The Caves

From darkened hills of mystery

She proceeds westward

across the deep veins

in green vales

and forest

The earth unfolds her womb

and welcomes the children

to explore her depths

Like ants they crawl

across her scars

She holds no promise

that she’ll not close upon them

and swallow

Water Main

In the shadow of November’s remembrance

muddy chunks mirror

blood and soil of a hundred years

Where there were spilled

Over a hundred beers

The alleyway lies ruptured

pulsating arteries breath in the grey

and diesel fume

to the generator’s chorus

Three-quarter horsepower marks the time

While surgeons in coveralls and hard hats

rush to stem the bleeding

Tonight in their homes

at warm dinner tables

they will shrug off their heroics

and the city will limp on


Tools in winter

A spare and lonely lot

now the workmen have all gone

Carhartts employed in other gigs

Remaining pallets draped in tarps

and tools of a season

stowed in dusty corners

To be uncovered of leaves and dead stinkbugs

when grasses green again

Or instead, one may ponder

the fate entombed in bins

To ride the sides of trucks

contracting, brittle

and bathed in salt


The voices behind the ringing

From the mouths of fools

and the lips of sages

The same story told

The casual observer interprets

for deaf and mute pedestrians

accommodating martinets and miscreants

The fool oblivious proceeds his folly

The sage’s thesis lies shattered

Each shard reflecting

horrified glare of incredulity

and they are dissolving

your frenetic obsessions

in powdered glass and pools of acid


Anger Interruptus

Please don’t blow that horn

Someone may be sleeping

A bitter dream of scorn

Someone there still weeping

This anguish you may break

Consequence unintended

Bitter and sad to forsake

Unfulfilled now it’s ended

The dreamer is left wanting

only to vent their spleen

Instead a shadow haunting

for wants so cruel and mean

The poison has slipped the noose

No longer theirs to drink

No more to suffer the abuse

Now left too much to think


The Ride

They’ve gone this way for years

Sowing doubt, stoking fears

Self-absorbed musings

on deaf ears

Promise makers

need their takers

Otherwise it’s competition

So keep the repetition




Miss, oh Miss…

Am I mistaken

Is this seat taken



Taking you

for a ride

You’re afraid to climb

but even worse

the very bad time

they’ll give you

for the ride

you take in a hearse