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

Advertisement

A Northshore Christmas 2020

So thinking of a present for Christmas,
Maybe a lil something in rhyme,
But not sure it’s right,
That this might not be the time.
But the good is worth remembering
And the great was sweet given by your leave.
So, here’s a little something,
But in magic you still must believe.

Puppydog had come before the rains
A sweet bit of plain good heaven
A-jumping and a-tusslin’ all day
From dawn’s seven until dark’s seven.
One day Puppydog was gone!
The door had somehow been left open!
Crushed, she looked all over and all under
But P’dog was gone, tweren’t no reason for hopin’.
The days sore passed one over the other
But there’s your 2020, don’t you know?
Hearts curl upon themselves these days;
For the happy, sometimes there’s nowhere to go.

So, a cold blustery empty kind of a day
Brought the Northshore Christmas Eve—

Trying to nap in the bunk beds,
She thought she’d heard some skritchin’?
She lumbered to her dead-tired feet
To open the door off the fine kitchen—

Puppydog! Yelping warm holiday greetings!
Oh, such reunited hearts awash in love’s tears.
So, I wish you a very Merry Christmas
And a bundle of the happiest of New Years!

A Waupaca Snowday

Yes, she’s a pretty redhead.
No I don’t know her name.
Ask her out? Nah,
It always ends the same—
I don’t get her,
She doesn’t cotton to me.
It’s been like that
From the dawn of eternity.
Bring her home for Thanksgiving?
I believe that’s a bit too soon.
With all that six-foot social distancing
Might as well be on the dark side of the Moon.
I heard from Waupaca,
It’s gonna snow all day,
But the trains keep a-runnin’
On that Canadien North railway.
There’s Loo and her mighty kid,
Out chasing the Loco Progressive!
I tell ya these holidays alone
Are getting a mite depressive.
I think I’ll trip over to the Twilight Zone
And look into Mr. Nelson’s Game.
Ask her out? Nah,
It always ends the same.

Glass To Glass

A life grown smaller
Measured from glass to glass
Sunny days dimmer now
What horrors new shall pass?
Granpa passed today
The next soft soul rising to a sure heaven
Awaiting the next kickoff
Are we kneeling for our unseen clerk in 7-Eleven?
A chippy bite of merlot
Chartreuse green simmers in our glass
September signals the Fall
What horrors new will pass?
Matriculated on yonder Austin hill
Pray for the new generation
While preen we old and spent—
A history mitered in misty veneration
Are you masqueing this year?
Can’t we just get a pass?
Tiring of this asterisked year—
What new horrors are to pass?