Paul C. Maybury Jr. Poems

Words put away like wine,
ferment not in the bottle but in the mind.
Seething soundless in the dark,
unseen bubbles leave no mark.
...

I am tired of people who quote the gods
And spoil their children with their rods.
Sweet little innocents threatened with flame.
Surrounded by elders all taught the same.
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They sit in quiet rows upon folded linen sheets,
They gaze with quiet eyes upon the empty streets.
No movement stirs their breast, no strong heart beats,
The rows of quiet old ones, on padded seats.
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I remember the fate filled day,
I opened that old tome.
Serendipity is the way,
We find our true heart's home.
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There are some birds outside
I've fed for many years.
Generations have gone by
You'd think they'd lose their fears.
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The Gasteracanth for Ogden Nash
Wherein the Title is Much, Much Longer Than the Poem Itself
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From ocean's depths to mountain’s heights,
Ignoble lie stromatolites.
In a silent stony cry,
They in noteless ruins lie.
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We go today up Peter's hill,
my dog and I up pine trail walk.
We reach the top, a kind of sill
I set my old bones on a rock.
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When I read modern poetry,
I feel I’m lost in time.
Its meanings and its flow I see,
But where is beat and rhyme?
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A life without death is not ended
Its story can never be told.
Not all whom it knew and befriended
Not all it had learned growing old.
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