dealing with demons

the demon
rattles the gates
with impunity
throws curses
and wicked taunts

I bristle
look down
for garden rocks
to fire back
dreaming of lacing one
right off his mocking face

    pause...

my Algonquin elder friend
said: "that is an energy, a dark energy,
that you don't want to mess with."

my Muslim friends say: "ignore that jinn
don't whisper its name".

my Pastor says: "pray"

I drop rocks
pick up my rake
work back
up the path

songs

those songs
the ones that make you raise your hands
wishing you had a sunroof
  glory

those songs
that make you crank the dial
van doors bouncing
with booming bass

those songs
you play over and over again
singing, crying, loving every chord

stocking the pond

clear plastic bag
swirling full
of 41 cent fish
flow
into the garden pond

novice monks run
looking deep
for the gold glints
and silver fin flicks

the tired monk
watches the smiles