Author Archives: Kitt

Shouldna (c’est la vie)

Shouldna kissed her fast
Shouldna thrown that glass
Shouldna taken the road less traveled
Shouldna known to let it all pass
Shouldna went along
Shouldna stayed up all night
Shouldna trusted to chance
Shouldna let her pass from all sight
Shouldna made my point
Shouldna made it hard stick
Shouldna thought it’d all work out
Shouldna been quite so dammed thick
Shouldna trusted to luck
Shouldna gone to ground
Shouldna flown to LA
Shouldna left the lost and found
Shouldna quit my job
Shouldna ever let her go
Shouldna mustered out
Shouldna did so much blow
Shouldna listened to the gods
Shouldna listen to the Oh So Wise
Shouldna left New Orleans
Shouldna slammed shut both my eyes
Shouldna been born when I was
Shouldna believed in the mardi gras
Shouldna drown in the sorrow
Shouldna disbelieve in the power of tomorrow



Shoulda said my prayers
Shoulda married her quick
Shoulda stayed home that night
Shoulda seen it’s all a dirty trick
Shoulda taken all my meds
Shoulda wrote a thank you note
Shoulda finished that book
Shoulda missed that boat
Shoulda asked her out
Shoulda sent the roses
Shoulda done a better ‘best’
Shoulda listened to Moses
Shoulda spent the night
Shoulda declined those invitations
Shoulda went merlot, not rose
Shoulda admitted I’d had my reservations
Shoulda admitted I was wrong
Shoulda sought the one thing that’s true
Shoulda realized it’s always a rainy day
Should I ever forget to tell you ‘I love you’

Dragons Need Slaying

Do you not see the day pass by?
Over the far hills, and what is more—
The stars and Moon now ruling,
Stole the sky made black; Ruin is in store.
Faraway glances promise change slow nears;
Saint Patrick rues cold the sordid green—
No religion lives to check nether impulses
And things worse than ever before are seen.
Everyone, everywhere, all about
Strives to complete their level best;
While dead heroes’ secrets wet the floor
Stout hearts fail and eschew any challenging test.
Half lies are retold by our complete fools
And the uncaring cast yet another pointless vote.
Sad, the oppressed embrace and brightly paint their chains;
Presidents for Life on all shores have us by the throat!
Who now dares deny the Emperor’s new cloak?
When will Truth return to freely warm our mise en scene?
Our better angels want to do their honest best.
While partiers don their 100-proof gaudy St. Paddy’s green.
Do you not know tomorrow will surely come?
The Sun will light house and yard, and think on what is more—
A fresh start presents to all to make Father proud.
Rise! Rise! Rise! Dragons need slaying here and upon the far shore!

Saint Patrick’s Day 2018

Really, must, have to get out of this room
The plum trees of Ashland are all in a-bloom
There’s Kathy A. at the cam
As I get on my St. Pat’s Day tam
Heading for an Irish coffee or go boom!

Poet’s Last Word

Oh, where in the world can your poet run
When the words fall flat, and the rhymes won’t come?
Oh, what hard trials arise to squash younglet poetry,
Like a weeded up, oak-wilt, unlovely and broken tree?
No thesaurus, no dictionary, nor dog-paged Bartlett’s
Can save a poor rhymester when the scansion he forgets.
Arched over his blank page, a pen rusting in his hand,
He remembers clever phrasing that once lofted grand.
But today, too many hours passed, when imagery faded away:
No paragraphs soar to shine, no dark truths for a heart to sway.
Just letters on a keyboard accompany the page gleaming white—
Is it old age, or a brain cancer, or Alzheimer’s that’s blanked his inner sight?
Swirling leaves, the pelting rain; no, just tears to wet another empty page.
Crashing thunder, volcanic explosions; no, just writer’s blocked impotent rage.
Was all this alleged talent just Life’s joke on the unwittingly absurd?
What do you say to the one who cannot find the poet’s last word?


She came on down the tracks
A pile of happy years ago,
On the 23rd of some February
(The exact year we may never know).

Grew up so smart and so good;
Graduated college and worked on the TV:
Where she dazzled and produced like mad—
Collecting four little friends named Emmy!

Now joyful married, with three nice kids,
Who’re sometimes marvelous, oft-times pesky;
She Moderately commands virtual court on the web,
Wurking the VR camera sitting at her AMP desky.

Awarded and celebrated, appreciated and applauded,
She resides mighty in the Center of the Universe!
These poor words are to wish for her a Most Happy Birthday!
(Meh, who knows, it could have been worse…)

My Ever Lovely

I fear it is too late for true love
Waiting on now broken yet bent knee.
Is it even possible to capture happily ever after?
How do I find she, my ever lovely, from Gurnee?
Callow gazes have passed over to gray hair
As the dimples sink beneath the aged wrinkles.
A once-charming visage is but only hinted at now,
Though sometimes the eye can conjure crinkles.
And children have come and soon spouses fled—
Those great matches of youth are like history, all dead.
Is it now our time to trip lightly and fancy free?
Can we meet for just breathing on the streets of Gurnee?
But the sun sets on our seekers of real love;
Knights errant stumble now when bending to knee.
Is it even possible to capture happily ever after?
How do I find she, my ever lovely, from Gurnee?

Sunday In Ashland

Capsizing pomegranates!
Two trains wide.
You zoom out to the crossing;
I’ll stay here and hide.
It’s lovely in the chatroom—
The Moderators can be so kind.
Quick, screenshot that Schnabel!
Tell me what it is you find!
A rainy Sunday in Ashland—
Droplets grace the screen.
Rewind with the red ball
To see what you coulda seen.
But, now it’s time to go in
And deal with deeds most pesky.
Later, we’ll all watch for the AT
Or manifests carrying jet ski.

Just February Sixth

The another has gone,
With the better returned,
Life curls out and onward—
Karma has forward churned.
Music and the Buddha
Parry for the soul of man.
We’re all about just doing
And becoming the best we can.
May All be happy
To whatever joy they aspire!
No thanks Mr Stewart:
I needn’t be taken any higher.
But today’s someone’s birthday:
Quite readily I wish you Many Happy Returns!
Be mindful of the hearts with which you tumble—
Howsoever cautious, some changes leave burns.
The rain keeps pelting
With a hint of winter bite.
I hope I live ‘til tomorrow.
Y’all, have a great night!

Road Tripping

Why aren’t you here?
Why aren’t I there?
How empty is this place
And unrarefied the air!

Can we share a zip-code?
I’m losing the feel of your face.
Can we co-occupy the same room?
And your true smell I’ve not a trace.

To find you by the levee,
To hold you across a railroad,
It’s not about the chickens,
But rekindling that which has brushed cold.

Is it time for another road trip?
Can you meet me halfway?
State-line or Lake Charles–
Just say for a week you can stay!

Why aren’t you here?
Why aren’t I there?
Do you really, really miss me;
Cook me a sign that you still care!