Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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A way through

Birds perch on the balding arms
and bud knobbed fingers
of the kitchen door apple tree
There is a flashing gleam
from the eye of a jay
the sun finding unlikely passage
My mind blinks in disbelief
that such a thing could be
My heart knows better
and begins to sing


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Outriders

There are days I see
the broad shape of earth
in the clouds
arriving ahead of wind and snow
tails feathered to a point
evaporating ether like
in ice clear sky
We can only guess
at the cold
they announce
racing battle pennants
for a promised storm
The rattle of their casting bones
driving us to shelter


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Non pareil

The kitchen basket is almost empty
a single red tomato moated with sunlight 
waits for my touch 
Time is short, blooms of mold 
will soon claim it and I don’t want to lose
this object of my tongue’s lust
Perfectly ripe, its sleek skin 
hints at a tantalizing split 
ignored for now
and I dismiss the temptation
to ravish without finesse
preferring the small pleasures
of anticipation
Slices fanned onto a blue moroccan plate
dressed in a squeeze of lemon, green olive oil
and basil slivers
become lunchtime’s non pareil
Each piece a grapeshot burst against my lips
already parted in pleasure