Red Hydrant 

two red and white hydrants
lined the sidewalk
up against the field

weeds
familiar things
dripping from the buttercups and dandelions

time is no boundary
in neither grass nor thistle
the prickle bush
eyeing the main

and each says
there ain’t enough room for the both of us
in this town

I saw the coffee cup clutch
that nursed the shoulders round
and contorted song into commuting sleep
of civilizations found

the chalice reaps what elbows keep
in darkened thoughts profound

nurse flashing lights
and silver queens
of isolating surround

resound the sleep of familiar keeps
in silver wedding gowns

and talons keep
the soul to reap
in shadows that do abound

This Place

The ghosts in the rug of this floor
and this building
at this time
are special

they always were
and should always be

brick by brick
stone by stone
at any price
for our own good
this house of heritage

and it stands
albeit leaning in the wrong direction
but is the ghost really there
and do we care?

Cement Pipe Plot

Below the bridge
where grey meets grey
and pipes of all sizes
residing alone

different shapes and different looks
even plastic per-say

space for the forklift
tire tracks in the gravel
in the grey

spaced to pile
to rain and sun

prism of circles
triangles of columns

which heap shall be exhumed
and which tale should do the work?

fitting

the pipes that stand with clarity
before me

fitting these pipes of their own accord

and the marvel of symmetry
that symmetry

symmetry