On The Fish Pond

Like little flickering flames
Dancing within the depths of a mirror
The little red fishies evade the
Staccato swishes
Of my tender ten-year old fingers
Roiling the surface of the fish pond
Like the clumsy clowning of an errant god.

On The Idiot Box

There I was, sunk into myself, eyes glazed
As a parade of beguiling sights and
Sounds charm me like a beady-eyed serpent
Needy, greedy in my des’prate desire
To forget, to beget my own slumber
Against the roaring din of existence.

On The Miracle of Modern Flight

Beyond mere sight, the drone of jet-heeled thrust
Propels these numbered souls through sky, through clouds
Aboard this metal wing we embarked, flocked
And flecked with hopes and honeyed dreams ablaze.
Hurtling through the smoky night, we sail thus
Within tubular confine, nonchalant
At the miracle of modern flight, such
Being this, our present state of blessed grace.
Lives thus emplaced in Techne’s steady hand,
We embrace the calm slumber of meek souls.

On New Adventures

Always, the best things in our lives, they come 
Unbidden, unasked, unexpectedly.
What does it take for the pale slivers of
Random good fortune and fate to greet us
And beckon us with grace and welcome smile?
How is it that such blessings often bid
Welcome only once Time has done its work,
When Aeschylus’ awful grace has worn down
Grieving hearts into spartan fists, never
Falt’ring in their austere, singular task
Of mournful remembrance for what once was?
And yet, and yet - Fortuna will demand
That we wipe our tears and hoist sails anew:
Fresh winds now come to stir this placid sea
A new adventure calls - we sail today.