Hour

Is it even possible
To write a poem to last the hour
To tell secrets lost and promised
A hiding from sun’s knowing look
Who would take such time
To hold one’s attention for so long
Must I share about the curve of a breast
And her breath held so strong
And a passion that split the night
To crash down with an errant scratch
That tore through the skin and the promise
Then the glimpsed tear of another’s love lost
To find abandoned the close held breath
Or maybe how the skirt lifted
Only to fall to blanket the thief’s floor
As love left through the window crack
Not enough spirit and wine can last for a whole hour
Even to slyly entice you to listen and find
The reason why you stay
Idle curiosity or something more bland
Time to kill or someone to blame
Perhaps we’ll see
Ta-ta for now

The heat still brushes hard upon one’s brow
There’s no reason for you to leave just now
So much time to account for
So little attention to hold
One’s writing is neither easy
Nor actually very bold
It’s the writing that’s the thing
Finding words to dazzle the ear
While making the boring sing
Craft me a rhyme to shudder a young heart
To make them rue that day
They dared thought it better apart
But she was so right
Leaving me there
Stupid, yawning, high
Crying on the low stair
My gold had turned brass
And clever had long gone
Did I really catechize
Love would outrank wrong
A poem or a confession
Or a ship with no brow
Keep reading and we’ll see
Ta-ta for now

There was this tale worth the time to tell
But it will have to wait for another spell
For there was this boat that lost its prow
And the time for its telling happens now
The clouds clawed their way ashore
As winds whipped up the sea even more
Hurricane Storm was on the way
Death and Ruin would rule the day
The sun had gone the day before last
As wizened some prepared for the mid-June blast
Others left town as fast as they could
Knowing that floods overwash nailed wood
Birds and skinks and dogs and cats
Crawled away to attics between the slats
Stephane paddled his pirogue of burgundy-maroon
Beating for shore with the big blow coming soon
Zadie and TerraBelle would be drying fish
Mama stirred file gumbo her prize-won dish
A flash of lightening and the prow was blasted
Nets went all asea and the boat was unmasted
Stephane went in the drink at Cyprimont Point
A half mile sou’west of Johnny’s All-Nite Joint
Mama got the kids inside at last
Just as she heard that thunder blast
What happens next you’ll want to know
We will wait to see
Ta-ta for now

The scratch of her voice prepared the doom
Matched in appalling by her ill-kempt room
Years of coke and drink at all-night bars
And stolen passion from backseats of cars
Left her bereft of the finer things
Like peaceful memories or engagement rings
Alone, so alone, she realized too late
Luck had failed to reorganize her fate
Now the pretty faced the darker night
Happily Ever After has passed from sight
Passions and vices must be kept in check
If ever you wish to earn any measure of respect
Organdie never learned this simple rule
Letting her looks be her master tool
But Time is a destroyer of a pretty face
And soon the saucy leer seems out of place
Now she presides from the best barstool in town
Why let a little loneliness keep you down
Again she will return to her appalling room
Singly occupied like a Lakeside tomb
They’ll toast her passing like they always do
Forgetting her eye color: were they green or blue
Then a new pretty will come thru the door
And Organdie will be remembered no more
It’s never a sigh or the curve of a breast
Its always what’s inside that tells you what’s best
But this is something you surely know
I must be going
Ta-ta for now

Terra Belle and Zadie slowed their shaking
The big house had ceased its big dumb quaking
Mama came back from looking out to sea
She prayed for Stephane: but knew “what will be will be”
Slashing rains and winds eased to whispers
Leaving drops to fall from mieu-mieu’s whiskers
More to this story seemed to be in store
As a boat without a prow washed itself ashore
A nice wake was held at Johnny’s All Nite Joint
After dropping a wreath a mile off Cyprimont Point
We cast our nets on the boiling surf
And plant wee dreams in stony turf
A fisherman’s life is sure hard in Acadie
Just ask Terra Belle or, my sis, ‘Tit Zadie

That seems to me to be
All there is for now
If there’s any more
I will let you know
TTFN

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on May 30, 2012, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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