Once there was a boy;
Who couldn't lie,
But manipulate.
Indoors he put up stars,
While outdoors he was late.
He hung out with introverts at bars;
Extroverts? He made them wait
Changed he masks,
Before anyone asks,
With effortlessness of a juggler.
As casual guy he
Got his way, oh glee!
He dressed up to fulfil,
A hole he couldn't even feel
Out of way he kept all spite
Hid at home away from light
After the description of a hermit crab
in Alexander Dumas’ Grand Dictionary of Cuisine
“Above the waist he is a knight – cuirass,
gauntlet, visor – this upper half of him
has everything.
Below the waist there’s nothing.
Not even the tail of a shirt.”
Head of a lobster & tail of a slug;
he plugs himself in a convenient shell.
His preoccupation is secrecy.
Catch the hermit
out of doors & his shame is lethal.
I think of that as I watch a fat priest
slip lithely into a waiting car:
that sliding movement is out of place
on his bulk, the grace
As I arrive in the classroom,
I see a small figure on the board.
I look closer and sketch my reply.
Another day and another note.
Two figures, affectionate and sweet.
Two people who never met,
Talking on a black chalkboard.
A small creature,
Flys along the sky.
Landing on my hand,
I see it, and feel terrified.
Such a childish thing.
To be afraid of little things.
But this kid is really kind.
And means no harm to the bugs life.
A small ladybug soaring high.
And I stay here on the ground.
Rubber's harmony
With the string that holds it up
Swinging back and forth
Trees sway in the breeze
Gracefully spreading their leaves
'Til they reach the ground
The last words you speak
Will be ones of great regret
'Cause you won't speak them
The flame flickered,
Drawing shapes from the shadows,
As the candle's wick withered,
The sun rose.
But your eyes were closed so tight,
You never considered the light.
I knew I was loved
But doubt came when you asked
To be something I was not
To do everything I liked not
Is it me then that you love,
or is it your own imagination
of what a daughter should be
which you would not find in me.
To think! What does it mean to think?
To mull over how the apples taste?
Or ponder the coolness of a drink?
Oh, how we question, ever in haste
To learn and learn
Before our minds reduce to paste.
We learn and yearn still
For more 'cause Man won't rest. No! Not until
He's thought all there is to think,
And then he'll ask
What does it mean to think?
How again today our patron star
whose ancient vista is the long view
turns its wide brightness now and here:
Below, we loll outdoors, sing & make fire.
We build no henge
but after our swim, linger
by the pond. Dapples flicker
pine trunks by the water.
Buzz & hum & wing & song combine.
Light builds a monument to its passing.
Frogs content themselves in bullish chirps,
hoopskirt blossoms
on thimbleberries fall, peeper toads
hop, lazy—
Apex. The throaty world sings ripen.Our grove slips past the sun's long kiss.
We dress.
A lot of hue with shades of blackness
Some linear static and broken edges
Dull colors inside of that brightness
Every turn seems like an act of calmness
Would you agree that this is a liar?
Or maybe just a great pretender
When I saw it, it’s just a cylinder
But inside is a stained glass of different flush
Little windows of different colors
Sometimes a sound which makes me eager
Eager enough to look inside and know you better