Small-size lives

Regalia is tapestered fine things
Left beside ancient kings found

With tongues sticking and eyes
Popped thousands of years ago.

This is all poetry that is allowed
In street balladeer’s profession

Apposite towns where nothing
Happens to make big-size lives.


Clowning glory

Madam poet had recognized him
As a clown he was, gilled like fish.

We have been clowning ever since.
Old age is now our clowning glory.

(Reference is to Sylvia Plath’s poem “You are” about her unborn baby)