Festivals and Fires by Michele Habel-Coffey


I yawned and tasted the remnants
Marmalade on my tongue.
A memory partly digested
Orange bitters
On a morning toast
Absently, I’d been reading the paper
Festivals and fires
Circling the globe
Now abandoned to my craving
I rose
Reclaiming the sticky knife
Scraping the edges
Of the empty jar
I licked it clean
And returned it to the jar
Where it clinked out a sour note
Perhaps today I will visit
Mr. Jones next door
He’s got apple butter in the pantry
Perennials and weeds in the garden
But no Mrs. Jones
And no secret recipes
Maybe he’ll share a sweeter toast
And indulge me in musings
of festivals and fires

Deadbeat: by Michele Habel-Coffey

Can’t find the pulse
The heart
The beat
Like beating a dead horse
Dead to me
If that don’t beat all
Dickens humble little bastard
Master Copperfield and I
Don’t like your ilk
Your snaky silk
Milking bilking
Lecherous filth
Judgement comes around in time
And there’s some reason in this rhyme
No weekly checks
Just reality
Injustice – that’s still running free
Across the boarders
Crossing me
Uriah Heep
Took one last leap
Dystonic jerk
Silent creeping
Out! the door
Once more
Your colony is certainly penal
Your sins are surely more than venial
Do hope you find a Hell congenial
No atonement
Not redeemable
Feel me?