Jack Scott writes

Blood Bond

Brick by brick by brick 
the wall goes up 
strong as stubbornness, 
but lasting longer.

Ruddy mortar 
surrendering identity, 
compromised eternity 
set into every course, 
strength in every seam.

Masons build by generations, 
sons upon their sons, 
grow old, then older 
climbing up and coming down.

Brick has ancient in it 
much the same as stone 
that makes each master humble, 
each hand and trowel as one.
Bricks -- Caleb Colon

Jack Scott writes

Touch Me!

Touch me -
damnit  -
touch me!

please . . .

Now you can't 
because I asked. 
Before, 
you only wouldn't.
 

“You sea!… I behold… your crooked inviting fingers…, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phase” --  Margaret C. Cook

Jack Scott writes

Fata Morgana

Murmurs rise from silence 
unnoticed by the ear. 
Do I weep? or is that you . . . ? 
A laugh 
and then another . . . 
Am I the doer 
or the other?
Or are we duet, 
both, together?

Murmurs hide in silence; 
perhaps that is their home.

Fata Morgana -- Sergey Lukyanov

Jack Scott writes

She Hurts Me 

An ash in my eye, 
an orphan tear. 
She is his, 
a man I like 
whose name I do not know. 
They seem happy together. 
She hurts me, 
seems balm, 
home 
to him. 
They are a happiness 
and 
she hurts me.

Tears in Eyes -- Sheetal Jain 

Jack Scott writes

Spiral Binder

Most things go ‘round, 
pushed or pulled, 
or left alone. 
Time draws the coil 
one way, 
memory, 
the other.

Spiral binder, 
endless page

Jack Scott writes

Accommodations

Silence 
is a deadly game. 
Shadows of unspeaking visitors 
visit walls of cave  
on far side of the fire 
which flickers on,
licking their own wounds, 
thrashing light, withholding heat. 
The solitude of waiting 
magnifies this space, 
much too large for one of us, 
for two 
an ideal place. 

Diorama in National Museum of Mongolian History, Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia

Jack Scott writes

Etchings

Prickly thicket ambush, 
serpentine complexity, 
sinuous collection 
of briary vines 
seeks the light 
and steals the path 
the hasty and the foolish trod, 
each season thicker, higher, 
above abandoned thorns, 
forgotten blood. 
Winter erases ivory slate 
to clear a bloodless sky 
above the path well worn 
from relentless, stubborn use.

Path through Trees and Brambles -- Bruce Starr

Jack Scott writes

Ratios

Small flowers often hide 
in the shade of larger ones 
seeking safety more than sun.

Small fishes cavort bravely 
in the shadow of the shark 
at home beneath his notice.

Small passions avoid 
the problems of the larger 
by setting their own thermostat.

Some small persons 
reach up for any hand, 
orphaned by their helplessness.

Entourage --  Jen Richards

Jack Scott writes

A Covenant with Mice

No, my children, 
you can’t grow. 
You must stay kittens 
and eat fish, 
a kind of vegetarian crow. 
They say the taste of blood corrupts, 
and alley rats sometimes eat cats, 
a covenant with mice. 
In is final; 
out is no.

Cat Catching a Mouse -- Ohara Koson