poems

john 11:43

how many times
have i walked
the length
and breadth
marking the
place
each sentinel
fell
as the years
pass
your untimely grave
grows over
i am no
Messiah
cannot liberate
with a
Word
only by
gloved hands
pulling
struggling
against the
saint which
would keep
you bound
until you
fly forth
excalibur
sings in
exultation


untitled.


the symphony
with children
is a mixture
of delight
and irritation
they squirm
and giggle
clapping
at inappropriate
times
making
all manner
of bodily sounds
distracted by
the ballerinas
pirouetting across
the stage
stealing my
gaze from the
musicians
whom i
devour
rising too early
the crowd exits
mid-bow
and i am left
standing
starving
hoping
my girl
develops
an appetite
for symphony
and theatre
i am grooming
a companion
after all
in these
ill-mannered
excursions
where the
brie is gobbled up
like a chunk of cheddar
in a greasy
grilled cheese