everyone believes in something
and when folk stop believing in God
they do not believe in nothing
no, they believe in anything.

She bruises easily,
she says “I don’t know why.”
“I’m like the monarchy,
they just won’t let me die.”
She pinches at her skin,
“do you see what I mean?”
It’s almost paper thin,
transparent and clean.

She comes up from the dirt,
born just ready to die.
Tugs and tears at her shirt,
fixes the cloth like a tie.
Changing each mask
within each new realm
and yet she still asks,
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?”

Wishing for the end
since around ‘96,
calling the reaper a friend,
“there’s no problem he can’t fix.”
“I had it all but at what cost?
I see no familiar face.”
“Every person I know is lost,
in life’s dreadful marathon race.”

She comes up from the dirt,
born just ready to die.
Grits teeth against the hurt
and keeps her eyes on the sky.
Still she juggles her tasks
and she steers at the helm,
and yet she still asks
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?”

...old.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLXVIII)

Trees are so naked now, as if what hence?
The rain stript off their leaves? The féte's detail
Was last month, and we're ****** anew in frail
Reply where xmas lights could add fr'intents
The cheer we feel within our bones from thence
Is sorely missing? Last night's piece t'avail
Of choc'late cake, half finished, starts the trail
To whither, where I think of Campbell's sense.
Yes, veggie beef stew sounds grand where in poor
'Scuse my head's stuck in summer. Yearning to
Be back where plaids and cocoa, soups in tour
And knits were all the rule, why is that view
So foreign still? I'm all mixt up. Demur
Not to redeem me, LORD, for I need You.

07Nov24b

IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES

the foxes blood
on the stone
still there

two days
after
staring at me

only
the day before
a daring raider of

my uncle's henhouse
the talk
of our household

but my uncle
was patient
& stalked the lonely hours

until the fox
came to meet her death
thinking only of her cubs

& how big & bright
the moon loomed
tonight

and how
the fearful thunder
of the gun

had ended
everything
and how now

shot through the head
her carcass thrown
behind a hedge

she finds herself
still staring back
into the mind

of the little boy
even more aware
of her presence

now that nothing
exists
and how for

ever after
the boy
carries her death

cradling it
in his mind
trying to

comfort her
with his human
tears

When anger and hatred
flow through your veins,
let love reign.
On gentle Spring nights when
memories haunt you like
the lost dead,
let love reign.
When stress and confusion
overwhelm you and the
future seems as
uncertain as a roll
of the dice,
let love reign.

When you think God is
a grand prankster and
it feels like an
eternal winter in
your heart,
let love reign.
When the pictures remind
you of times long gone,
and the mirror is
a hard place to live,
let love reign.

If you get lost,
like I do in a
poem or a song,
let love reign.
In my dreams, I will
see you, and kiss you,
and hold you forever,
and there will be no
good-byes
only good mornings,
if we let love reign.