March-May 2014

The December 2013 posting presented three of the six poems from the open ended series, “Scruples”. The poems in this March posting are a continuation.

For readers who would like to hear them,  I have recorded sound files of 4 and 5. Clicking on the triangle initiates listening playback. 

Scruples 4 [Download]
Scruples 5 [Download]

At first, the youth
could barely twitter his flute…
He´d need years of practice
to grow up,
          into a musician.

One of the streams in the forest
edged a glade.
Kindred spirits gathered there.
While he soloed, they chirped, croaked,
even hissed.

His pluck and striving
                     pleased the gods.
They´d never overheard a mortal so hip 
                     at such a tender age.
Only Dionysus didn’t listen. No
              boy could play
country like his kid, Pan.



The rules of this boardinghouse’re
etched in stone.
We can’t miss the tablets—
they stand on
eye level shelves in the parlor—
one for does,
the other donts.

Our landlord lets rooms to strangers.
He’s in the business
of saving souls.


In Medieval times wives wore
chastity belts when their spouses
weren’t around. All were leather bound
and lockable…some lined with silk,
others  bejeweled.

The keys were custom made
from precious metals.
If her husband was a noble,
he’d have chosen gold; gilded
with their family crest.

Women were deemed the weaker sex;
fair prey for troubadours wandering
from castle to castle, waxing poetically
about forbidden fruit.
They were also musicians who could
make a lute sound sweeter
than plums, as bitter as quince.


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