The Pope doesn't look Happy - Jan. 20, 2024

Gary Hunter
Jan 20, 2024
1 min read

his old body melting

like a wax statue

in the sun

his voice

a ship’s horn

in a fog storm

inside both rings

of brows and bags

the eyes are dying

and with each pained shuffle

someone please get him a chair

sad to see God’s emissary

as miserable as those he blesses

so I wish him peace

rest and a little pea of joy

from my peashooter to land

on his crumbling pedestal

Recent Posts

See All

Looking for Love - March 12, 2026

scratching for not just any old stone but the one that matches a perfect bouquet of flowers, the raven chooses his gift from the display in the sand and drops it at her ankles her turn to examine it

One Poem to bind them All (from Peter Quick’s," Twenty One Poems ", written before his 2025 assisted suicide) - March 11, 2026

Oh, girl on a swing, soar into your sparkling day. I notice the algae in the pool needs shocking. I’ve declined my own treatment, though I’ll attack the enemies of my peaceful garden for all the littl

To Post a Poem a Day - March 10, 2026

just because one knows all the fret changes by heart and every kind of wrist twist, has a perfectly dented cheek for the ebony chin piece and can maneuver the wood and horsehair bow like a fat man’s f

Comments