Not Under A Basket

I have tried 

Not to hide 

Such talents as I have. 

You may scrawl on my grave 

That at least I did not save 

My best for private consumption 

But had the galling gumption 

To toss it on the stage, 

By turns a fool or sage, 

In a rage or overjoyed, 

With the audience annoyed 

Or moved or just amused… 

But hopefully not too confused.

Sanctuary

I am an awful Catholic, it is true. 

I disbelieve. I do not go to church. 

Except, and this is strange, sometimes I do. 

I go into the building, on a search 

For something that I felt when just a boy, 

The sense, perhaps of solemn dedication, 

The sense of sorrow wrapped in promised joy, 

Maintained through centuries of aspiration. 

I bow my head, a gesture of submission, 

Not to what I believed in as a youth, 

Nor yet in token of some deep contrition, 

But rather in acceptance of a truth: 

That in this changing world, we give our best, 

Then hope it's good enough to pass the test.

Silent S

The s is silent in island,

Although I'm not sure why, 

Unless it's to trip up foreigners... 

Our spelling humor is dry. 

Our language is a collision, 

Cluttered with odd debris. 

Oops, another silent s... 

Just crept up on me.