Poem #67

Fear that I frittered my teenage years

And will stay playing catch-up

For however long I’m here;

Fear that a taut abdominal wall

Is the only partition

Between me, Joe Bloggs, et al.;

Fear that I can’t yoke words like Danny Brown,

Or spill seventeen pitchers

Of wit whilst acting the clown;

Fear that I do things I knew I would not,

Fear that my old-old-self I,

By necessity, forgot;

Fear that my idols are far less than their prattle;

Fear that i don’t really fear

This fear list

At all.

Poem #64

If you abandoned a baby in a jungle,

Delegating daycare to some savvy primate

Who tutored the kid in matters fruit and fungal,

Which snakes to curve, and those upon which to predate;

If the adolescent bloomed on seeds, nuts, raw meat,

And thought in pictures, having no scripture to browse,

Perforating the air with grunts and whines for speech,

Shameless (with no suitor to impress or arouse);

If the grown-up, venturing in one direction

From twilight to twilight, infers their world to be

Tree, tree, tree, then returns, a content complexion

Their only strip of fabric in the tree, tree, tree;

If all this, then who, with confidence, can argue

That the human’s surmise is anything but true?

Poem #38

Pockets of gold collect above tree trunks,

Leaving each base swaddled in low umbrage;

My quest today is to locate some skunks,

(An ambition of mine since a young age).

Viewed from above they seem to wear medals,

White metal slipped around their unkempt tails;

The forest critters keep them well fed, all!

So that their ‘lympic posture never fails.

But what attracts me most, of course, is stink,

A chance to sample nature’s grim defence;

My nose the beastly odour whole shall drink,

And relish every sensory offense.

Let me ask, before you judge: are my goals

Not just viewing locked doors as unfilled holes?