Bravado

 

“The Great Grisly Big Tree at Mariposa Grove”
by Marianne North

takes a mighty man
one still hard with
plenty of bark on him
tall in his heartwood
stout fearless limbs
turned and ready to
swipe at his sickness
sweep its deep insult
of mordant affliction
from easy self-pity
stand head in the sky
feet rooted in pride
torso scribed by his
history rings marking
memories fraught
with his persevered
hardships his times
of abundance the
scars won in wicked
harsh seasons these
memories holding him
fierce in the face of
advancing disease
he has no skills to halt
but can nonetheless
laugh at it curse it
a boom to his voice
that the whole of the
forest will never forget

 

 

From my books Small Noise and Legacies (vol. 2)

Vertigo

 

“Vertigo” by Mike Bowers

 

diminutive

corkscrew canals

ring with mischievous

songs of tinnitus

like cone-muted buzzing

of trumpets through

neuronal conduits

joining by measures

of organic mystery

ear to the eye

 

fearful spin

whirls the visual field

like cruel rides

in the devil’s

amusement park

working more mystery

somehow it travels

to sicken the belly

in God-awful

deep heaving waves

that make even

mixed whiskey

hangovers mild

 

worst by far are

those onsets from

perilous heights

that some primitive

self-preserved

instinct initiates

speeding the spin

stoking the nausea

threatening syncope

 

no wonder I spent

restive years in

my skyscraping office

glazed ceiling-to-floor

overlooking the

toy-like arched spires

of the grand

Brooklyn Bridge

far below

I so much prefer

looking up at my

towering forest

from here in my

undizzy state

of retirement

Bravado

“The Great Grisly Big Tree at Mariposa Grove”
Painting by Marianne North
From kew.org

takes a mighty man
one still hard with
plenty of bark on him
tall in his heartwood
stout fearless limbs
turned and ready to
swipe at his sickness
sweep its deep insult
of mordant affliction
from easy self-pity
stand head in the sky
feet rooted in pride
torso scribed by his
history rings marking
memories fraught
with his persevered
hardships his times
of abundance the
scars won in wicked
harsh seasons these
memories holding him
fierce in the face of
advancing disease
he has no skills to halt
but can nonetheless
laugh at it curse it
a boom to his voice
that the whole of the
forest will never forget