Ticket Please

You’re life is worth

ten thousand poems

mulled with cardamon,

cinnamon and clove

scenting this long

train ride from

Ottawa to Vancouver.

Foursome

The coyotes took 

the first round 

this morning.

Ignoring rules

they played tag

on the greens.

St. Peter’s Reward

...and there is 

Peter manning 

the gate,

never permitted to

join in.

Within my head

I’d like to be a bird

singing 

only 

when it has 
something to say.

Holding Hands 2

His pants cuffed up grazed rippled glass

her skirt teased the waters edge.

Their calves cooled in the shallows, 

while bees were lured 

up the tulip poplar’s blouse.

Holding hands

The desert marigold

holds nothing back!

I was there

Kiss, kiss.

I was there with each 
inquisition.

I was the witch, monarch, 
priest.

I was the guy under the hood 

with 

a freshly ground gleaming axe

aiming 

to lift myself & the infidels 

closer 

to that bastard St. Peter 

at 
his pearly gated hell.