December 31, 2007 at 10:22pm (Poetry)

Paper, scissors, rock
crows the cock.
Look, look
caws the rook.

The one-eyed man
in seven-league boots
and four-and-twenty maidens
in four-and-twenty rows

wiggles his fingers
and nibbles their toes.

          Nibble, nibble
          little mousey;
          nibble, nibble
          at my housey.

Of gingerbread said
the one-eyed man;
try and catch me, if you can.

               * * * *

Time at the speed of light stands still.
So, hurry up please, it’s time.
Hurry up at the speed of light,
at the speed of light, hurry

up the hill to the broken crown,
up the hill where they all fall down,
up the hill where the fathers say,

“Come what may!
                          I’m going!
                                        God help me!”

and vanish
                    (first their fingers, then their toes)
into the night at the speed of light,
into the night at the speed of repose.

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December 27, 2007 at 2:05pm (Poetry)

October’s hungry sparrows
                               (weary like the heart is)
fetch and carry nesting,
resting occasionally in the sun.
I, however, have no house
                                 (neither do I build one)
this chilly Tuesday
when restless birds pipe and call
among the thinning branches
and Winter, crouching on its haunches,
stalks the Fall

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