Poetry

Social Noise

The camera flash flashes away my sight of you,

aided by the hovering, caterwauling middle-agers,

parents of rushing children, despite their own failure

to reel in their mouths, and yet your words still

paint themselves in my mind, sponsored by your unwavering image.

The reason is the pouring of your heart, cogs, springs

and fate line into my lap so I can cradle each one

in reason and warmth, judgement free.

Alas, the world wants to block you from my ears,

so to quiet we must go, where my attention

can blanket you fully.

Poetry

The dance of pipes

Bubbles drift down the side street

From the flute of reeds

Played by the boy

Busking for spare change.

Passersby see their reflections in

The rippling surface as the orbs hang

In the air before them.

Some linger, entranced

And see something more.

Futures near and far

and scenes of indeterminate time.

They slip a coin into the waiting hat

And when it jingles full

The boy smiles, sneaking off on legs

Furred with short brown fleece and

Feet of cloven hooves.