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The Gift of Universe Song

the-gift-of-universe-song

Give no love to the poet. 

This frail,

flaming human,

is not the gift of

universe song,

sent to rain life down on

all who thirst. 

Nor the giver,

that he might interpret. 

Flawed,

the object of the

world’s affection,

nothing more than a

splintered leaking bucket in

the rain-eternal. 

Well-placed in

time and space

to hold for a moment,

that which all

who thirst,

find. 

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Blanket of Heaven

c Copyright 2014-2015 Bill Friday

c Copyright 2014-2015 Bill Friday

 

Skunks lay low when it rains here

and possums stay off the slick streets

restricting their business to

the tops of cinderblock walls

or inside dumpsters

under the pale blue cover of streetlights

and the shadow of kitchen windows’ warmth

 

Here the air around me smells of

wood-burning fireplaces

and fresh wet earth

where the ocean gives up

its salt spray

on the sharp winds of night

 

Then comes the rolling sting

of needle spray

a gift sent from the

midnight leaden blanket of heaven

It is here I turn my face upright to meet it

and dream of what it will mean

when I die here

 

© Copyright 2015 Bill Friday

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