Only Twelve

I just cannot comprehend—
Lost between the difference and the subtrahend:
I stand blocked by the Police Tape,
My 12-year old angel is in cuffs
And I must be to blame.
A middling school in LA:
She shot one in the head and grazed the others,
But we were going to Krispy Kreme.
Now I can’t afford a lawyer,
Maybe the family can help,
No dreamers here
And my own dreams for her are all gone.
She is just only a girl, she’s 12?!
She took the gun to school—
Where can I go to rip out her pain?
What did I miss between Snapchat
And her friends on her iphone?
It’s all my fault still and again and again;
Thoughts of suicide,
Thoughts of murder.
Walls of Police Tape:
Who would want to cross
And dwell inside the real true horror?
Was I not listening?
What was it I could not see?
I love my kid,
She’s only 12….

As of 8:30PM CST:
Breaking News – Story Developing
Los Angeles police say middle school shooting that critically wounded boy was accidental
Feb 01, 2018
Geez, I sure hope so! That it was deliberate is too awful to contemplate!


Tu Et Moi

Hey! What’s cooking?
Girl, put on some pants!
I’m so so grateful
How you make can out of my can’ts.
Making birthday plans—
Who’s going out of town?
Can you tell me what’s coming up
Or how we’ll never live it down?
Tu et moi:
We still work this well-traveled path.
La dee dah—
Do you really want to do the math?
A glass or two
Usually really does the trick,
But you’re not that way
And I think I’m not that thick.
Wherever we’re going,
It’s the best being it’s homemade!
Let’s meet on the avenue;
We’ll try to find some shade.
Tu et moi:
We still walk this old graveled road.
La dee dah—
I could be your poeter a la mode.
Chocolateness coconut
Or a lemony doberge:
Sweet enough for everyone—
No taste ever to disparage.
Amused you’re a Muse?
There’s more on the way.
Let’s work this connection,
Girl, whattayasay?
Tu et moi:
With sunshine or a little rain
Thank you for answering—
It’s lovely to hear you again.

Throw Me Something Mister

Did ya see it—
That smile on that little kid’s face?
I’m pretty really actually sure
The kid doesn’t want to be in any other place.
Did you see that smile—
On the masked fellow on the float # 3?
Those two open hands slicing thru the air
On this Mardi Gras in 1973.
Oh, how the sun came out,
Full and bright and warm;
The rays coursing, bouncing
Off all the doubloons arcing so above in a swarm.
Hear it? Tinkly, tinkle, sprinkles—
Doubloons all over the place!
Watch your fingers! Grab ‘em all up!
All gone! Not even one trace!
Didja see that—
That smile on the baby’s face?
The kid just gave her a doubloon!
Oh yes, this is such the happiest place!

Block This Caller

How do I tell you I hurt
That being your nothing pays only pain
That even now I pine away the hours
Until I get to see you again
Can we please sit and talk
Maybe catch up on this and that
Maybe remember how we used to be
Before all our feels went all flat
Why do I hope this’ll all change
I know there’s no room next to your sorrow
Maybe the time has come around
To accept there is no together tomorrow
How do I tell you I hurt
That being your nothing pays only pain
But it’s time to edit Settings on this old iPhone
Because it doesn’t only rain in Spain

Wait On Tomorrow

In the flat awful of your newly broken heart,
Find that space for a (yes) scant new start.
It’s a hard surprise, a twist in the plot;
It’s your chance to show ’em what you got–
A vision true to see over the far yonder hill:
That happiness can still find you, I know it will!
So repair to a bed that druther entertain two
That is again graced with the joy of just you.
Wait on tomorrow.
See the new day.
Start a new poem!
Whattaya say?

Alone With The Jagged Cold

I don’t quite think it was the jagged insult of the cold while stepping out from the shower;
It couldn’t have been the yawning cold empty space beside me on a still unmade bed;
Perhaps it was that the single cup of instant coffee was just okay enough with real soymilk;
Certainly not the unresponded to question of what possibly could I have said to you instead.
More than I surely love you.
More than we can go so far.
More than dreams seek the possible.
More than let’s get out of this damn bar.
I don’t know but the cat claw calls for more food for his old porcelain bowl;
I don’t understand but the heater needs a filter shift out with the coming cold;
I can’t see the change that the sunsets promise for those unparoled tomorrows;
But I could have added that the place beside my heart is all yours, truth be told.
Unless the future scares you.
Unless you can’t chance chance.
Unless my words wither at your feet.
Unless all those maybes can only translate into can’ts.
And, down the tracks and beyond the call to prayer and the next bead-toss parade
I go on with my so lonely but hopeful heart, though I’m not quite sure I got it made.

A Different Truth

False leads, false steps,
False love
Leading to devastating effects

Round about now
I haven’t a clue
Round about know
I really miss you
Round about now
The sky is growing dim
Round about now
I’d bet you’re dancing with him

Happy times, happy days
Happy pills
Rewriting how this all plays

Round about now
Things begin to rhyme
Round about now
I’ve forgotten the time
Round about now
I’d take a second glass
Round about now
Sanity takes a pass

Rock stars, rock songs
Rocky relations
Yielding a space that prolongs

Round about now
The page is full
Round about now
It’s all a buncha bull
Round about now
The whole world is getting high
Round about now
Time to type goodbye

False leads, false steps,
False love
Sowing old devastating effects

White-Hot Reason

It is a total and dark shadow so deep and far,
Cast from the white-hot glow of this misplaced passion;
Wrought from a longing poorly nailed about you,
I am now blind to understanding in any proper fashion.

Ignored or lost, the borderline fades between
What is easy and what is the right.
We seek sure the embrace of the nether hues—
A warming in the shadows, distrust for the light.

The years pass so fast, and achingly slow,
While Master Future mocks in beckoning.
My path I still cannot hope to discern—
The answer in the mists yet demands a reckoning.

Temperatures inch to drop to below freezing;
Four days to make do into a New Year, and then?
Dark and Light curry favors, and demand fair pay:
Where and how this ends passes beyond my ken.

With a new red wine’s old laughing sneer,
I snuff out the candle that flickers a false content.
With words to betoken a trail to a better dawn—
New Year’s hopes are grasped then onward sent.

Aloning on New Year’s

Tried to share her in a poem,
But the heart would not scan.
Trying to forget all about her—
I fail, trying as hard as I can.
Winds turned to colding;
The heater runs all day;
I can see each wispy breath—
Singled out in about every way.
Staple-gun together some words,
But joy and doubt won’t rhyme.
Aloning it again on New Year’s—
It’s Love for sometwo else’s this time.
But, it’s all good for this po little coda.
And, yes please, a lil more rum for my soda.

With A Big Green Bow

Twas the barest wee knock on the old lady’s front door.
Agatha Agnes made her way, slow, from the divan to answer.
Things this past year for her had left her tired and sore:
Bisquick Cat had been ill, while her Bob finally passed from cancer.

Peering from her peephole Agatha Agnes could just see
The head of her little girl neighbor with her new winter bonnet;
And couldn’t help but wonder what new evil this could be.
Patiently, the little neighbor held a box with a big green bow on it.

Agatha Agnes pulled slowly open her door of oaken ebony
And said to the little girl struggling with the mighty box:
“Leslie Katherine, what on earth have you brought to me!”
The little girl then blushed hot crimson from bonnet to her socks.

“Murry Chwistmus,” tried Leslie Katherine, offering up the bundle.
“Why, thank you,” answered Agatha Agnes, taking the box in hand.
Finally freed, Leslie Katherine bolted the porch skipping off in a trundle.
Agatha Agnes slowly went back inside to see about this present too grand.

Back in the divan, our old lady went to pull off the grand green bow,
Then pulled apart the plain white paper on the box, and opened the flaps:
Lifted out from the packing peanuts a large silver frame made a show—
An old black and white portrait of Agatha Agnes next to her Bob in his riding chaps!

Later Agatha Agnes would learn the story how this last Christmas present came to be:
Bob realized his cancer would soon win and wanted to surprise his bonny bride.
So, retrieving the silver frame with his old college degree inside from U of Mississippi—
He took her favorite picture of them happy and young, in love, and slid that inside.

Bob had met with the neighbors and asked Leslie Katherine for a special boon:
To present the box to Mrs. Jefferson, at her convenience, on Christmas Day.
The Cabbotts readily agreed, even though it was an early hot, summer June.
But they remembered; and after lunch, Leslie Katherine had made her careful way.

Real Love is timeless, despite those events that cause breath-catching with maybe a spilt tear.
Cherish all your loved ones, be passed or present: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!