‘Peter & Paul’ The scientist obsesses in his lab The poet adores the great spaces & if he does not Then he’s a lab rat A man of the cage & it’s suppressions of rage That from a blank room He may patent universals The poet is particular That flowering twig, that passing bird He must know its seasonal songs & his cadence must never be wrong & in his odes He must sing along © Malachi Doyle 2021. ‘Troubadours & their pearl inlaid guitars’ We’ve become more emotional about ourselves & less so about others Love poets & their muses no more Fetishists & their porn & preparing for war Bring back the love song, bring back & those singers who warm & heal And open chords plucked on strings That vibrate in concert with our heart strings © Malachi Doyle 2021.