The treated wood on this deer stand
is fading grey from all the years
which matches these woods old and bland.
I check for rot as autumn nears
and last night's ground fog disappears.

Carefully I ascend the ladder
and it creaks like my brittle bones.
It holds me so it doesn't matter.
Through these deep woods the wind moans
with desultory low pitched tones.

A DREAM

I often have this strange and poignant dream
Of a lovely maiden who is sweet and dear;
A beautiful dame of yesteryear,
She kneels with reverence beside a stream.

And then in the night she comes to me,
In the moonlit mountains, tender, of the spring,
Which inspire songbirds in the trees to sing,
In a minor tone, near the fountains by the sea.

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ

Narrative Shop entry #2 "A Day In The Life Of...

a pussycat am I, my name is Bennington,
for short, they call me Benny, or Ben
Steve and Cat are my family,
we started way back when.

I was just a kitten, then...
over seventeen years ago
they sought out a breeder
wanting not a cat of "show".

just a Birman of the breed
not perfect of markings, just so,
when they found the right one
in their hearts, they would know

The full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly draining
from a shadowed sky…
… bats swooped above tree silhouettes
darker shades against the night…
A perfect time to walk in fading light;
Branches echoed with a babbled chorus
as parrots squabbled for tree-space
and one by one lights shone
from regimented rows of houses…