A poet relaxed on an urban hill,
Glass beneath him echoing
The dazzling lights above.
Stringing syllables together
In the noon-day sun.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Birthday
There is a tiger in the woods.
To the mist she clings
And trails like smoke
A wild thing,
Animal pure, bearing
Death's silent sting
She roars, like a beast in ascent
At the foodchain peak
Or a man on the brink
Of denying defeat.
She slinks in the soft shadows
Between candle-lights
And calls to the moon
In the vastness of nights
A gall-mingled cocktail
Of despair and delight
Alone and aloof
And hidden from sight.
There is a tiger in the woods.
To the mist she clings
And trails like smoke
A wild thing,
Animal pure, bearing
Death's silent sting
She roars, like a beast in ascent
At the foodchain peak
Or a man on the brink
Of denying defeat.
She slinks in the soft shadows
Between candle-lights
And calls to the moon
In the vastness of nights
A gall-mingled cocktail
Of despair and delight
Alone and aloof
And hidden from sight.