POEM: SOME POEM DOUBLOONS

Deep in Legal Waters

After the ice breaks

and the water melts from the stony banks,

and the river’s surprised mouth

once more merely pouts its objection
to all the excess,

it’s then that the gray-green froth
will be tamed.

In courts of no appeal,

black-cloaked judges rule;
juries of furious angels

drown their verdicts,

while dark clouds swirl the air.

Way Station

How did I get here?

By whose hands?

In whose arms

was I held

and sheltered

from the salt and wind,

like a boulder

guards a shore?

Where is my way 
amid all these bells
ringing in this land 
of song and Sunday walks?

My legs are tired

and my feet ache.

My heart stops

here.

Mornings

Everything seems 
so downhill

after that first
cup of tea.

"More sugar?"

Hungry Face

I cannot bear her look;

she sees my hungry face.

The only time I can

is when I see hers.

And So

The silky castings of cattail seed

cling to the new spring grasses

and spreading bushes

like soft down moult by birds

massed along the shoreline

of another season.

Look up and you’ll see

clouds of them float by,

riding the wind

into the green fields
beyond.

Difference

What if the last thing

is different than the first thing?

And everything going back

to the first thing
(including that first thing)

is really the same thing?

And everything, 
being different from the last thing,

is really the only thing?

And since everything

is the only thing

until the last thing,

would that make

any difference 
to things?

The Flood

The nest was mostly sturdy made,

yet the nestlings woke alarmed.

Water has breached the outer walls!

(Though none were lost or harmed.)

Mother gathers those still young,

whose wings are meant for play.

She puts them on a higher perch

until some dryer day.

Gently she dries their leathery scales,

her hot breath dries them off.

They watch the great ship passing by

as all aboard do scoff.

O’Malley’s

Not Coming!

O’Malley won’t come!

No, he won't come here.

Despite our wishes

And tumblers of tears.

I tell you, I know.

‘Tis God's given fact!

His train is delayed

And gone off the track.

Put down your whistles

And glasses of gin,

He’ll not do penance

Confessing his sin.

O’Malley won’t come!

He won't save us now.

Despite our wailing

and scraping and bows.

Shut up your windows

and padlock your doors!

The Devil’s in town

And looking for yours.

The Devil’s next door

enjoying his sup.

And soon he’ll come here,

then the jig is up.

O’Malley, you cheat!

You cheated us well.

You’re off to Heaven.

And we’re gone to Hell.

ANOTHER TROVE HAULED OFF IN THE NIGHT from Treasure Island. Again, picked mostly at random, with a couple of new ones. I enjoy re-reading oldies like “O’Malley’s Not Coming”. Originally, it had a looser meter, and I edited it to a “fives”, to add more structure, though I think I prefer the older version. Fate seems to have interfered with whatever O’Malley intended to do, or what the townsfolk intended for him.  It's not a village I’d like to be passing through any time soon! Reminds me a bit of Shirley Jackson’s, “The Lottery”.  

And in the poem, “The Flood”, when Noah decided to take aboard  all the animals of the world, he left behind one or two. That may have been a mistake. 

The plight of mass migrations and immigrants is highlighted in “Way Station”. I don't think we always choose where we end up in life however much we like to think we do. How we got there can be a mystery. And where we get to is not always the place where our feet are planted. But maybe the heart knows in the end.

“Deep in Legal Waters” was written following a number of newscasts about the spring floods in various parts of the country. Those "One Hundred Year Floods" don't seem to be sticking to the game plan. Some flooding occurred where people had built on a flood plain. (Sigh...)  In other places, it was just bad luck and timing. 
In a sense we’re all living on a flood plain these days.

Oh well, 'nough said.

Cheers 

"Oooooommmmm..."