I welcome visits rhymes attract but don’t court their friend’s verse,
poetic politics aside, fake flatterers seem worse
than ‘gold’ that finds a moment’s fame and then proceeds to rust!
Let musings mimic dead sea scrolls, own fate (detrital dust)
if ‘Universe’ has no “I AM” with whom lost hearts can jam!
I call all friend who come around, pro-bono read my work
and sometimes drop a hint I’ve touched them (tit for tat’s sad quirk).
Real joy’s impulse to praise new piece! ‘Dust-devil’ enters fray
lifts found ‘loved post’ invisibly in feint that feels like play,
a flirt that’s debonair, though devil’s decomposing leaves affair.
May poetry serve faith (muse prosper Grace not earned at all),
grant kindnesses, a breeze that cools on sultry days (pre-Fall),
its politics, not left or right, weave soft (with dignity)
what butterflies dreamt in cocoons before mans’ eyes could see!
Should preference for ‘form’ divert from ‘love’ evolved by dirt?
Long Tooth
January 5th in 2021
These big mother mayflies
spend larval lives in mud
eating detrital crud,
then molt and take to skies
to mate, lay eggs and die
hand on to newer blood.
Freedom's brief days passed
water phase starts anew
next cycle to accrue.
From time's undying past
through eons have they last,
each generation true.
Delectable to trout,
match the hatch or you're out.
Inspired by John Gerrach's Sex, Death and Flyfishing
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