Wish of a Kitchen Maid

Is that my loved one coming
    through the mart,
to start the leaden drumming
    of my heart?

Is that him on his Shire's
    back so high?
The spark of my desire's
    flame-blue eye?

Are those the corded thews
    of his arms,
and that the lady who's
    won his charms

with plumpness in the bodice
    laced up tight,
which drew his blue eye's notice
    yesternight?

Indeed, it is the bitch.
    See there, he
dismounts and salves his itch
    with very

indiscreet and copious
    long kisses,
and gestures that make obvious
    who is his

lucky and young lover.
    Now, heart, ease.
The dream we had is over,
    so stop, please.



10.10.13

Glad Piper

For Ian Anderson, a lifelong inspiration and hero

 Piping gay through glade and glen
 with stag and hare he leaps,
 lifting his knee while bird and bee
 their company he keeps.

 The moon his lady and his love,
 the sun his golden king;
 earth his garden, God his Warden,
 watching everything.

 White his hair and green his eye
 his beard long and silver;
 bright with glee his melody
 that ripples like a river.

 Mired with mud his leathern boot,
 his tunic caked with dust;
 Black his belt as a panther's pelt,
 his cap as red as rust.

 Old as a star, mad as the wind,
 with bounce and bound he hies;
 swift as a viper, the Glad Piper
 flips his flute as he flies.

10.4.2013