One Room, Under God

They were roasting meat
in the Great Hall
beneath colorful banners
festooning the room

I suppose

And the odor warmed
even the cold damp stones
of this dank dungeon

I wish you could
have been here
chained up with me
so you would know
the odor of God’s
presence – that of charred
meat to a barren belly

And to hear the
chalices knocking
together and the
laughing far
above us
Surely the
tones of
gods and

If only you could
have been here with me


Basking under the
fragrant smoke
of heaven

Silently She Speaks

As her breeze swivels
the last few leaves
of the sweet gum tree
I’m certain it
means something

Something deep

A secret something
Autumn is keeping from me
for her own good reasons
I imagine
She knows
I am fickle
and may betray
sensitive particulars
while under the influence
of the moon and red wine
Still I pine
to know but
I can only
feel her breath
Her lips
remain closed

The Undefeated

To be left with nothing
is something –
To be left
to feel the rain
The touch of the sun
To ponder the better
that is bound to come
and I have it all
according to some
yet all I want
is to run


To escape
my tormentor
But where I go
he goes He knows
me He is me
An evil dwarf
beneath the
synaptic bridges
of my memories
daring me to cross
from the past
some days

Days like today
with the rain and gloom
seeping into the room
turning me against me
and I say

let it rain

Let it cleanse
the wounds
of the undefeated

Of I

The great seawall
dispersing every surging
wave of me

It’s a Wednesday in September

And the leaves thinning
now like hair in the
September of a man’s days
Finally weary of
summer’s heavy-handed
advances they call to
Fall – and give
themselves to her
Whispering cannonades
of bright colors
Shrapnel of harmless
confetti conveyed away
to a far away place
by some Divine grace
Nothing taken for the trip
but a whole and simple faith
A sublime state
few mortals attain
We kick against the breeze
Fight the natural Fall
Far too evolved
to leave
as the leaves
But there’s no hurry
We had today,
didn’t we?
And every given day
fairly dripping
with poetry

The Alliterati (or Carl’s Day)

Carlton C. Cruckshank
cracked open a cold can
of caramel colored
and chugged it
like a champ
then chastised
all the chumps
too chicken to
challenge him
for his cherished
cola crown but
Chief Constable Conroy
told him to
chill as he was
causing consternation
among the children
and Carl, chafing
at being chided,
carefully clasped
his cola chalice
and carried it
to the county
of Chitwood –
because he could

The End