Mundane Fry Day

Hands releasing a white dove into the sky

Hope springs eternal…

WayneSL  1989

On Moonday
I hatch visions like doves
and throw them soaring to the sky
cloudwisp wings on pale wide blue

By Fryday
blue has sunk to rust and gray
the clouds have clumped like unginned cotton
and tumble down to roost around me
lumpy owl-eyed hens accusing
constipated with rotting eggs.

Timescapes (1988, WayneSL)

Rabbidity

Things float past my sticky-wheeled swivel chair

above my undisciplined desk

my bothered will watches wistfully,

they pass & fade, untended

intended, but lost by default

my fault

distracted

disconsolate

uncalendared, out-of-sync, out of Time

surfing down these rapids, between the tall, slick walls

Mundane Fry Day

On Moonday

I hatch visions like doves

and throw them soaring to the sky

cloudwisp wings on pale wide blue

By Fryday

blue has sunk to rust and gray

the clouds have clumped like unginned cotton

>and tumble down to roost around me

lumpy owl-eyed hens accusing,

constipated with rotting eggs.

Turns Left

(to be read aloud- not for the eyes alone)

A tear of joy
a tear of heart
the tares of life
when leavers part
the part you knead
your needs depart
a life of leaves
and branches.

The branches fork
spread from a crotch
the dogwood bark
but bark peels off
peals of the thunder
nervous cough
the coffin creaks
and listens.

The creeks a flood
the flowers float
too light to fall
two lightnings bolt
lithe wood is rent
the rent comes due
the dew comes.

To do, to die
the die is cast
cast out the doubt
decide at last
the side of right
the right to wrong
the left won.

TIDINGS

 a Vilanelle

Time and Tide, who wait for none,
still bind me fretting to my place;

in stately meter march until they’re done.

 

There is one race I’ve never won:

I’ll never beat, but always chase

Time and Tide, who wait for none.

 

Death and taxes, moon and sun

allow no alteration of the pace;

in stately meter march until they’re done.

 

Things I need to do, I shun.

I dawdle, then I rush, and still must face

Time and Tide, who wait for none.

 

These universal rhythms weigh a ton;

they never dance with any joy nor grace;

in stately meter march until they’re done.

 

Change is a constant, and the only one;

Though I can find no standing place,

Time and Tide, who wait for none,

in stately meter march until they’re done.