Sunday, February 28, 2016


Every day I toil
To turn the sterile soil
Of raw imagination
Into tinsel or shook foil
Until age's turmoil
Beats, defeats me.
And then I walk a while -
A camera with a smile -
Despite the aches and pains.
And then the arthritis -
Brutal in my feet,
Bestial in my hands,
Barbaric in my fingers -
Makes me retreat.
Like a crippled veteran
I can no longer run;
Although I dream of it
Night after night -
Not fast,
But with purpose,
Topping the hills,
And gliding down -
As I did back then,
When we jogged for miles,
Yes, miles, again and again,
Around the old town,
In the late summer heat,
Face concentrated
Into a frown,
When I led for a while
But faded and fell back
Into the bare-footed pack,
Always at the last turn,
Overtaken by the elite
With their silver feet,
But I wished them well 
Because we were a team.

Thursday, February 25, 2016


The deformed tail of an inbred monkey. 
That's all I could think of when I saw him
Drag his black robes across the beige carpet
To play his part - a lawyer's synonym.
Nothing he did could make me warm to him,
But what he said filled me with righteous hate.
I'd have killed him had I been justly armed,
But I was in the dock, chained to its gate.
He spouted words like spears of poisoned spit
That ripped my face open and pierced my eyes,
But I saw just enough to know how small
He was, tiny, stunted, life in disguise.
As if truth could be seen by such as him -
Blind long before his venal eyes blinked dim.