Tim Miner's Musings

gods Are scary deities, I believe They smite with steel rods And for reprieve Prop you up in thorns Demanding for expiation and atonement They have never given man any peace Or some release. Sister, Your gods of wealth and money. Do you rattle them with the jingle of coins? Or glue notes to their faces for favours, for bribes, For fashion, for beauty? Mother, Habituation has its own gods. What sound, what scent, Aroma and odours arouse the ones you serve in your many addictions? Food? Sex? Alcohol? Children? Odds. Father, How do you conceive your deity? Mortal, immortal, visible o’ invisible? Molten or graven?   Wooden? Stone? Or spruced up with paints on canvas?   The morning fog or the mountain steam, indefinable. Written, typed on scripts their names ineffable Their power invincible, destructive but Highly indestructible. Or do you find the idea of one repulsive – understandable? Brother, What fancy pla...

Before the birth of the night and the accompanying rain, The sky was in no pain; She was bold and all blue, Her evening dress clear and new, The clouds put up a happy show; Roaring thuds and fire flashes in a tow, She whimpered, Wind brewed and willows danced; Mother Nature stirr’d up her brood, Frogs croaked, worms wiggled and cows mooed; Palpable, so happy a mood, Swallows flit as the sky hued to nimbus; From the sweet orange and scattered yellow cumulus, Unwrapping scents of the rain on dry earth and the sun mellows, The muse lain with me on a heap of feather pillows, Hills and ridges fuddled all night as at the sea, Wide was the gulf between your lips and mine, my queen bee; Longing for the night, you’ll be unafraid of me.