When It’s Cold

We like it

when it’s cold.

It makes the soul

grow bold.













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Divining the Divine

Although we never have been able, to our satisfaction,

to divine incontrovertibly inarguable traits of the divine,

when we sit there trying to come up with them,

damn it if we don’t feel fine!












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In Your Yellow Boat

Naked, with your blue bird

in your yellow boat,

afloat in the intricacies

of seas that roll and heave,

there doesn’t seem much

reason now to disbelieve.











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Squab Job

Poor pigeon fidgets –

can't do his job –
dreaming of widgets
feasting on squab.









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Her Phantasm

She walked abruptly up to her phantasm

who’d at last appeared again to beckon her away

from that old chasm in her heart. Cold and mad,

devoid of art, she would confront it – she’d be blunt with it –

to learn why it had not come sooner than it had.

Her phantasm, though, was glad. It knew that anger

is what sometimes cleaves and burns and turns

the psyche to the light. Perhaps she’d cleared her sight –

to see she never was in danger of a fall –

and that phantasms aren’t really there at all.

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The Realm Dante Left Out of Hell

Make icons of bygones, and worship them well –

keep each in its pulpit and kneel to the knell

of each one’s sweet lugubrious bell.

Since Dante omitted this realm from his hell,

add it in: see the magical spell in it.

Sink into its vortex, and dwell in it.

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Unvexed

It seems we’re often waiting

for the next thing to occur

without much thought or worry

about what we would prefer.

Should we plot more actively

to get what we want next?

Odd, how all this leaves us

so entirely unvexed.











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