Claw

     be docile now

     each thorn blunted

     means I’m in charge

     for now

     I’m in charge of this one

  even so it’s squirmy

  unsuited to submission

  I can’t get hold of every claw

  it hisses and it still has teeth

  it hides with its wounds and snarls

  in a crawl space

  it disturbs my sleep

     I admit there’s a fierce unrest in me

     that won’t stay put

     won’t understand that you mean well

     won’t relax in your arms

     like it wants to

     though you've given so much

     and doesn’t really trust you at all

Life

a cabaret

but a dream

good 

beautiful

short

hard

a bowl of cherries

a highway

not a fairy tale

precious

worth living

Sing

     Though there's nothing new under the sun

     still, I'll sing

     just as the original dreamer 

     told me to do

     Though there's no place like home

     still, I'll hold hands with a rusty man 

     and go nowhere with him

     if he longs to sing

     that's nothing new

     Though I'm beyond saving

     still, I will not be quiet

     or save my breath

     or be less

     

     Though the doors do not open

     though I stand here 

     in a wild fury

     knowing you are no longer within

     still, I'll sing

Hungry

     It isn’t funny 
     You don’t belong in the house

     Don’t get comfortable

     What do they feed you?

     Envy’s leaves and sorrow’s root?

     Rancor’s meager blood?

     Here’s a true feast then

     Whole heart, witnessing eyes

     Open throat, love's sighs

     What are you craving?

     My fresh tears in a teaspoon?

     Why are you dying?

     Hungry old dreamer

     Darken my door again and

     I’ll make you suffer

Arthur

Hi    It matters because   error is anathema to me--yea a veritable abomination--to wax biblical.

We should strive for correctness---else  sloppy thinking will prevail and lead to bad habits, not easily corrected.

There, that's my diatribe

Cheers    arthur

Isn't

     it isn't good now

     venturing beyond the gate

     without permission

     we are not god's children now

     always finding ways back home

     this way or that way

     always leading to his love

     it isn't like that

     we've never been prodigal

     that's not what we were meant for

     we've been fine and good

     a vaster world doesn't need

     our songs, dreams, gifts, poems

     it isn't fitting, isn't wise

     to question your belongings

Satellite

    You have your gravity. 

    This little satellite's settling in.

    What might it be like, being you?

    With one like me, devoted, orbiting,

    circling, at bay.

    You have your compelling way.

    I would not know.

    I've never held my ground,

  

    or been face to face.

    I want to stay invisible,

    but I want to stay.