Big Umberto thumped up Crucked Path
between the ukbo grass and sunswath.
He cut a tall but rotund figure
but he’d never cared to configure
clothes for umbrage or ultimatum
though his Mum insisted him handsome.

He nearly bumbled into a man
thin and red-haired in front just a span.
From clenched teeth the man said ‘Ufloognu
ahead. Movement unadvised.’ Too true
was he. Big mumbled back. ‘I’m unarmed.’
So they stood unmoving but unharmed.

Recalling that uptight, unashamed
Ufloognus don’t like being upstaged
Umbie sidestepped the unknown guy and
bowed, waved unabashedly his hand
‘O great Ufloognu I am honoured
to be here. Your beauty’s unsurpassed.’

The beast’s arms rose and ululated
ultra-high, spines ejaculated.
‘Now, friend, while it’s unweaponed we run.’
And they did, around the untoothed one.
Saved they became best buds forever
and that’s an unending to savour.


Thomas and his double double
with Thor the terrier
take the air
and admire nature
from the path
tossing his disposable cup into the weeds.
Later a cigarette
carefully extinguished against a cedar trunk
is butt ended onto the path.
When Thor does his business
Thomas scoops the poop
and bags it
leaving it with the others
in his special spot under an evergreen
branch and out of sight.

Tiny things
singular things
out of mind things.

All innocent
all convenient
all accumulating
for Trina the hiker
who fills up bags with trash
she didn’t cause.


Sky walking nineteen
while stars war above
lonely boy unseen
fly away he’d love.

Kin be, kin no be,
walker went ahead
with the falcon flee
away from the dead

but not banned solo
droids encompany
rebel Sith inflow
sis away to see.

To strike as Jedi
force trained he must be
and must the boy die?
Come away knightly?


Cold özel rakı
served with spiced lamb souvlaki
is just so Turkey

Of course some would say that doesn’t rock (if you haven’t had enough Raki) so I’ve rolled up another ‘R’. This great ode to Canadian maritime folklore can be sung to the tune “Farewell to Nova Scotia”. Maybe some would prefer that. You are welcome to add your own verses below though–um–I guess the story really ends there doesn’t it? Sorry.

Randall of Nova Scotia, Lord of the Onion Rings
may your belly fully extended be
when you are in our view it is hard to see a thing
unless you’re cowed by the great Mr. Jim Lahey

James Lahey, a good officer of the law
strove to keep Dartmouth from wrongs and crime
but a trio’s silly prank one Halloween past saw
this paragon descend to Sunnyvale for all time

Richard and Julian were in the stir,
Bubbles in his tool shed was forlorn
but when Lucy rapped twice the cats did purr
and he opened up the door with a cat newborn.

Lucy tells Bubbles that his long lost twin
is waiting for him at her trailer/salon.
But when Bubbles meets his double Bobby-Finn
Sunnyvale collapses into a black hole. All gone


Orc Two
      sits up the leafy Rhûn bamboo
      apart from the bloody fighting.
But how
      did this happen to be, you ask now.
Born from
      an unimaginative Vat Mom
She was
      lighter skinned because
      genes had reverted to the elvish.
Two could
      soak up sun like she had heartwood,
a side
      her Vat siblings couldn’t abide.
And it
      didn’t end there, Two just wouldn’t fit.
She bent
      all rules, spurned not by tree or Ent.
      did she, her lack of orc duty. Her great, dirty secret.
They beat
      her, they shoved and prodded, rarely gave her to eat
      far ahead scouting, her superiors hoped she was attritioned.
That found
      Two away from both armies. She opted to be tree bound
so tall
      so high away in her state of AWOL
but war
      came to her no matter how she wished to close that door.
That night
      through the fight she stayed still and tight
up that
      tree though the shrieks of combat
      as the sun finally blossomed
and the
      dread orc horde encaving quickly.
      dwarves and elves rested then.
Hours Two
      waited until all was quiet, her cue.
      lightly through forest shady edging
though tough
      threading woods she wasn’t quiet enough
      the sharp-eyed scout saw her movin’
      he held back on his nocked arrow.
      from sun and open she’d truly stay
yet stuck,
      unOrcish, to the tree trunks and mossy muck.
“Come slow
      from the bush or you’ll have no life to show.”
Two froze.
      She looked and nothing would expose
but leaf
      and tree. Greens. Browns. Shaking in grief.
      she slipped out, all her senses assaulting
      the light, waiting for death so rigor, so blue.
      stepped out with his bow tightening.
“Who are
      you? Or should I ask what you are?’
“Orc Two”
      she mumbled low. Fearfully too.
“Say it
      again, semi-Orc, I could only hear a bit.”
“Orc Two!”
      “But you touch tree, leaf. Fear not sun nor sky blue.”
Two shrugs,
      “I’m not a good Orc.” On her hair, bitter, she tugs.
“Bad Orc?”
      Badin grins and eases his bow arm’s torque.
“My foe’s
      foe is not my enemy.” And, with a laugh, he goes.
      Orc Two, of a sudden, with a life more freeing.