It’s pretty human to shirk,to shy awayfrom what looks likework butno matter his conditionor how late the hour,sooner or later, on calloused knees,each exits illusion’s bowerand punches a clock. From first breath indentured,don’t we all,whether slaving for Peter,for Paul,or Joe Blow Commercedown the block,have misted life’s hard laboursole on offer,to answerwhat a wandering dream forbode,andContinue reading “The Workhouse”
Tag Archives: love
Piano Lesson
Tiny vibrations crowdthe roof’s peak,slide downand splash across new-leafed trees,midpoint of the half season. In the beholder’s eye,colour is rich yet,a wet thing whoselayers are exposed,shady green under excited yellowunder washed out, delicate blue. A human, passive witness andamateur scientist,imaginary note pad in hand,tries to understand this,perhaps as sheaves ofimpossible music,wondering,“Who authored bliss?” God justContinue reading “Piano Lesson”
Birds and Stars
Sometimes, still,I sing to hear the soundand wonder ifour dusty-brownbirds do this, too.Though worksong’s ofutmost import every day,I’m sure birds alsoplay. I’m certain theymight call each othersilly names at times,sole to hear anecho backas summer’s sunclimbs. Further, yet, my theory is:life keeps an hour divineto step asideand game at love. The proof of this glowshighContinue reading “Birds and Stars”
Me, Pussycat, God
If I were the Pussycatand Hewereme, I wonder exactlyhow thatwouldbe. I might sit,contented,my own simple businessto mind and,suddenly,find my whole self lifted in air,to be cheek by jowland ear pressed to ear. I’d struggle,push, lean,and rathernot be there but I’d have nothing to fear. All powerful,the Pussycat’dhave no reason to be mean, I’d feel lovedandContinue reading “Me, Pussycat, God”
A Clockwork
Who sips,when droughtis done and cups are fullagain?Even childbirth lies forgottenatthe scent of summer’slilacdrifting in. Bury both lips deepand soon as you can.Ignore what dribblesdown the chin,it isn’t wasted. Sky, in metered time,revisits trembling blue.What spills from thisand sunlight’s offeringis tastedby earth anew.
Sunday, At Church
It is raining.Tiny brown/grey birds(I believe they are sparrows)huddle under eaves next door.A dirty and thirsty one hop/flies upfor a drink and quick bath atthe metal trough above him/her whilethe rest stare into a slanted downpour,perhaps thinking private thoughts.They are waiting for the rain to stop,possibly chatting with each otherin the way that birds mustContinue reading “Sunday, At Church”
Robert On The Air 