Come walk with me
in this wind littered park,
please don't kick the skimpy rose bushes,
God is everywhere watching,
lipreading your foul words.
We can be romantically attached
to our thoughts,
share, collaborate,
speak each other's words before
we know we have.
Pond life chokes upon its own thriving.
Savage are the dunking ducks
who write nothing worthless
and yet that 'nothing'
is ignored by every city gent
whoever pissed against a tree.
Sit upon this graffitied bench,
rest your disappointment
under this scabrous oak.
There is beauty here
research yourself
there is poetry at your feet,
a hurdy-gurdy symphony
in the slimy fungus rings.
If we rest long enough
our red fanged hearts
may eat themselves.
The scrawny daffodil's
burst into prayer.
Please don't grunt so loudly,
my own windbreaking flatulence
is a natural response to your ugliness.
Our sincere attempt at urban poetry
has unearthed the buried bones
of a divine muse,
and look,
pure white doves are carrying them away!
In the city dump, God assists the raccoons
with His large, clawed paws.
When Autumn Begins
20 hundred hours…is that nautical enough for you? Evening sky was marvelous,
I should have been a painter my anemic words cannot justify the awe the world
still can offer us who are not blind. Blaring horns, the road back home is narrow
and impatient drivers wanted to pass I pulled over and a driver shouted: “fools
like you should be banished from driving. “ Guess he was right. It was darkening
quickly big juicy drops hit asphalt drummed on the roof and hollered: “save us
take us home we don’t want fall on a useless road, we’ll water your rose bushes,
the thorny ones that cut your arms when you try to prune them, we can promise
a dew fresh rose for you lapel.” Right! Like I should be a city gent, I haven’t got
a suit, so there. Afar a fog horned blared melancholically, once I was a seafarer
but the roses I met in harbour bars, had only vulgar beauty to offer. At home rain
fell on old tiles, I made a whisky mixed with rose dew and thought of lost love.
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