Tag Archives: deception

Twine With No Twist

Twine With No Twist

A masked ball in Venice.
No, I don’t want to go.
I don’t like bewilderment, deception,
the idea that life’s a carnival show.

A travelling circus.
No, not with lions and elephants
wheeled in cages from rough town to rough town.
It would make me sadder than a droop mouthed clown.

But why name the places I don’t want to be,
the sights I don’t want to see?
If you cannot resist you can make your own list.

I walked by a garden and saw a stout tree.
No storm wind could blow it down.
If I were an owl I’d hoot in its branches,
my feathers black speckled brown.

A natural stone bridge spans a gorge.
Far below it flows a river.
I could be brave and live up there in a cave,
but even in my white wool coat in winter
I fear I’d still shiver.

If I name the places where I want to be,
the sights that I’d like to see,
it would be a long list notched on twine with no twist.

Roy Rogers was a clean cowboy,
he made his silver six shooters shine
before he walked into the saloon
to stand at the bar
to the sound of a honky-tonk piano tune.
Every grubby cow poke
could see he was no joke
but the man who put the robbers in jail.
Behind his white tooth smile,
he had a brain that no one could figure,
but the sheriff was glad when he rode into town
with his guitar and his faithful horse Trigger.

That last verse may have surprised you,
don’t let us pretend.
It was summoned by a memory
I came to tag on the end.

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Winter Wolf

                                    Winter Wolf

Ask me a question
and there’s nothing I’ll deny.
Whatever I admit to
could be more than half a lie.
There’s no true deception
for persons in a play,
all speaking speculation,
for truth is hid away.

I stood by a weir,
watching water over stones,
as love will stir the body
to the heart all through the bones.
A chance chain of circles
was dancing round a loop,
and when the light grew certain,
I saw my shadow stoop.

Why reason for truth
when too often life has lied?
Sad for every sailor drowned,
over waves the sea gulls cried.
Walls mirror reflections
of chances never took.
Voices call in the wind
the fields of barley shook.

When the winter wolf
has gone loping to his lair,
and there’s blossoming branches,
and the bird song fills the air,
if I should come out looking,
will you be waiting there,
smile with a skip in your step,
and the wind in your hair?