tide

                      He swells in.
               He ebbs away.

        Tide 
   tied.

          They
             almost
                   touch.
                 she waits.

                       The
                    sea
            retreats.
  
               no
   ecstasy.
      no
 heaven
opens.

     so
         she
            carries him
               where
                  he
                     can stay

                 in the mind,
              among stars,

           in a kiss
              long ago
                 when the water
                    first learned
                       her name.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Ballad of the Bus-Driver’s Banishment

The morning was damp and the soldiers were fleet As they tip toed along on a Caracas street Poor Nicolas Maduro was deep in a doze In his very best nightshirt and ten hairy toes Then came a clatter, a military boom And Delta Force ruffians were there in his room They dragged him away, his wife Cilia too, Without so much as a how do you do. They whisked them both off to the Iwo Jima ship For a very expensive one way kind of trip To a New York courtroom they’re destined to go To answer for powder and things they shouldn't know the man with the girdle and straw coloured mane Is drunk on the power and high on disdain He calls it the Donroe Doctrine, you see, A twist on the old one for you and for me. We’re running the shop! he says with a grin Until we decide who the new folks are in. And what of the oil, that thick, black delight? It’s paying the bill for the fun of the night. It won't cost a penny! the President cries As he keeps a firm thumb on the Venezuelan skies. But Delcy, t...
Read more

The Ballad of Aunt Octopia

My aunt, she is a lady grand With many a limb at her command Not two, like us, of mortal mold But eight to clutch and eight to hold. Beneath her lace and silken gown The suction-cups go up and down She weaves a web for all to see Of maternal propriety. Her son, a lad of gentle grace Must move at her most frantic pace For with a tentacle so sly She winks his lids and shuts his eye. She pulls a string to make him bow Or smooths the furrow on his brow No step he takes, no word he saith But by her ink dark salty breath. Whenever he finds a maiden fair With roses in her golden hair My aunt will reach a limb of dread To pluck the bonnet from her head. She leads them to the cliff’s sharp side To view the turning of the tide Then with a nudge, quite soft and brief She sends the darling to her grief. "Oh, what a fall!" the lady cries With mock-distress within her eyes While poor young Jack is made to dance A puppet to her every glance. Thus through the world they gaily go Wherever the...
Read more