A Morning in May
Thomas Piekarski
One misty mid-May morning
a row of roosters cock-a-doodled
across Fair Oaks Boulevard
holding up traffic.
Joggers in neon spandex tights
and kids on electric skateboards
commandeered bike lanes
throughout the city park.
Moms with plastic strollers
walked cheerily as babies cooed.
Liszt up there in the rafters
demolished a grand piano
pounding out bars
of his sensational Totentanz.
An attack in a cathedral
made headlines reporting
six lay dead and five wounded.
Whales swam sprightly
south to north as the season
approached inevitable surcease.
Worms grew old and expired.
Benign microbes
infused the air
pollinating minds
with rationales
for people to pursue
a path of salvation.
Sleeping Giant
It’s said nothing’s ever there,
all you see an evolution,
all you feel revelation
wrapped in a ball of flame.
Our rime untethers time
from its vault of infamy
in which stagnate traitors
treading over hot coals.
Clandestine their spirits
that amass conscripts
denying truths
long ago proven.
Most from sea to sea
would fast concur
fire burns
and infamy seethes.
*
Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry has
appeared in such publications as Poetry Quarterly, Literature Today, The Journal, Poetry
Salzburg, Modern Literature, South African Literary Journal, Home Planet News, Modern
Poetry Quarterly Review, and others. His books of poetry are Ballad of Billy the Kid, Monterey
Bay Adventures, Mercurial World, and Aurora California.