(It’s important to never take yourself too seriously…Enjoy. Props to you if you can catch all the literary allusions)

the hardy maple

with its leafy tentacles

is a little twig that got bigger

the grass isn’t always hair

from uncut graves

it’s green and smells good

every hour is not metaphor

for the caged birds

occasionally refuse to  sing

the gum on the bottom

of my heel is a nuisance

not the spitted

image of  the Mona Lisa.

The Eastern Star
must have hum

with static joy

of the Holy One.

Beneath its light

the Child’s first cry

cradled by the

virgin mother.

Eternity changed.

The world awaits:

A final choice.

Revere the child

sleeping in the trough

beside the cattle

Mysterious possibility

that this child’s death

at thirty-two,

Made way for me

to spend my days and

all of eternity

In the light of the

Holy One.

You are a foul charlatan,

ensnaring the best intentions

in webs of deceptive warranty.

A clever contrivance of Satan,

Leave it, lagging, delayed, belated.

For tomorrow is ever so remiss,

a day, an hour, a minute too late.