In The Smoke Room
glowing coil
in the wall
like an altar
a hole
big enough
to poke
a cigarette
Quasar paces
looks up
says cameras
and microphones
in the sky
follow him
i sit beside
the quiet girl
with sad eyes
who sees God
in the linoleum
she puts my hand
in the fire
between her legs
watches the door
for the devil
who prowls the halls
his keys jangling
Growing Older
Nothing seems so horrible
anymore in this new light
of waking up
on possibly our last day.
We learn to give ourselves
in ordinary ways
with what little we have left
like the fishes and loaves
when all is lost.
We've tired of looking,
content now with this
and nothing less.
2 comments:
These two poems sent me to Google to read more by this writer with whom I was not familiar. He is not your average poet, He's been at it for awhile, perhaps on and off. Appeared at Poetry Super Highway back in 2007. The skill shows and you can only hope that he will start writing and submitting more often. Good stuff is always very nice to read.
Donal Mahoney
Thank you, Donal, for your generous remarks. I rarely submit, and you are correct. I've been at this off and on. I appreciate your remarks as I'm one of those doubtful artists, but I go ahead and do it because I love doing it.
Post a Comment