Le Grenoullie

taking a seat

among unspoken elite

interloping by accident

among the fine silver,

a sliver of the ancients

alive in the modern world

we try to look the part

but are the worker-bee poets

among the gilded, idle minds

wealth indeed

like a bill fold

rotting

inside wet clothes

we chatter about France,

our travels

and scattered,

melting-pot lives;

shake hands to do our business

and vow

to dine there again

The Workday Stray Way

Some way

that always loves a walk;

that spark of will

that lets us step away,

and nobly salvage

a scrap of our day

Gathering purpose

with every stride,

our covert rebellion

a source of pride.

Living for the journey;

For these moments are fleeting.

The fire stays alive

when the soul takes a beating.