Saturday, September 26, 2009


If I were angry, everyone would see,
Because I've never let my anger go:
I hold my grudges till the veins all show
Across my forehead, and expressively
Denote my feelings of disharmony,
The rage within me rising from below,
Up from my toes, deep as the undertow,
Deep as the ocean, boiling up in me.

So you would know. There wouldn't be a doubt
About the meaning of the sounds I made,
Or why the volume rose as tempers frayed
And quiet chiding rose into a shout
About whatever I was on about.
Oh, no, I loved that little trick you played.

Friday, September 18, 2009

The Bell-Ringer's Lament

I don't suppose you understand the facts,

At least the ones presented yesterday

By drama queens and winemakers, who say

That troubles always come in cataracts

("It never rains — it pours"), and we had pacts

With carnival employees, whose back pay

Was garnisheed. Their faces all turned grey

When the admirals put on their scurvy acts.

Myself, I got as restless as a lamb

Beside the slaughterhouse, as if the wool

Was not what they were after. Fanciful

As when I've had a dilatory dram

Standing atop the church — that's where I am,

My hand firm on the rope I've got to pull.