Julia Margaret Cameron, Pomona, 1872





Christopher Mulrooney









the city salon




gull storm




off the course


the authorís ink

with the salad bowl




the lady Fortunata







the city salon


heap big noisemakers

juggle all the books

at the street fair

thumbing noses

in the very marketplace

where you buy cabbages

for the tumbril

on a forgotten lane

or alleyway the kids

play poker or pinochle








out on your duds Dad

itís the red elite I should think

come to suite me up something pink

oh says you in your fire engine suspenders egad








withstanding it

almighty so glorious

ever victorious

countermanding it








they say cannibals are rising

on the islands

they want more Jews and Irish


revolutionary forces of the Peopleís Republic

have been sent in






gull storm


the feathers fly back

from the weatherbitten tail

toward the slit-eyed head

in any eventuality dire as this








to borrow the paychecks

of a million customers or so

and stumble over the word

it is to laugh out loud Sunday

in the grocery aisles








the lovely lyrical laurel wreath

the holly and the ivy

mistletoe if it comes to that








why didnít you go upon the fire?

Charles Ives would say had a ready wit he did

an endless supplier

no-one ever pulled his pid






off the course


dogs at the racing love the mechanical tail

sport and training tell them to

hereís a very odd racing crew

striking a stance an attitude like quail








Tim Tucket wore the bucket on his head

wore his out if truth were told

fell right off it did and lay there gradually

smiling up at him the bucket headless Tucket sold






the authorís ink


it comes with the smoking jacket and the fez

sitting cross-legged on the Oriental carpet

thereís the nib in its handle of wood

you just reach over and down you pop it






with the salad bowl


a touch of sunlight in the hair

matched the oil on the butter lettuce

that was all and ahead of the tourney

we had played a game of fancy dress charades

so we fell to it with a will and a crust








the burden of history

take this arras here hold it

see I pull it out for you

Brescia to Lombardy or Iím not mistaken

am I indeed?








the fly on the wall

savoring its vantage point

eyes the whole situation a million ways it adds up to the

same thing

even on the ceiling








the saucer and tea

hand them to me please

slurp and a slap on your back

bah tiddly-ump thump your lack my son

slurp is just a bit of luck






the lady Fortunata


the sandstone granite palaces with the sun awning

over the terrace on a Midwestern sky

beside the river

the steamboats ply

Jeff she seems to reply

I have to figure the way things are going itís a pity

never you mind says the occupant of the ess-legged chair by the railing

thereís you concern and all as the shadow falls mercifully across the

bright diagonal








I bestride the Bosporus whip in my hand

lashing the waves to bright tips

and deep groanings

as the ships fast make for harbor home