At the Municipal Pool
Save the timid pose
for the shower,
and stow the tumid prose
about how the pool’s
too full, or too cold,
or the day’s too humid.
Embark, shore-lark,
don’t shun the flock.
Those who test with a toe
are off the mark.
Be bold—
take the plunge.
Gifts
Ignorant of how we present ourselves,
we expect new acquaintances
to come wrapped in pristine paper
with a bow affixed. People get placed
beneath our trees bearing their treasure
and their trash, wrappings torn,
barely held together, opened
who knows how often. They rarely
sport a bow. We should know better.
The rips in our own wrap yawn so wide
tape sticks to our skin beneath.
Let There Be Light
The light days are the angels
K. Raine
Shades rarely draw from the eyes,
but for a jolt, say a thunderbolt
thrown by a gracious angel, aimed
between the brows below the crown
of our well worn dunce caps…Zap!
A flame flickers in our brain’s
dense thicket of dendrites, a quick
ticket to angel-light, unworried days.
A less kind bolt-hurler might strike
the heart, rend our being apart, allow
the dark to sour our lightest hours.
Geordie de Boer, a rambler and wrangler of rhyme (internal) lives in Washington (state). He’s been published most recently by Hobble Creek Review, the beatnik, Offcourse, Cirque, and Heavy Bear. Visit him atCockeyed Fits (geedeboer.wordpress.com/).
