SING

Peace comes to the carpenter
While he planes a skewed plank
Vision to the watchman
When nighttime draws a blank

Anger bleeds into the gloves
Of a boxer in the ring
As joy manifests itself
In a chorus on a wing

So we sing

Bartering fish
He's yellow and cold
The dock is slippery
Grey and old

A schooner close
A tanker deep
While in his heart
His children sleep

We sing

A mason erects a sturdy wall
To hold back everything
A pardon comes from somewhere
Without a silver string

Thoughts come to the poet
In a crowd he stands alone
Eyes looking for distance
To his makeshift throne

Sing!

J.D. Goetz (JDGSCRIBE)

BORISKA (THE BELL CASTER)

The exhaustion was total; complete
after all, he could not compete.
He had given up the ghost of daytime toil
and found the bosom of night his only spoil.
Even there, what dreams were then invaded
by that overlord of stone that youth created.
Incessant whip, admonishment,
the weight of so many efforts
that floundered, that withered under father,
the sanctimonious shepherd:
Staff in hand and rod in back
his gaze of David, his blunt attack
do it again, do it again
you dumb incompetent calf!
And just as it came down over his head
the rod fell as silent as papa was dead
and that old trusty foreman whom Boriska loved most
woke the poor lad to conquer his father's old ghost.
But what if the bell did not ring?
What if he had not learned anything?
For there was a secret that papa kept
and Boriska never knew it.
But when the bell tolled Boriska wept
for he saw there was nothing to it.

Marlin Tyree (MARLINTHEFIS)

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