David McLansky Poems

Oh wounded maid within my boat
On the Cam we drift and float
Overhanging trees and brush
Conceal the nightingale and thrush;
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Let tears run down your pallid face
To gouge a channel, a liquid trace;
Oh Maiden weep and purge your sorrow
Rain down tears in flooded furrows;
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Was that you at the supermarket;
Eating Pringles from your pocket,
Drinking Pepsi while on line,
Beneath the Fastfood Checkout sign?
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I love a tree’s
Rich canopy
It’s leaves and branches
Shelter me
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I don’t waste my money on lottery tickets
The thought of winning more makes me feel sick;
For I found you when I had exhausted all my luck;
I couldn’t chance for more, not for even for a buck;
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How could you put a dragon there
Just above your pubic hair;
That inked perfection so neatly drawn
Does not improve your pubic bone;
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You old baboon with pox red sores,
You mount me like your tavern whores,
Am I to swoon and faint with pleasure
That you've returned to ease your leisure;
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To me my beauty you never shall be old,
Though Time shall scourge your fragile shield of flesh;
I balm those wounds as Time's cruel lash does scold,
And heal his welts, your loveliness refreshed;
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Everywhere I stand, I stand in water
It's wide expanse defines the border;
My country sinking into the sea,
The waters lapping at my knee;
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The Cloak

Give to me
Your web of sorrow
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