Current poems in progress...

Platos harp

Play me a tune
plucking dead strings
with fingers all boney and pale
on platos harp
tell me a story
put to music
dead and out of tune.
mourn with me
sing sirens sad songs
put me to sleep
more than before.
upon platos harp
tell me you love me
while in your arms
you hold the bones
of your true love
tell me you love me
lie a little white lie
sing me to sleep
a forever sleep
on platos dead harp
tell me you love me
all the way to death.
-------
a dirge with dimension - well done!

Laughing at his wig,

Spiritual readings
weave cynicism and hope

Guilt!
Cry guilt
while dressing in white
bowing low
while dreams of secret trists
dance merrily in one's head..
Latin for english
shortened due to golf
or fattening one's self
on the bones of the poor.
Yes, the cynicism rises
while playing holy in robes
and in the inner sanctum
the wine is poured out
and down to a drunken stupor..
what would you say of me then?
what would you tell of me then?
the priest whispers in the dark
to a cross that grows thick with dust
a symbol and a book
with the power of spears and sweetness
depending on who it is that one will woo...
.