Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Chris Wallace-Crabbe

             Regretfully lacking a god
    and his much pored-over
    thick volumes of moral guidance
    I have to fly along
    by the seat of my pants

    which cannot involve any
    sitting on the metaphorical fence.
    In the circs I would seem
    to have adjusted my soul:
    a severe hedonist, then,

    is the hard brand I wear
    on the moral T shirt:
    smiling like any gentleman
    but under a lambswool sweater
    forgiving no-one at all.

Copyright © 2007 by Chris Wallace-Crabbe