Wild Flowers

Strange, when I'm distant,
Her fingers are wild flowers.

I ran towards her to smell
Wild honeysuckle.

When I was next to her,
Her fingers smelled soapy.

She was always washing her hands.
Constantly, she washed her hands in a white basin.

When I go away, when I'm distant,
Her hands, again, are wild flowers.

Our Guard

Someone is outside on the sidewalk,
Someone, pacing back and forth.

Could this someone be a timid lover,
Afraid to knock on the door?

Could this someone be a guard
To protect us from the neighborhood arsonist?

No, it's an old woman who has lost her mind,
She does not know where she is.

Souls

Souls float around
The bronze statue in the university lobby.

One soul spoke: "In the olden days
When souls were wanted, people
Let souls into their bodies,

But people no longer want souls.
We, souls, have no where to live.
Do you think this sweet, innocent

Girl who wears a bonnet with a ribbon
Had a soul when she was alive.?"

"No," the other soul said, "Even
in her time, people refused the entrance of souls,
but the goat had a soul."

^

Biography

Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in Renaissance Literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, Poet in Residence at University of Tampa for over twenty years, he has had over 2,000 of his own poems published in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander, is author of 14 books of poems, his latest being WATCHING WISTERIA (to order write Vida Publishing, P. O. Box 12665, Lake Park, FL 33405-0665, or see www.vidapublishing.com or call Small Press Distribution-1-800-869-7553), as a cyber-poet, since Sept 1, 1999 has had 872 acceptances of his poems by online e zines, photographer, listed in PSA's WHO'S WHO as one of the top twenty nature photographers, currently has 87 of his Alley photos accepted on line