a wand of disappearances
operate in our very
midst
who is the conductor
of its vanishing
gist?

where once our fellow
poets did pleasantly
reside
now the wicked wand
has eradicated their
bide

numerous blank spaces
symbolize the conductor's
vice
employing a wand which
has emptied the
rice

black the hour
black the day
a black instrument
whisking them all too
suddenly away
a wand so dark
of intent
wanting to wane
our writers tent

the subtracting conductor
will be planning future
disappearances
so be mindful of its
wand's unsolicited
clearances

Without you, God, I am nothing.
Music without a conductor.
With you, God, we’re everything.
A beautiful symphony.

I don’t have anything against them flailing about,
With their commanding stare and whisper shouts,
Don’t get me wrong it’s not an easy job,
To keep all in time with a clean kebab,
And I don’t think I could keep a civil look when an oboe’s flat.

I think that’s when my brain would crack,
Just as when you break a twig,
First you feel the wood bend and give,
Then Crack! Like stubbing your toe,
Sudden pain and yelling, I’ve thrown my shoe at the tone deaf Oboe

Waiting in the train station and to my surprise
The train conductor's smoking, doesn't care at all
He walks right over and asks,
"What're you waiting for? Get on"

I'm sorry I'm not riding the train today
I am waiting for me sister, she's on the next train
I haven't seen her for the longest time
And I heard she bought a cat

His eyes grew large like an atom bomb
My words caused him a panic, I don’t know why
Sausage fingers now points in my direction
And this is what he said,

"Right you little rat, I got a bone to pick
Now you getting on that train because I told you too
And if you don't I will break your nose
Then I'll steal all your cash"

His meaty aroma flooded my nasal duct
Just to make him leave I walked into the train
The whistle blew, the wheels spun on
Now it's my sister's turn

Well after the conductor yelled,
“All aboard,” and well after all
of the tickets were punched;
a group of people,
who didn’t know one another
were all headed north.

Little hands turned through pages
while larger ones were cupping
at the window, trying to get
a better view of the night sky.
A farmers pasture flashed by,
but went unnoticed in the dark.

A few seats down slouched a frail
grey haired lady, with her hands
clasped around a small bouquet
of daises.  And across the aisle,
towered a man who’s hands
could hold a dozen eggs.

Alone in the corner was a red
dressed woman; doing her best
to not spill her coffee. She watched
the children next to her fall
into an innocent sleep.
And ripples echoed in her fingers.

She thought about how strange it is
that everyone on a train
can be going the same direction
but have different destinations.
And then she thought about
how tired the conductor had looked.