The Last Couplet

The Last Couplet 

Feted and decorous jesters of spoken sound 

Gathered a circle of romantics into a round 

To initiate their exiguous songs 

Crumpled into verse, sonnet; all sort of doggerel wrongs 

Written and sung with plaintive tone so to disabuse 

The objective of the critic’s tongue of stinging refuse 

Flavored bitters and morsels of disfavor and condemnation 

Offered as the last course - at the table of predation.

A Man and Door Perception

It’s an old door now with longing splinters.
The frame it hangs on has seen hard winters.
The key that unlocks it from dogged ways
Has been lost, misplaced like so many days.


Perhaps forgotten or traded for dreams
The story? Doesn’t really matter - seems.
The portal views are cracked and unclear
Do not see too well; it's fine no one near

To hear the rusty hinges groan and creak;
Telling stories of good years left to speak.
Door is a bit swollen and hard to close
Or open; doesn’t matter, no one knows:

  Why the door sits at the cave’s perception -
  Neither agape nor refused - to inception.