. And then you nap.
And then comes story time. You hear
Isaac and Ishmael. The mere
Mention of Lucifer gets you spanked.
You do some chores, for which you're thanked
In homilies--Elisha's bears,
Perhaps. Confession. And then prayers.

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

U Before I

To you a letter. How about q,
Always followed by u, as I
Follow the mark for hay and Hensa?

Too oblique, I know. I know it
Follows, no p to o, but where
We all align, in tidied rows,
Where there are diphthongs we can share,

On monuments a line or less.
O, I say, O. But no one gapes.
They keep, instead, their final shapes.

12 lines. Or several hundred more.
And never again what came before.