Tempest

spells of infernal debate
as half-bred sheep bleating
temper’d scorch
joust furiously for Celestial Harem
all unsted suitors rout’d
into rabid stampede

hear th’ unholy choir from the Post?
souls of afterdeath scourg’d
unmercifully
their waxes perspiring to infinite
swarms of disharmony
even towards the self?

Flock Watcher

not of my feather
daydream on an open perch
and you will be mine

Flower with Parasol

stroller in bloom
with her garden folk

soaking up
the freshness
the beauty
‘neath th’ eyes
of a fair day

flaunting
her showy threads
her modern freedom

she’s at home
and looking good

Forecast?

a dromedary I’ve become
on what’s left
of ice and sea

‘twas this another cycle
by Nature’s hand?

or by industry
and a turbulent cloud
by covetous ancients
who cared only
for their own lifetime?