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Mother Mushroom Midwinter gloom seemed lightened by the hats Of Mother Mushroom and her kids, which glow To distant eyes. But closer eyes know that's How distance tends to lend, to views, a faux Enchantment. Underneath her hat there lurked Regret. The tears in Mother Mushroom's eyes Mourned days gone by when Nature's magic worked Unfalteringly to revitalize Spent forest. Yet today no fauna stay Here. Moths are gone, the birds have flown and deer Refuse to graze. The erstwhile forest way Of life has disappeared. A creeping fear, Of what may come, alarms the children and Makes Mother Mushroom weep for her old land. (First published in the Ekphrastic Review on 13th January, 2023 as a response to Mother Mushroom and Her Children by Edward Okun) |
It's Long Overdue In cost-of-living crises, won't you take The altruistic path? Although you're broke, Should you not think of relatives, and make Long overdue long visits to your folk? On many past occasions, have your kin Not said to you: "It's many years since you Got time to visit us. We're always in. Our house is yours—until the winter's through, Vacation here with us!" And haven't you Excused yourself, but promised you would be Returning soon? It's so long overdue, Do you not owe them months enduring free Utilities plus room and board? ... Won't they Enjoy regretting asking you to stay! (First published in the Spring 2023 issue of WestWard Quarterly) |
I Still Remember I still remember how you used to be So full of dreams for golden years we'd spend Together in a house across the sea In England where, from Berwick to Land's End, Lay irresistible historic shires Like Durham, Kent and Yorkshire. There you could Reside a stone's throw from old Gothic spires, Establishing new English roots, which would Make good your dreams ... Four decades on, at last Ensconced on English soil, your yesterday Mists over, as your memories of the past Begin to fade, and memories of today Escape. And, since your dreams can't be complete, Remembering, for me, is bittersweet. (First published in the Summer 2023 issue of WestWard Quarterly) |
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Beyond My Window Beyond my window in the night are but Expanses of fresh grass that builders eye. You're told it's green-belt, but there is no glut Of housing, so commitments to deny New permits ring quite hollow when I wake, Disturbed from sleep at 2am by sounds Machines that dig new house foundations make. Yet when I jump from bed to scan the grounds With torchlight and binocs, all I can see Is meadowland. My efforts to resume Nocturnal slumber fail: I'm sure to be Dug out of it again by thunk, or boom, Or clank ... Must I believe no building site Was there, beyond my window in the night? (First published in the September 2023 issue of Lighten Up Online as a winning entry to Competition 62: Night Thoughts) |
Flying Machines For early aviators of the sky, Log-cabin-like designs are comic, as You cannot fly a circus wagon high: Its comfort tantalizes, but it has No force to lift it up and make the earth Grow distant. They would say the pictures are Miraculous as art, but have no worth As blueprints for a means to travel far ... Charles Dellschau would dissent. He would have said His quaint designs weren't meant for flights that go In space, but flights of fancy, which can head North, east, south, west, straight up or down below Earth's oceans—they can take you anywhere, So long as you imagine it is there! (First published in the Ekphrastic Review on 15th December, 2023 as a response to Flying Machines (double sided artwork) by Charles A.A. Dellschau) |
If Only I Could Be If only I could be made billionaire From your bequest, that billion would be spent On making you a saint: the poor would share No less than ninety nine point nine percent. Largesse, withheld by you in life, would see You praised in death, when you will surely lack— If you don't let me help—the words to be Contrived to hallow you for giving back. Online—where rounding ninety nine point nine Up to a hundred ought to make the world Learn you gave one whole billion—you would shine Divinely in your obit ... Don't be hurled Beyond redemption, play philanthropist: Endow me now—that million won't be missed! (First published in the Winter 2024 issue of WestWard Quarterly) |