Nicol A. Kostic

Transition

Children played in this yard,
where colorful toys
were scattered once, across its grassy lawn.
Grandparents came to visit, sharing
holiday dinners,
around a sturdy dining table...
how many meals were prepared...
in an always-warm,welcoming, kitchen
with delicious smells,
of cooking meat,
from simmering soups
& cinnamon's bake.
House-pets occupied this house,
cats rested in sun, on clean window ledges,
sometimes interrupted by
a frisky, barking dog...
at a lady
bending down
to pluck
flowers,
once little seeds,
she planted with her own hands.
Hands,
that wall-papered,
also washed their sheets, blankets, & socks,
but history now,
in a house, doomed to fall, into the sea,
where all will be lost,
but, its memory.

Nicol A. Kostic

When Art Becomes Shark-bait

When strong waves lap down,

crashing its foundation,

the frail walls will not endure.

Pots & pans & shoes will float,

taken by surge of a great, salt, sea,

with merciless greed, including the art,

displayed & destroyed, temporarily.

until it becomes flotsam,

which will not interest sharks,

because, though well-intended,

& perhaps in good taste,

The Last Post,

will NOT taste good.