5 Poems (2)

British


when lamps light casts shadows across bedlam

and cattle linger in the stony twilight

when masters rabble rouse with chosen heads

and slaves swim deep

Embers

blowing on dull orange embers

renders them red hot

again, but the love don't last.

Sometimes I wonder when the cool breeze will blow them

and unmake the warming of a heart.

But they remain ablaze

Wood Flute

lift it up to your lips

release breath power

cannot be matched, even if it can

the results don't explode

under unmade covers,

the robots wait for dreams of wooden flutes

we own them and will not lease

yet

Kings

Hail rains down

pebbles of streaked ice

falling on the roofs on top of

the house inside of

which kings dwell.

They look up to the clouds

marshall forces and set in motion

lunar movements and cyclical violence

find and gather their brethren

then sing.

Meridians

sailing along the latitude line

keep your eye peeled for the longitude sign

breezing down the river on a piece of twine

the sunny afternoon, I'll make it mine

Then share with you with a squeeze of lime