Lacks Clarity

Cold front coming:
Get some blankets and extra socks.
Passed up on a life
With a sweet goldilocks.
So, I’m back in my own
Questionable company—
Doing some laundry
While composting soliloquy.
I’m not in the photo,
Entered Seventh Grade.
Tossed from senior rec room,
Still ain’t yet made the grade.
It’s still all an illusion,
My calculus was all wrong.
Ennui neck and neck with nostalgia
With second thoughts coming on strong.
How can you leave the concert early?
The Force has left the room.
Remember when 6th grade H.W. Allen math
Was interrupted by a Keesler sonic boom?
But here come the rains
As the winds turn to flip North.
Who wants to meet in Ashland?
Its Train Day November 4th!
Cold front coming!
Morning’s temps will bite.
But forever will I be
Rooting for that Green and White!

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Number 62 In Blue

The candle sputtered
Then guttered out
The wick a speck in the wax
The old poet looked
And suffered to stand up
The last present wrapped was Jack’s

A fresh Christmas candle
Striped Santa red and holly green
With its new flame warmed the room
Placing presents about
A tree to shame Charlie Brown
The shards of wrapping left with the broom

The cat’s tail flicked serene
The poet reached for his quill
As words soft filled a new page
A chance Winter memory
Spurred the poet on
Thoughts neither steep nor very sage

She bought him skis for a gift
Though “cross” country would mean something else
Tears of laughter with every tumble and spill
He wondered where she was now
A score of years have long passed
When meeting on Concourse B was such the piquant thrill

Chinese Five Spices
Floated upon the solemn merlot
The poet paused to let the tightness pass
Tomorrow the two-state drive
Back to his beloved Crescent City
Though this year without his own wee lass

Daughter would be skiing
Off out with her Mother and half family
Cross country over in the mountain West
He’d be with swiftly aging brother
And a Christmas with the family Creole
But things always work out for the best

A meow and a sigh
The poet let Jack out the door
A cat in search of secret nocturnal meetings
The candle blew out neat
The cold front had as promised arrived
As the rain pelted out its Season’s Greetings

Waxing and waning here came Christmas Number Sixty-two
But he yet looked ahead brightly through this Yuletide in Blue