Croquet

I've played the game before,
and well, it isn't exactly play,
it's more of a way
in which some people pray.


Let's join then,
in the Cathedral
under the bush,
and count the blades of grass
giving way before
a very important holiday.


And after the celebration,
after hastened amens,
we'll ordain this avocation
with many other friends.


----------

Ms.

In cycles of converging time
She whirls into engrossing toil,
And does a fox-trot to the rhyme
Of filtered smoke-puffs in turmoil.
COFFEE, BLACK PLEASE.
In keeping with a certain grace
She spurns the homely conventions,
And sustains her compelling pace
With the latest medications.
MORE COFFEE? YES, THANK YOU.
In answer to the distant bells
She rails against passivity,
And in pursuit of hollow shells
Eludes the fate of community.


----------

I Did Once, in '62

Sippings of sweetened rhyme
Stirred by a cocktail crew.
Just add a pinch of lime
And I'll drink it from your shoe.
Coo coo ragout,
Avec vous?
Niceties played in tinkle-time
Behind screens of bamboo.
We'll have a darling time
And I'll show you my tattoo.
Tinkle tinkle boo,
Won't you?
I did once, in '62,
And will again, thank you.


----------

The Flock

The grass-munchers on the half-grown hills
Yield their thoughts in feable shrills.
They leave their dung on beaten slopes
And bow to all the passing popes.
They interbreed in solemn acts
And graze their young on dusty tracts.
They hide their well-constructed views
With shadings of conforming hues.


----------

The Trinity

Those who are busical
about the metaphysical,
see all creation
in reincarnation.

Those who are doubters
about the psychic touters,
see all damnation
in transmigration.

Those who are inbetween
about this raging arguemien,
see all salvation
in copulation.