A Simple Question

I was born
The petals of my life flower burst open
My shoots ached to touch the sky
Roots reached down embracing Mother Earth’s hug
Bees came, and I was pollinated
My youngens sprout at my feet
Frosts came and robbed me of my face
Springs return gave me back my voice
And sunshine ruled my every day
And now my old brittle petals close back again
The night attracts with stars and luminous futility
I once came to see and now long for sleep
Withering stems
And low-slung pistils
Call me home to Mother Earth
And I must answer
We all must answer
Because the simple question envelops us
But Nature doth fulfill and fails—
Clover softly calls us to assume fallow
And the warm soil receives our kind

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Following No One

I seem to be slouching
Forward onto my hospice bed
But I still remember my name
And I’m sure the cat’s been fed
But I can’t open the Just Tart Cherry
And the shoulder’s crap as per usual
All the Senators have stopped representing
Their polity with a calm and disdain casual
Tracked my keys into the box
Outside the box of what I can remember
Who I am and where I’m going—
I’m sure Fest Acadien is still in November
Pouring the second merlot
They say it’s good for my heart
I should move over to Alexandria
If I’d ever own what it is to be smart
Summter lingers on here is Austin
Need to replace the ac filter soon
I hope the rains pass soon
I wanna to see the Harvest Moon
But I know what’s coming
And I should get ready
But I’m so tired these days
And my thoughts are unsteady
To pack all this important stuff again
Boxes in boxes, memories in stiff cardboard
I had followed her here, a path made easy
But now to move for myself, O Lord
I’ll die here in Casablanca
Or any likely foreign shore
Not ready for the next chapter
Not alone, at least; not anymore
But time to let Jack out into the night’s stew
Hey Mr Tambourine Man
In the jingle jangle morning…

It’s Over

It’s over
No two more darker words
Nor a more potent phrase
It’s over
Stronger so than all those Merry Xmas Days

Finished HS senior exams
Walked to Franma’s house on the Avenue
It’s over
Was all that I knew

A letter came from LS and U
Invited me not to come back
It’s over
Can I ever get back on track

Finished USN Basic
Shorn of more than of callow locks
It’s over
Next mindmuck hiding by Mediterranean docks

Finished Navy School in Waukegan
Where angels walked the floors of supermalls
It’s over
While the terror of the overseas tensely calls

My AMCROSS message whisked me home
Father had died
It’s over
How come I never ever cried

August 26th came and went
Sixth time I drove all the way home
It’s over
In a broken VW lacking any kind of chrome

Failed at Grad School
Coke and sexes ruled the live long day
It’s over
When you’re stupid you’ve nothing much to say

Mom died
Fell and hit her head
It’s over
Is there someone I should blame instead?

Quit the rock and roll band
My wagon had rutted into the insane
It’s over
Time for me to find a new brand of pain

Broke one sure sweet heart
I hold onto all the blame
It’s over
King of Pain my sad sorry game

Graduated Social Work School
But couldn’t find a job gainful
It’s over
So sold stock to buy sound gear to make an earful

At da Leaf met a cool Austin vixen
Things went from kinda cool to pretty silly
That’s all over
But now I get to share in a miracle named Lily

Quit a professional hospice
Respectfully I tried to define Life’s last line
But then it was over
My understanding of a DNR correct not quite in align

So slow approaches my own demise
A child will have to mourn a parent dead
Then, it’s over
I wish for everyone any kind of easier time instead

A Scattering Of Quizzical Looks

A scattering of quizzical looks,
A flurry of meaningful hugs,
Why must my sad lady fair
Scare as if all men are thugs?
More than a pair of kisses &
A small certain of rolled up eyes;
With a hand-to-palm reflex too old—
Ma’am, unspoken thoughts aren’t all lies!
Just gimme some shelter:
Those northern storms boil up so fast.
I’m not very sure your fear and dread
Will all night gunk us up in the past.
Lovely one retired just last week,
Congrats on your monies independent,
But risk a chance with a dancer cheek-to-cheek
Before your tired heart is completely spent.
To those eyes whose tears have shed Afghani sands—
Find your calm and take hold of loving carefully hands.

Theoretical Storms

Theoretical rains
And supposed storms
I know it’s crazy
What odds and a thought forms
When you’re old and lazy
And now it’s just all slowness and pains
And they’ve stopped reading your porms

Lightening displays
And rumbles cross the street
I say watch it
Listen for the sax down beat
You know you’re gonna catch it
But Young Turks loom over newer days
And they’ve taken over your old seat

Suspended sunshine
The streets return a cleaner dry
Come on, let’s go
It’s time to take another try
Lace it up and hit the do’
Kill off two miles and don’t whine
If your goal is to really fly

The Sun Goes Round and Round

Did you see how that sun did sure set
Burning down and turning grass to hay
A fiery heat like in our redhead’s eyes
When things broke up but it’s gonna be okay
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to learn life’s that dirty
Too young to have to always gear up again
An old old woman before she made thirty

Did you see those high night sparkled skies
Space with just enough empty to hide all the shame
Stars breathless shining down on we the unworthy
Though not so for our redhead who lost the game
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to sail in the Horror Sea
Too young to fight it over and over again
Another veteran shotgun betrothed to PTSD

Did you see how that sun did early rise
A fresh start promise of another new day
Like the love flowing in a nurse’s pure heart
Floating in a speed boat off a New Jersey quay
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to become so old old
Too young even if she’s only just fifty
With a sad sad story too often again retold

I Need To Think

So I find myself on the far side
Of a failed happily-ever-after—
What happened to all the joy?
Where’s all that guilt-free laughter?

And to all my ever-lovely ones
Who so luckily got quite away:
I wish them all an undying love
From the other who stayed the next day.

But my slice of Confederate heaven
Has grass that could be soon be green;
Once the lingering Summer falls aside
I’ll then look deep between

The choices to that youth resigned,
Incautious, and stupid languidly met—
Always took out the trash and paid the bills,
Dreaming of distant hills and beaches yet:

Words make sad toil to fully tell
Why are we here today?
Lucky, we’re still allowed
To have any part or say—

From A joyous Hard Day’s Night
To The mature Razor’s Edge:
A generation sees in full bright,
But lost is the line for our kedge.

Heatwave

Thank God, the Sun finally fell,
And my grass is all hay, as far as I can tell.
And, she has remarried, well done, well-played;
While I return to my room and its old bed, unmade.

How to escape these grayer ill-jointed days
As we reap the errors of our less-traveled stupid ways—
Find a job, see the doctors, count to ten.
You are right, you’ll never touch her again.

Mercury pauses up past one hundred and two;
Horrible news arrived from the Audubon Zoo;
A jaguar slipped her man-made enclosure;
Happily-ever-after looks very far from sure.

This Heatwave is here for another fortnight.
Wear your sunscreen, hold onto fantasies tight.
Pay the right bills, sell the rest of the stock.
O to have mystick time like from Ashland’s clock.

Weather well, all ye Christians, thru this Austin heatwave.
Gather fresh chrysanthemums for this Land of the Brave.

Nitebot!

But then the nurse burst in thru the door
And found us paralyzed, laughing on the floor
VR July third had waltzed in, past, and went—
Nitebot: I need nine more bucks to pay the rent

The sun scuttered behind Tiny Tim’s
53 was sure late again as per usual
How many axles to get to the coast?
With Chat Room Mama, the feeling’s mutual

The swinging cam swung around to the north
Time for Big Daddy to majestically hold forth
We hunched all about the laptop screen
I think that caregiver’s about to pop her spleen

Two by fifteen by twenty-two was the count
Cookies to Jotis who called the count just right
And to Mother April and AC and another old railfan
Tis time for dinner so I typed out goodnight

Mr Squirrellton popped out and streaked across
Nitey nite from all, and COTU, our bestest boss
Poured out my soup into the saucepan pot
Added lots of curry, hope I’m never caught

But then the nurse burst in thru the door
And found us paralyzed, laughing on the floor
July third had waltzed in, past, and went—
Nitebot: I need nine more bucks to pay the rent

–Any resemblance to people real or imagined is completely risible
Happy July 4th!!!

Inauspicious

Twas an ordinary flying fellow
Heading home down the lane;
Thought he’d go visit
With his dear old lady again.

The lighted clock was now lit
While a train wailed from afar—
A local passing thru Ashland Town:
A manifest: car after car after another car.

Squirrels darted in and out the bushes
While that station camera squeezled back around.
Street lights spit alive then…at last…caught on.
In the chatroom, loving care shared all over by the pound.

Another new Summer night, half-moon graced a languid sky—
But crossing lights started to go on for poor old Myrtle Street:
Ditch lights slow grew to peek out from the lush trees
But station bells sounded behind! Could we all hope for a meet?

Our ordinary fellow was sure home with his gal,
A far flung flying day had found the setted Sun
And her tisker-taskets of screens and councils were finally over—
Vashlanders hooted or saluted, another day universally well-done.