Two poems.

59757266_2378088615743924_4089869589570125824_n

Searching for a herb named solace;
they say it grows in hard ground;
I am sure it used to grow here,
somewhere.
It goes with nearly everything.
Perhaps it is nowhere to be found.
Better than heart’s ease, growing
among honesty and patience.

Julian O’Dea

I wish I had a puppy mind
to chew on these foolish
thoughts like playthings
and make them squeak
in defeat, and then drag
them somewhere
and lose them.

Julian O’Dea.