Hush Filming!

The colding front chased the Silver Starvation
Across the Potomac all the way to Ashland Station
Poor Slow Dave had his tripod out posted well
He caught the loco’s lumbering with its clanking bell

Sunset was long passed with a cutting chill in the air
Poor Slow Dave smiled because he just didn’t care
He got another fine shot destined to be railfanner’s gold
See, he had talent and skill, if the plain truth be told

Pushing the Stop button to preserve this last night scene
He prided himself in clear views with framing tight and clean
Poor Slow Dave hoisted up his padded tripod everyone knew
So smartly efficient, this young fellow needed no crew

Packed up snug for the short drive south to home
No telling at all where tomorrow he might roam
Field or crossing or deserted CSX construction zone
Poor Slow Dave will get the shot, but please don’t phone!
Hush…filming!

Ashland Train Day 2019

Their wine glasses met
Their lips were sure to follow
She of undetermined glances
He an escapee from yonder hollow

A chance meeting in the Artmosphere
A renowned Cajun dance band
He asked for a dance
Later she took his hand

Up the forty-nine
A full moon recumbent
Light paused and cloud scattered
Allowances taken and full spent

A rainy morning greeting
Toast and coffee? Sure…
A drive around Alexandria
Another three hour tour

Returned to Lafayette
Keen promises to meet again
A thought: do you like trains?
Have you ever heard of Ashland?

Allowed

Have you ever been
To a place for just us
Where it was okay to do
That
When she wanted you to reach

Down

There

When you let her unbutton
And she would
Reach

Down

There

She let you slip it off
Have you been to
A place of…it was Pure
Where sharing was breath-taking
A look and a slow deep smile
You were free
Touching
Wetting
Opening
Growing
Breathing, catching your breath
Losing your breath
Holding on
Letting go
But not wrong, never wrong
Just
Yes
Please
Go ahead
Have you ever been

Allowed

Thoughtless

Thought up some good lines
You’ll not find them here
The need is too great
And my cost far too dear
Thought up some fine lines
They’ll never equal your curves
But you didn’t come visit
By myself as one like me deserves
Thought up some great words
Maybe scrabble them tonight
Where is true reason and sound love
OH so far away and clear out of sight
Thought up some keen phrases
A poet wise could keen use
Ha! Won’t be me—
Can’t compose with these dues
Thought up some last lines
A retort for a field of regret
In this land of brambles and peace—
You ain’t seen nothin’ yet

My Bad

Scarcely believe my eyes
She walks thru the iron gate ajar
Hoping against hope
That things have gotten this far
Can’t believe it’s gotten to this
Chasing yonder wisps of love
That never seem to arrive
Because my push pivots on your shove
But believe, she’s standing right there
The setting Sun gilding her eyes
A rising Moon plaiting her hair
Is the chardonnay correct
Will my earnest suffice
What brings the morrow
To equal this moment half too nice
Dishes done, I’ve gone half-mad
Surprise visit, and she likes my bad

The Grey

She, the woman, isn’t insignificantly pretty
With her heart made from aluminum foil
Easily malleable to mold to any occasion
Eager to tweet, post, bake, and/or broil
Do you have a clue what you’re doing
As you try to stay around in the game
With dubious knees and thinning hair
Knowing all that’s new is still the same
Can you manage the latest yoga pose
With your nasty case of a SLAP tear
I’d still chase a skirt, perhaps even flirt
Though nothing much happens down there
I should have married that pretty Craddock
I should have done lots of other better things
Now, waylaid on the exalted road less traveled
I now know what bitter loneliness brings

Allons a Lafayette

Sweating professional faces
With medically induced cleavage
Gumming up the screen
With lard bottoms and tattoos
Glare at me with all their what’s what—
It’s not just songwriters and poets with the blues

Papa’s grown out his beard
They tell me it’s crisis de middle age
Greying up the texted screen—
Old man with a teener heart
Without a good hoodie excuse
Let’s just go all dancing
And shake your tit fille caboose

Best bring your Yves St Laurent hankie
Cajun dust will be floating on high
Everyone praying for some cleaner air
Broke-foot dancing or a zydeco reel, you choose
Try keeping up with the button accordion, cher—
It ain’t just gamblers who sometimes lose

Pas de Deux

Thought I’d write some blasted words
Of young love turned old and grey
And so I put on tangled up in blue
Hoping the muse would come past this away

But not much passes this way anymore
And all my exes eschew my zip code
Sometimes I’ll google a lady of the night
Hoping for just a little love a la mode

But after the passion storm abates
I’m still in Alexandria alone as ever
Maybe I can render this partitioned farce
Into another couplet fierce and clever

Or at least xomething polysyllabic
Or polyphonic to hold onto an AM radio past
So loaded up the merlot into the waiting glass—
Robert Zimmerman is such a blast

And DeGeneres can teach us to love one another
Without guile or an agenda smurfed and pc’d
But then she’s from New Wawlins, fer true—
Let’s squeeze a metaphor and make her bleed

So gel your foreign tense and parle
Come to Lafayette and pas de deux
Just passion danse on a dirt pad acadien—
You know you wanna two-step; yeah you do!

Her Surreal Highness

Her Surreal Highness,
The Fairie Queen Helen Of Tippie,
The High Duchess of Laney,
Order of the Dreaded Honey Bee Sting [Knight & Plank Owner],
Nurse Most Excellent of the Shire of Greater Bastropia [Ribbons with Flourishes & Bows],
Hottest Reddest Heart Insignia, First Class, Distr. (Education) of Lockhartton,
And dozens more exquisite honours and accomplishments regal,
Was in mourning.…

Sally Gossamer Wingstep, hesitant, took one step,
Then walked slowly onward from her nest;
No fluttering nor soaring above the Fairielands—
Grounded, given the great sadness, she thought best.

In the distance…The Queen’s Tree…
Her great branches weighed down in sorrow.
Betrayed The Fairielands further grief:
There was to be no Queen’s High Tea tomorrow…

Sally felt so awful to feel so awfully angry;
The Queen’s loss was far worse than a missed party.
Even though Jonathan Spider had woven her the finest dress
Which shimmered bright while flowing about her curves smartly.

But the yawning emptiness in the Good Queen’s Castle,
Even the young fairie felt as she struggled with how she was feeling.
She could not grasp the meaning nor see a path ahead;
The sheer suddenness had left all their minds sore and reeling!

Absentmindedly, Sally rounded into Copse Square,
And came face to face her Most Regal Presence!
Wide-eyed, stutter stammering an apology quick,
Sally keenly hoped she was making some sort of sense.

“Oh, my dear Sally, it is you!” Queen Helen said.
“Are we not cavorting across the sky?
Such joy you lend us with your loops and curlicues…
But you are walking, please tell us why.”

Said Sally: “Oh, Your Highness, I thought it improper to fly
When in these dark days we mourn with thee.
We too share in your deep loss, and weep.
We agree on foregoing this year’s High Tea.”

“Nonsense and nettles!” roared the Queen.
“As our spiders weave and the highland bees make honey,
I will care to have our fairies unfurl their wings, to fly,
And so to rule the skies, whether they be dark or sunny!

“So, such and such a time that has as now passed…
Methinks, it is time to move on, I most solemnly decree.
Yes, he has gone, but we shall recall his Royal Goodness—
Sally, care we must and shall host a Great Celebration Tea!”

As swiftly as their wee silken wings could beat the wind,
The fairies carried The Announcement all over and beyond the Fairielands:
All who had furled their wings were to don their most Fun and Glorious Finery,
And TO FLY into the Castle Ballroom with all the Joy such a Fete demands!

At the appointed hour, our fairies looped, soared, fluttered, and flew,
Doing the most ambitious winged acrobatics into the Castle Ballroom;
Even Queen Helen, in her richest Duchess of Laney silver livery,
Flew around such that even the keenest witch could not match on her broom!

Sally Gossamer Wingstep, seized the room—such curlicues and soaring loops!
She was wearing a new shimmery gown, so tight and true to her young frame, without guile.
Her Surreal Highness, The Fairie Queen Helen Of Tippie, The High Duchess of Laney,
Joined in the fairies’ rapturous applause, and did give Sally a nod, and a knowing smile!

Wondrous fruits and cakes and teas were served to the celebrants in abundance.
Her Majesty even allowed the Royal Tea Keeper to let loose the rare jasmine.
From now, and for the time ahead, she would remember the lifting joy
From her subjects as on this night all joined in the grand celebration of him.

So, the Great Celebration Tea ended as a wondrous success—
The Good Fairie Queen went to her rooms while floral aromas caressed the air,
Because surely you know that what is best with good jasmine tea
Is a hearty, loving serving of Tender Laney Care!

In the Dark, in the Cold, in the Quiet and All

A simple shameless shuffle
From blonde to brunette
Until he woke up again quite alone
Realizing only now it was so too late

That you really must make a considered choice—
Decide finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or you will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

The music was a rapture,
Fiddle and accordion entwined,
Her unfurled skirts blossomed across the floor,
All were happy, two-stepped, wined and dined.

Next morning bags were quick conveyed,
Gone Concourse C to return to her places up North;
You slow walked to the parking garage
Not realizing the so on and the so forth:

That you really must make a considered choice—
Decide on finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or you will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

A road trip here and a visit there
How you acted as if you were above it all
Everyone was coupled, partying, and fun
Now he wonders why is it no one ever calls.

The best ones really are all taken.
All the smart happy ones have debarked the bus.
You thought love will always be out there;
So, why should you have to make a fuss:

That one really must make a considered choice—
Decide on finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or you will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

Now the eyes fail, hair thins out,
And the joints no longer so strong.
Am I really the grasshopper in the end
Who must admit he was so so wrong?

That all really must make a considered choice—
Decide on finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or we will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all