Vabbe Verbena

Vabbe Verbena,
Contro il recinto ora appoggiato,
Dove stavo pulendo le finestre
Al Palazzo della Verlina.

Ho salito acutamente una scala
Sopra i salici che piangono
Perché sono nato peccatore;
Abbiamo tutti i nostri inizi.

Abbiamo fatto l’amore fino al tramonto
Giorni di merletti e pigrizia,
Rosa svestiti e servizi da tavola
Di insalata, primavera.

E sebbene il mio cuore stesse battendo,
Tali momenti sono ancora fugaci,
Le lancette del tempo sono indifese
Carta da parati preraffaellita che si scioglie.

Quindi non importa, mia cara,
Per la scala che scivola, cade,
Dove tutte le mie speranze sono state deluse
Sul Palazzo della Verbena.

Everyday Sounds

There are noises here abounding
Though they exist barely noticed,
A closing of a drawer, a toilet

Somewhere flushes,
Humming from electric fans
Sends taut air spinning through

Summer, your tartan skirt
And tattooed hand snapping
My wishbones, like keys

To my uncontrolled blushes.
Tap water running,
Meditations overflowing.

A murmuration of sunbathers,
Suncream bottle lids opening,
Clasps on shoulders undone.

Garden parties swallowed.
Undeciphered patterns and vacations,
Wheatfields over the fence

With seventeen crop circles.
All these vibrations from life evolving,
All these times I’ve been revolving.

Yet there is no sound disguising
These memories are no longer
Moments, but instead a silence.

Just Passing Through

A charm of ardent finches
Passing through my garden,
To destinations far-flung
I will never fathom.

On fat and seeds they feasted,
A peanut holder emptied;
Toured a moss-floored hut
I built, but had me pardoned.

They gave a fleeting glimpse
Of nature green and golden,
Before at swifter speeds depart,
Quick as dreams unfolding.

I wish a Goddess orchestrating
These finches on the wing,
Would rest on this poetic fence
Before the storm begins.

A Resurrection

In the corner of my eye
I glimpsed a fragile butterfly,
Did you see it too?
It turned into an earthquake,
I didn’t know
Quite what to do.

Underneath a raindrop
Sleeping on a leaf,
I found a missing compass point,
I found a burning heath;
Dharma in a rainbow’s breadth
Ninth wonder in a sheaf.

In the corner of my eye
I glimpsed a resurrection,
Did you see it too?
It turned into a moonlit moth,
And now I know
Just what to do.

Ode To A Garden Snail, Part 2

Little snail,
Evening journey,
You made it so far;
Will you one day
Reach a yard in to
Something like me?

If you have to,
And I hope you may do,
I am sorry now
For inevitably what
You must go through;
Blackbird beak,

Your shell will leak,
The soil below takes
Its toll. We will
Exchange in time
Our pace, our hearts.
Just keep in mind

And keep your guard,
For there are magpies,
There are sparrows
Who’ll tear you apart;
Stay steady young snail,
You’ll do better by far.

Death Of An Obsessive (Twelfth Sonnet)

Lunch after Sunday, a walk with our dogs,
Over stiles clambered, some lumberjacked logs,
Through cowpatted herd-fields, a traced rabbit path,
And beyond the axe-pond where sometimes we’d bath,
To find that cottage, abandoned and dark,
From lintel and jambs hanged swallow and lark;
Roofs sunk to woodworm, gnawed holes from the rot,
A cracked window showed the home of a sot.
Children had played on the rosebay-raped swards,
Supper’s at seven, your heels on the boards;
White linen’s fresh, pegged to washing lines sang,
Before words turned beneath ivy to slang.
These losses framed by a mind’s fatal breath;
An airbag inflated, scene of a death.