Euphoria (a poem)

The river meanders

dividing line of Philly & Jersey

fog drifts off blue-black water

on the way to the concert

you can hear music reverberate

feel chilly breeze on your skin

men & women pulsing with

sexual energy

some of them tipsy

touch my hand

tell me you understand

let me know I’m alive –

the warmth of your body

the coldness of steel handlebars

ready for a night of euphoria

(Photo by Matt Power on Unsplash)

The High Priest of Saturn (a poem)

The Hight Priest of Saturn tends to his parish –

you didn’t expect to find him here

hidden in this Rust Belt town

a town eager for rebirth

a town that’s lost its youth

who’ve fled the flaking steel mills that die

on the banks of the purple river –

The High Priest of Saturn expects a successor

someone to continue the cleansing

the vicarious pleasure of standing

before Saturn, our merciful Maker.

(Photo from sciencenewsforstudents.org)

Note: This poem was inspired by High Priest of Saturn, a musical group self-described as in the psychedelic doom genre. I’ve been listening to more groups like them lately, so I guess the cool band name was caught in my head!