Murder In Chicago

"The progress of rivers to the ocean
is not so rapid as that of man to error." Voltaire

He would empty himself –

A nine caliber of anger
into the minds of bystanders.
Laying them down
with semi-automatic rage.

One within a litigious litter –
Bent as a crowbar for bending,
fork-tongued and cursing.

"What, the fair Ophelia!""Sweets to the sweet. Farewell!"

a triolet

The eyelids have closed -
        curtains upon a stage.
        Mourners grapple in the grave.
The eyelids have closed -
        remind of sweetness in repose;
        a hidden love to yet engage.
The eyelids have closed -
        curtains upon a stage.

My Two Sense

a triolet

Every coin has two sides
As every virtue has its vice
Here it is, I say it twice
Every coin has two sides
On the heads and tails derives
What one finds to suffice
Every coin has two sides
As every virtue has its vice

Chess

a nonce sonnet

A Bishop moves
Past some Samaritan Pawn;
Eager to flaunt his new tassels,
The only brightness upon his cloaked self.
In his move –
The belly of the Queen has been exposed
To the bludgeoning of a Rook from afar
(Who has no name for sorrow or joy)
And aborts the hope of an heir.
Cornered is the King -
Between a too kind Knight
And the cousin of the Queen’s demise.
          There he falls with out-turned palms
          Calling out forsaken psalms.

How To Read Poetry

I closed my eyes and there was the sea.
It began to break against the sea wall
      within my mind.
I let it break right through -
there were no more boundaries -
      as I hovered above it all;
      the beach, the smell of salt,
      the foam of waves laughing upon the sand,
      the ship coming to harbor...
Then my name was called.
I rose and went into my day.