Author Archives: Kitt

Halloween Proposal

A waxing moon slides behind its darkening shroud,
The north wind turns around and blows icy,
Lily’s shrieking cat, hissing and mad, leaps free—
Halloween again? For crying out loud

Rustling costumes all bloody-black, and orange
Infect the no longer still neighborhood streets;
Such scareful dress of cotton and pilloried sheets,
Can you say any of this could be called strange?

Old dry bones, witches on brooms aflight;
Goblins, ghosties, things that bump and boom
Seizing All Souls as terror grabs up all the room;
All present and correct on this October night

Bags and bags and bags candied-full fattening sweet
Await careful parental inspection and sure disposal—
Eat it all! Quite an impossible and silly proposal,
Despite your earnest best cast spell: Trick or Treat!

Away At Home

Lord and master has left us
In farcical pursuit of Trumpian dreams
Columbus killed us all
But not all is as it seems

Stairways to nearby heavens
Can be found in false 4-star hotels
But loan me please a cajun lass
Craving anew the peel of Notre Dame’s bells

A new roof holds out the rain
For a mere 5,700 bills
Have you ever marveled true
At the Parisien multitude of hills?

Sacre Cour, Pere Lachaise,
Arc D’Defense, take a Metro ride
Lily roamed the Catacombs
The exit far over on the other side

Try to load some pictures
And MOVs will never do
Facebook is SO in trouble—
What’s a demigod to do?

Home again, home again, better mop the floor
I promise the litter gods I never will leave evermore

The Smirking Box

A smirking box landed on my door:
Ha, didn’t think you cared anymore!
Oh, old letters, stuff, rings and things, passe—
So, you’re really telling me to go away?

Another storm warning for our Gulf shore
Nicholas’s turn to Louisiana full explore;
Biblical inches so promised, we’ll get thorough wet,
But ‘tis not Armageddon, at least not yet

Another drained glass with merlot at the store;
Palmolive suds up the dishes to drain galore;
Wishbone Ash chasing golden hair blowing free;
Paris in two weeks, just to see what I can see

Smirking box makes it all the way out to the dumpster
Along with samesuch trash with our inarticulate Trumpster.
The stars out of reach for sad hearts so compressed
Ah, so it’s Noon, I ‘spose I’ll go get dressed

This Morning

Papa’s eyes rose scarlet-rimmed
This morning
Maman pulled out new burqas
This morning
Uncle fell from the sky
This morning
No school today
This morning
We prayed
This morning
In mourning
Because Papa interpreted
Because Maman worked
Because Uncle played
Because I wanted to learn
This morning

Musty Heart

I shouldn’t have opened the door
(I decided I couldn’t take it anymore)
Shouldn’t have flung open my heart
(She said she would just come once more).
Left again, leaving me all ripped apart.
Not knowing the reason: a scrabbling on the roof?
I just had to go and see this storm’s proof,
Now gelled into rent and hidden autumnal leaves
Akin to slighted tricks up magicians’ sleeves.
No time like now, like the present, some day or this hour–
The gravity of the empty not knowing drags with such majestic power.

I shouldn’t have opened this, my old man’s prison door,
But creatures such as we must go out and must explore.

Along rue de Whimsy

Is it true bubbles make things better,
Like a sunny day doesn’t hurt;
Like a lithesome newly met lady
With a surprising yielding tight skirt?

Or, regard granite-rendered shoulders
Attending a chin suitably cleft.
But, then, the storm is awash the bulkhead
And all Joy has upped and swiftly left.

Can you tell me the way back to happy?
Or, the land over near next to not bad?
We all need a Springtime vacation
From this our time melted into so sad

Paris plans wrap their Arch,
But the Old Caesar is so very dead.
And I can’t abide those self-gilded Trumpettes—
I’d very much rather someone else instead.

Magna Laude will discover une baguette,
As I count the steps to the third etage:
Gray, overcast, with a soft Parisien rain—
All cares forwarded to Le Voice Message.

Is it true bubbles make all things better,
Like a sunny day doesn’t at all hurt?
Salut, Soleil, comment ca va?
Our days grow short, time to be alert.

Into The Subjunctive

Adjectively speaking;
Your place or mine?
Eyes careening in depth—
I line your profile into the divine.

Verbing strives insistent;
Efforting to the new day:
P’haps time for some laundry.
He coughs, I think, we say.

Nouns are overwrought;
Clasp this aging hand.
Child graduates and works,
Writing promises in the sand.

Present so imperfect:
Get your damn shot!
Why bleach your mask?
Nicole gives it all she’s got.

Is the past really simple?
Comment-allez vous?
The earthling hopes for answers,
But priest, poets, and politicians never ever speak true.

Grammatically challenged
While Logic Impaired.
The World spins on axistically.
If you ask me, we’re all scared.

Protocol

Want to toss you from the window
Kick you on down the hall;
Totally because of another Covid Solstice,
Songs will blame you for everything and all.

Twasn’t quite all the lies
That drove me deeply into the mad,
It was lingered honeyed phony histories
That made us all go aware into the bad.

Acid lyricism beat upon ragged congas—
Tattoo played upon my head that storied eve:
Another sterling child father moment never ending,
Still now for your passing, and embrace, I still grieve.

Six feet under is the agreed protocol,
Yield thee to the last cool embrace of Death;
Whether or not you’re ready or not at all:
Lastly arrives the time to draw one’s last breath.

Don’t cry , don’t blink—
Missus Vera is buried today.
Of course I still love you;
I’m just alone and have lost my way

Storm Warning

So it was in an old era of insufficient chocolate
And there wasn’t a whole lotta love going on too
I remember she had packed her oh so pretty face
Which left with her name through International Departures Gate Two

But it was really really raining, coming down real hard
Tropical Storm June was plying her blowing trade about town
The lights all went out when all the lines all went down
As luck would have it the red candle sputtered, caught, and glowed
And there’s lotsa lots of fish in the sea, or so I’m told

So we gotta get us a Whitman’s Sampler
And perhaps a new forever love, for true
Blonde, brunette, or gray, even a gambler
But she’s gotta know as I’ve not the least clue

Next morn the tree killers buzzed through the hood
Cutting away the branches, clutter trees, and opened up my road
Twas a new Time for more insurance claims stories, a la mode
But I shredded all that old paper, I’m retired ya know
And the cat needs his vet shots and now I really gotta go

It’s a rough finding you’ve only two M&Ms
And which would be the wrong color, just to be sure
In this odd time of insufficient love and chocolate
Perhaps in a wrapped Arc d’Triompe we can find a cure

Side Of The Road Sunflower

There’s a side-of-the-road sunflower
Standing over there all alone
So proud so young so very tall
Started out a weed and now quite full grown
Just an old roadside sunflower
Reaching hard for the sky
How it keeps on going
I couldn’t begin to tell you why
Seems proud that highway sunflower
Against all the elements it must fend
While the cars, trucks, and buses
Fly by, but that sunflower will not bend
Despite thunder rains and snap freezies
Even a CAT 4 hurricane or two
Our side-of-the-road sunflower still stands
Proud chile of Mother Nature being so true
Oh don’t you wish you might just could
Give our children such lasting power
To withstand bad nature, reverses, and all
Like our old roadside sunflower