Leaping Snakes in the Garden
" The snake has his own way among us." -- Robert Duncan
Most of the snakes, here, are little ones.
They are not rattling when the lawn is
being cut.
They bask on large boulders, in the
bright sunlight. Snuggled together
in large holes, in winter, away from
the street.
But once out there, with the news of
the day that always seems bad, they
seem to get teeth,
gnash their mouths and flick their
tongues at everyone.
Even their pretty hues of color, on
their backs , get brighter. The red seems
to glow.
Out here, where the anger and the hatred
brings on a fluidity of movement.
Floods and bad weather follow them,
where black dogs are also smiling and
sniffing.
Darkness with Feeble Light
" The darkness so deep and the light so feeble." -- Eknath Easwaran
Go towards death. See his grinning face
through the darkness, where there is little light.
How will you approach him?
With cap in hand, knees knocking? Or slapping
him on the back, like an old friend that has
been waiting. For a thousand years.
Binary, yes and no of our bodies, wants
to run towards or hide somewhere when
his grin is seen.
Soon to be coming, to your bedroom or car.
Take off the phony face that has been used
in the society of your choice. Put on the deeper
self, and let it talk, to the old man.
d.n. simmers is an on line editor of Fine Lines. He is in the current Poetry Salzburg and in an anthology in Bulgaria. He is in or will be in the Storyteller ( 3 issues) , Homestead Review, Red River Review, Prairie Journal
(Calgary CAN), Nomad's choir. He has been in Plainsong, Nerve Cowboy, Lucidity, and will in the upcoming Westward Quarterly. He has been published in the UK, New Zealand, and Splizza Wales Poetry Magazine.
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" The snake has his own way among us." -- Robert Duncan
Most of the snakes, here, are little ones.
They are not rattling when the lawn is
being cut.
They bask on large boulders, in the
bright sunlight. Snuggled together
in large holes, in winter, away from
the street.
But once out there, with the news of
the day that always seems bad, they
seem to get teeth,
gnash their mouths and flick their
tongues at everyone.
Even their pretty hues of color, on
their backs , get brighter. The red seems
to glow.
Out here, where the anger and the hatred
brings on a fluidity of movement.
Floods and bad weather follow them,
where black dogs are also smiling and
sniffing.
Darkness with Feeble Light
" The darkness so deep and the light so feeble." -- Eknath Easwaran
Go towards death. See his grinning face
through the darkness, where there is little light.
How will you approach him?
With cap in hand, knees knocking? Or slapping
him on the back, like an old friend that has
been waiting. For a thousand years.
Binary, yes and no of our bodies, wants
to run towards or hide somewhere when
his grin is seen.
Soon to be coming, to your bedroom or car.
Take off the phony face that has been used
in the society of your choice. Put on the deeper
self, and let it talk, to the old man.
d.n. simmers is an on line editor of Fine Lines. He is in the current Poetry Salzburg and in an anthology in Bulgaria. He is in or will be in the Storyteller ( 3 issues) , Homestead Review, Red River Review, Prairie Journal
(Calgary CAN), Nomad's choir. He has been in Plainsong, Nerve Cowboy, Lucidity, and will in the upcoming Westward Quarterly. He has been published in the UK, New Zealand, and Splizza Wales Poetry Magazine.
Back to Top