Short Hyssop Poems

Hyssop colored grass
Temporary jubilation,
Both validate life....

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I cracked the olive pit
between my molars—
bitter pod,
black shrine.

The sea came through my teeth,
settled brine, at the root.

They said do not name the god,
so I lit her symbol
with hyssop oil and lemon peel,
dragged it across my tongue
like a net.

The temple was inside me,
sealed in salt.
Each time I wept,
I baptized
what I could not forgive.
...

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She qualified more years ago
than many people want to know.
In fact it was before the War;
(we’re talking now about the Boer.)

Her methods haven’t changed a lot,
since Granny Smith was just a tot
and still she carries, all the time,
some tansy, hyssop and a lime.

Her gentle touch, a word or two
will keep us from our Waterloo.
And if we suffer stress or strain
she'll calm us down and then explain,

"A little rum will ease the pain!"

~


...

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