Poem Word

Words wrung out from the years
Words ripped out from between old ears
Words once made sense so long ago
Mind those words that come with tears

Smiles caressing across the years
Smiles addressing lingering fears
Smiles that no longer make sense
Mind those smiles bracketed in tears

Wine glasses clinking in rhyme
Wine glasses filled in rhythm
Reds and whites up to the brim
The old sot, you can hardly see ‘em

What’s the word? That from you?
That smile? Is it really love full true?
Fill my glass…you choose the vintage
Drain my glass, but don’t leave me blue

Yes, you’re full in my head
And you may certainly lead me to your bed
Smiles with wine promise the very level best—
But you’ll just leave me with tears instead

Keep your eyes open and your heart engarde
Why, oh why must love be so blessed hard

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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

Proceeding

It was two glasses in
And the curling memory of brunette hair,
But she has erewhile gone
And Sonoma Merlot just doesn’t care.
The rhymes won’t come—
Here I am inside this couplet mess.
I guess it takes more than mere Love
To complete this synapsing poetic process.
Meld two roughs into one,
Balance the scan and mind the rhyme,
Maybe I’ll get some ‘Likes’;
I manage to do so from time to time.
Fear floods in;
I managed to lose my job.
Now with gray hairs and beard
Who now would care to hobnob.
Today next-door neighbor
Pleasantly responded to my hi and hello.
There’s no ‘there’ there
And it’s so past time for me to go.
Brother turned sixty—
Who knows about sixty-one.
Wish we were better friends;
A brother would be nice on this long end run.
We need a finishing couplet to release our tortured reader;
It’s all good, love from your poet, another forgotten bottom feeder.

Sweet Potato Praline 71

Insinuating bubbles emanated from the scuppered dragon
A fool’s bargain of untendered origin led us to just here
A poet’s lazily pulled rhymes flailed aloof on page one
A new path was desired, that much was perfectly clear

Could you loan me your smile since you’re not using it
Since my mood is lost in translation or nixed in transit

The meme of my distant daughter swears I haven’t Alzheimer’s
My phytonutrients seek softened skins and perplexity
Slices of hard orange sweet potato seek out boiling waters
But speeling is an acquired taste, marble at my dyslexity

Would you loan me your arms since you’re not using them
I’ve this tightness that rattles along with this morning’s phlegm

Heading happy back eastward on a defogged highway 71
Pralines and tourist cup delivered recorded on every tablet mile
But the aimless poet still cannot get off the floor of page one
Freezing rain means we’ll all meet here for quite a while

Could you loan me your eyes since you insist on not seeing
My arms and smile reaching for my most favorite human being