Have you read Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Those witches, those wonderful, evil witches.

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Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

                            – William Shakespeare (Macbeth)

I’ve forgotten.
One cup of wine or two?
And why harvest

only one newt’s eye?
Shouldn’t two better spice
this brew?

Boiling is best, but upon
what fire dare I set this kettle?
Perhaps flame dancing

on a heap of willow wood

or the heat rising
from a pool of dragon spit.

And once this charm
is firm and good,
shall I serve you under

a moon’s dim light
or where shine glitters
on a rill of water

trickling near a moss as soft
as an old beard stitched
to a dead king’s chin?


A Poem

Image result for sketch ratYesterday was World Poetry Day. “World Poetry Day was declared by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) in 1999. The purpose of the day is to promote the reading, writing, publishing and teaching of poetry throughout the world and, as the UNESCO session declaring the day says, to “give fresh recognition and impetus to national, regional and international poetry movements.” Sadly, I failed to post a poem. The day escaped me. Said escape inspires the poem I share here.

A Poem

Its whiskers scrape
the sewer grate,

fold before
the panic

that cranks
its heart.

Scratchy feet
scurry toward

the pipe,
the bleak cool

where shadow
swallows and liberates.

That tail thrashing
as a serpent.

A Complete Loss

This morning, I was pushed into dreaming.

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A Complete Loss

This morning,
little was accomplished.

The books slid off their shelves,
and, like butterflies,
fluttered about the house,
dropping words that inched
over the floors as green worms
inch across oak leaves
reaching like hands
from crooked limbs.

The trolls that thicken the air
beneath the children’s beds
with gurgles and snores
have crept to the basement,
between brick walls,
to a darkness that reminds each
of nights spent singing beneath
old stone bridges.

Silver fairies filch flower stems
from the vases in the living room
to wield as spears against the gnomes,
that rise from the garden,
capped in hats
fashioned from acorn shells
and marigold petals,
to battle for that magic water
that sparks from the birdbath
as it is graced by a sparrow’s
frenzied flutter.

Nothing was accomplished,
nothing at all.

St. Patrick’s Day, 2017

As St. Patty’s Day was yesterday, I’m a bit late with this, but I thought I’d post it anyway. Just a bit of fun.

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St. Patrick’s Day, 2017

I look, for a moment,
between the trees
where shadows drape the air

as sorrow chokes a smile,
for a glint, a snap, a splash of light,
an eye that peers

from a fairytale’s page,
an impish sneer,
a coin of gold,

a leprechaun to assure me
that I am still a child.