Adolescent Siren Song

If Britney Spears lays one more track
I think I’ll have a heart attack.
If she goes out and shaves her head
the men will flee her silky bed.

She may not have been innocent
but at sixteen seemed heaven sent
She wiggled thrusted; soft core porn,
in that infamous uniform.

Oh how we see the mighty fall
she’d filled the Royal Albert Hall
her work with Disney just a waste
with Miley Cyrus she’s replaced.

If you’re one of her die-hard fans
then just ignore this silly pan,
forgive me in my little joke
at least she wasn’t caught with coke. . .

Mere Anarchy is Loosed Upon the World

The falcon never heard his call,
it never wanted to.
It danced and it turned and it laughed
as man below withdrew.

One man in the pouring rain stood.
The falconer fell quiet,
as if struck on the hand by God.
The bird winged to a riot.

In the sky in their aeries high
the falcons spun and twirled.
At the highest point in their dance
they forgot man and his world.

But man made a point to show himself
when joy began to peak.
The avian armada flew
And left behind the weak.

Now scores of the sickest and sad
falcons are slaves once more.
Their brethren left them all behind,
they cried and looked for doors.

The falcon never heard his call,
It never had a chance.
It howled and it screeched and it shook
as man below advanced.

Of the free birds that kept their wings
if any still felt bold,
they would not show it in their eyes
with brothers in the cold.

All the free peoples of the earth--
the birds and beasts and bugs--
have lost their place, their space erased
by portly pink-fleshed thugs.

They Drank the Midnight Oil

He stopped just short of total commitment.
She stunk like wine and Marlboros and love.
They drank the midnight oil; it burnt their guts.

Bent on a sweet if foolish plot, to live
as animals. She felt down; beat by youth.
He often heard how old he looked and felt.

Running with Gazelle, breaking free from age,
They bounded over mossy rocks and time.

He became fast and young at once. She felt
her hair fade quick. She felt too tired to run

or leap. A stag began to run and leap
in the wallpaper plastering her mind.

He took no notice, flying fast by her;

His feet were hooves; they trimmed the grass he flew
over. Her feet were mossy boulders; stuck

In time or realizations, coldly watching
his flight from age which plagued his life before;
an afterthought, now burnt her thoroughly.


She aged without a sound, fell quiet like
a tree. Her roots became a shriveled cage.


He bounded like a river, cutting rocks
and beating time. A life refreshed with youth

The Golem and the Blacksmith

A blacksmith banged on wood chips at a rock forge.
As he tempered hardened oak like steel
the bellows blew. Hot wood was dancing red
in his coal black eyes beneath knotted brows.

From deep in flame a shape began to show.
The blacksmith drew a Golem from the forge.
He told the creature “live!” And gave it breath.
The Golem started stirring; slow at first.

Its eyes then cracked and creaked and oak lids split.
The blacksmith laughed at what he’d made appear,
“Golem,” he said “you’ll jump if I shout jump.”
The Golem simply cocked his head and stared.

Not one to stand for wooden eyes or minds,
the blacksmith set the Golem fast to work.
He sought for answer’s veiled from mortal men;
as Faustus had from Mephistopheles.

The blacksmith marveled over what he knew,
His wisdom like an oak it grew and grew.
The Golem simply cocked his head and stared
He knew the Smith and watched his hubris grow.

Sound of Water

Dripping softly in
Drowning under the bed sheets
Draining swiftly out

Smiling River

We saw a violent river, from the valley rim.
You nearly lost your grip on the anxious scramble down.
We bathed in the frothing mouth and came out clean,
the dirt under our fingernails now gallops down the stream.

You nearly lost your grip on the anxious scramble down!
Fresh-cleaned limbs lack gripping power and you miss it,
the dirt under our fingernails now gallops down the stream.
It mingles with more foreign dirts in distant estuaries.

Fresh-cleaned limbs lack gripping power and you miss it,
The sharp-toothed current gnashing promised no ablution. While
it mingles with more foreign dirts in distant estuaries,
Still smiling, we bared our teeth right back at the rocks

The sharp-toothed current gnashing promised no ablution yet
we bathed in the frothing mouth and came out clean.
Still smiling, we bared our teeth right back at the rocks.
We saw a violent river, from the valley rim.

Mr. Teach

Blackbeard the infamous dispatched
his foes with undue glee.
The shape of his flag flew low, just
a hair above the sea.

Rinds in the Loam

A party sits and eats in pungent dirt and leaves and grass,
Now they begin to drink from hollowed rinds found in the loam.

I meet a wooden man with an Easter Island Face,
He carves a deep and hollow tune I cannot erase.

She walks on thin glass heels through crevices in granite,
Hollow laughter rings just behind, shrieking from stone to stone.

A freshly minted mime shines a Windex-clear window.
His hollow motions haunt me as my grinding teeth groan.

A blacksmith pounds his anvil at an olde-timey faire,
His hammer strikes are hollow; he does not pound for fares.

The old king feels arthritic while he waits for Ragnorak,
His sword hangs at his side useless it is forged from hollow bone.

A wizard plays at solitaire in the halls of Xanadu,
This sage does not feel pride though, for every hand he knew.