Poem Category: All

A cool winding road

you drive between peach orchards

with their ripe fruit airs.

The parson‘s wife swears

the blonde‘s hairs found on his coat

is known to their church.

With claws locked on bark

my stance is proud beyond kings

I hawk, primal made.

I hate their dull brains

I hawk, scattering pigeons

dive to tear off heads.

In the scheme of things

great shading trees know their worth

to breathe out man‘s breath.

Balcony breakfast

we watch the park glow with dawn

beside her packed bags.

Know at least one joy

birds lawn hopping in dawn‘s gold

or a child‘s giggle.