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The Letter M

of Alphabetical Order

 

Masters of the Universe

Masters of the Universe
occupy wee cubicles,
hover over telephones,
wrack their brains,

rhythmically chew the nether lip,
minutely gnaw each finger tip.

Colorless tiles in life’s mosaic,

Destined to go
the way of the Plantagenets
the Tudors and the Stuarts

Fredrick the Great, Louis Quatorze,
Falstaff, Schlitz, Rainier and Storz.

 

A Matter of Walking

Once you have been shattered
  at the thunderclap of no,
life goes on beneath a shadow
  ominous and crackling,

and every little neg you meet
  resounds with no,
connects with the fizzing shadow
  angrily deepening overhead.

Sun blessing a meadow in the distance
  deep green and pale yellow
seems a lightness
  you are unentitled too.

Cold rain spat upon your bald head,
  and dampening dampening clothing
holding close the chill
  seem your only entitlements.

People in the meadow will observe
  and puzzle and remark at the stubborn way
you will not come out of the rain.
  To them it seems
     a simple matter of walking.

 

My Citadel

As sunset is an obverse prophecy of dawn,
And moonlight is its gentle harbinger as well,
My faith in light’s sure and miraculous return
Remains inviolate in my heart’s citadel,
  Where likewise waits my heart for One long gone,
One as sure to return, cloaked in a miracle.

The sun is not conscious of where its light may fall,
So my Awaited One will bless, then pass my cell
As unaware as sunshine that she’s blessed at all
This shadowed cloister, high in my heart’s citadel,
  Where signs, and words, and lights prophetical
Leave me content to watch, waiting her miracle.

Who are her harbingers? What are their prophecies?
What is the miracle I wait that they foretell?
Might not this be a construct of my fantasies?
A foolishly imagined, paper citadel
  Where my mind lolls in self-deceiving ease,
Awaiting, fecklessly, some phantom miracle?

All love, each act of kindliness, all courtesy,
Each intimation of the beautiful
Fall as echoing breakers of a moonless sea
At the unshaken base of my heart’s citadel,
  Where I record them as sure prophecy,
And so await, with faith, her coming miracle.

The Letter N

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