Mark A Fisher

insubstantial

 

in the black night sky are stars unseen

behind each door are affairs unseen

 

beneath all the inky depths of seas

hide the fallen drops of tears unseen

 

upon aged shoulders heavily weighed

the brunt of too many cares unseen

 

cobblestone roads paved with broken hearts

in miles of patchwork repairs unseen

 

I write poems to an absent muse

my words fade away for years unseen

 

 

 

leeway

 

out in the desert sands the wind’s tune plays

while the night’s cool breath across a dune plays

 

all the children are wrapped up in their beds

caterpillar in a warm cocoon plays

 

waking up to begin another day

in the full cereal bowl the spoon plays

 

cycles of time another month passes

with all the little tricks that the moon plays

 

so Mark why are you writing a ghazal

really you should be trying to groom plays

 

 

petition

 

“nothing grows here” said the geologist standing atop ten species of flowers

while the student smiles knowingly since despite the lecture she sees

the flowers

 

all the magic comes wrapped up in bright colors that we will never hope

to see

it takes no miracle from god to know the beauty found by bees in flowers

 

a child in a meadow chases butterflies in some kind of wild abandon

trailing behind, his wake, footprints in the grass and broken pieces of

flowers

 

a neanderthal skeleton was found buried seemingly with compassion

mourned by the people that loved them and so covered them it seems with

flowers

 

I watch daily feeling so helpless as the world’s temperature keeps going up

while humanity still continues ignoring the entreaties of flowers