Jogger

Of the Farm  (Pennyroyal)

We were all bonny then
In that golden age,
In that bucolic time,
We, a tribe becoming
In the warm Sun
Shimmering, dusty days.
In the cool Moon
Glimmering, glass clear nights
Mythologized,
Aphrodite imbued.
The privy path
Became an Odyssey
Promising nymphs
And sirens. Kalypso
Pre-Raphaelite, white
Beside a laden tree.
Nausikaa silent, still,
Behind the Rose-of-Sharon,
And wandering out
We grew split hooves
Crossing the dewy grass.

We were all players then
On that olden stage
Devoted to the mime,
We, to scribes succumbing
In the warm Sun
Rehearsing gusty plays.
Beneath the Moon
Performing. Oak Grove nights
Mythologized,
Dionysos imbued.
A vivid past
Embraced by memory
A cherished glimpse
Of actors,we, being ipso-
facto gods of light
Beneath Jove’s tree.

Now it is all silent. Still
We find the Rose-of-Sharon,
But wandering out
With cautious moves
We avoid the dewy grass.                                      
      

IT

In the Room

Mornings