Category Archives: Poem

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

Slaughtered

Oh such sadness
Oh such deep remorse
The old poet has lost the rhyme
For him there’s no recourse
In vino veritas
Has left for brighter shores
The laundry needs folding
Our simile likes whatever’s yours
Oh my my, O mercy me
Here comes that Kentwood child
Scrumptious in all her filigree
Goodness gracious, why must she sashay so wild
The taliban slaughtered some high schoolers
Six o’clock news as old as Cain and Abel
Want to understand the matter black of it all—
Best lay all your cards on the table
Oh dearie dear me
One’s mere life is no bull
9-1-1 has lost your address—
Hope your unsurance is paid in full

Run Tell Say

Tell me you want to be craved
Tell me you’ve already been saved
Tell me to linger just a while—
Come on over here sweet honey chile

Say you wanna go dance right here
Say you’ll tarry in the Artmosphere
Say things may be hot, maybe moist—
Come o’er here and kiss me foist

Run down the road to Alexandria
Run down new dreams outside California
Run down the best you ever seen—
Come o’ here lil Cajun queen

Run, tell, say why our romances all fall, fail, and crash
Only we do it again at the long crisp linger of the cymbal’s splash

Just A Spritzle

I shot my COVIDs
I got my health
Missing is Lifelong Love—
Happily-ever-after prefers it stealth

I got my full glass—
A little red from Sonoma
Future graduate is well
Three months til honor’s diploma

I got my Brussel sprouts
Thrill-drizzled with virgin olive oil—
Spiked with a spritzle of lemon pepper
And pausing my shuffle off this mortal coil

My shoulder still hurts
Another stellar vaccine reaction
News to me that I’m okay
Perhaps they ought print a retraction

I shot my COVIDs
I got my health
Sojourning in Alexandria—
In my friends I count my wealth

First Day Of Spring

Wouldn’t it be great
If I could soon pollinate
But can’t seem to find the right flower
So here is your Bee
Down on bent, creaky knee
Hoping to sway in love’s power

You certainly do impress
With your floral print dress
How it adds to your bonny dower
And I’m sorta pretty cute
Before you in my old King Bee suit
O Queen, let’s retire to yonder regal tower

Certainly would be grand
Take me hand-in-hand
We’ll whisk off to the nearest private bower
Ah, but still here by myself
No bees, dwarfs, nor elf
In isolation how I lowly cower

So on this first day of Spring
Not doing much of anything
Only to enjoy the next soft shower
It could be so great
If I would soon pollinate
But can’t seem to find the right flower