Sexton

The shutters are open,

there are no curtains.

Stop.  Look through the dark pane.

Find simple sanctuary without icon or lace,

a congregation of one, who has forgotten

how to pray.  Come.  Listen.

Take up residence, sweep away the dust;

expose silent eyes, deep wits.  

Light a candle.  Line the sills with potted geraniums.

Stay.  Long enough to see them grow.

Be the sexton who makes supper of thoughts,

whisks a fluffy omelet of the past.

Sing.  Something that sounds like a hymn,

what ships and stones might say.

Dote on my still possible body,

the soft secret structure of worship.

tk/August 2014



R.A.D. Stainforth takes my words to the next level ...

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Zebra

We wear a zebra suit.

Taunt cats at the zoo.

You are the head.  Tell the joke

about black and white and red. 

(Embarrassed)  I shake our tail.

Rattle the cage with our hind legs.

They pace.  Look at us.

A sandwich.  Chain gang of two. 

Bow their heads.  (Say grace)

by his stripes we are healed.

Warning sign.  Loose letters.

Beyond this:  the point of no return.

(Without our glasses) squinting

gets us nowhere.  And everywhere.

We wear a zebra suit.
Share some striped pajamas.

tk/August 2014 

Charming read by R.A.D. Stainforth...ever so slight smile at the end...

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Explicit Cake

Progression of days playing

in a constant loop,

a marriage of minds.

The loop is safe;

just what we take,

walking all that is left.

Time hangs in the air.

Oceans dry up.

Paths wind in sentences,

give rabbits chase,

willow to climb.

Curves follow a mutual train,

pause for picnic lunch,

explicit cake.

Done with doing, I wait

for the loop to be installed

permanently; with no way out,

a cul-de-sac. 

tk/June 2014


Scrumptious read by R.A.D. Stainforth...glass of wine with lunch...

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