A scattering of quizzical looks,
A flurry of meaningful hugs,
Why must my sad lady fair
Scare as if all men are thugs?
More than a pair of kisses &
A small certain of rolled up eyes;
With a hand-to-palm reflex too old—
Ma’am, unspoken thoughts aren’t all lies!
Just gimme some shelter:
Those northern storms boil up so fast.
I’m not very sure your fear and dread
Will all night gunk us up in the past.
Lovely one retired just last week,
Congrats on your monies independent,
But risk a chance with a dancer cheek-to-cheek
Before your tired heart is completely spent.
To those eyes whose tears have shed Afghani sands—
Find your calm and take hold of loving carefully hands.
Would you like a drink?
Could you hold my hand?
Love for ever more?
No sweets, nothing quite so grand.
Let’s just find the dawn
And split up the day.
Should love bother to show
We’ll allow it to take its sway.
Don’t want no skinny love.
Don’t want no promises for the wind.
Just some time in your company;
Just share the space with someone kind.
Would you care to dance?
Mind the rutted grass and all—
The dust is enough to kill.
Can you feel the accordion’s call?
Back to the room:
After you, of course.
Let’s go find somewhere to eat,
I’m hungry like that horse.
Patates acadien, gumbo eleve
A chardonnay, esprit de coeurs
The feast casts a chance:
May I follow thru your door?
Words often fail
A touch brushes by
We all shiver
Hoping against hope
The chord lingers
She turns to face
And traces with her fingers
Open your mind
Open your grasp
Close upon my heart
And feel me gasp
Before the bottle opens
And we tumble in the sand
I want to have earned you
Making you smile and safely grand
To dance beyond tomorrow
And chase horizons together
You had me at the pool game
So knock me over with your feather
Because you’re my firebird
Your flame burns so well
I’m not going anywhere
Can you tell?
Miles and miles over the road;
Hoping the fair princess
Can discern in this hapless toad
Inside loom love and kindness
Along with old pain and mischance.
But to worry a bit of brie
Along with, just maybe, a dance,
Would be any true man’s dream.
So, a road trip in a new September
A start of something special—
Or an adventure to long remember?
Two empaths to closely encounter
And perhaps co-mix their life stories;
High hoisted on tenterhooks,
Dreaming of better glories.
So All Ye, All Ye, In Free! I’m going to fair Slidell.
Wish for me your best and let’s see what a fortnight can tell.
–“It’s still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.”
Time is skip slipping
As the rain comes misting down
I think I really like you
With you I can sing and clown
Time is a sore pouring
The wine is half gone
Dance we again across the floor
We spin and spin until half-passed dawn
Time stops stupid short
You skitter sweetly out the door
You seem positively unsure
If you’ll come this way anymore
Time comes to do laundry
Separate the lights from the sweats
But we’d danced so hand-in-glove—
Always seem to lose at these kind of bets
Time for my daily bread work
Cloths are all neatly pressed
On a misty kind of rainy morning
One must always look one’s best
Because when the time seems right and the Sun supershines
The world may yet crash down but you still must work the mines
Some poems are wine lyric
Two goblets Clos du Bois
Others are simple syrup
Just so much blah, blah, blah
Now some too-humble wrought lines—
An old wrenched heart softly pines
Heart-tears gathering inside
Aching to let go and fall;
Words mocking a conscience
Of feelings so cold t’would appall
Terpsichore blanches, and then wilts,
Suffers in her marble a new deep fault:
Who can answer for these deaths?
Young stars ripped from the celestial vault
Haruka and Meechaiel pas de deux—
What are we all ever going to do?
The pain lingers…
The words won’t come…
Broken thoughts slip chalky fingers;
The glib finally struck dumb
How to unsee a sunset?
How to unhear the rain?
Where do we put these feelings?
Where do we plant the pain?
A far lightening pirouettes across your glance—
Dance for Haruka, dear friends…just dance
Hopefully at yer next 3am
You might texts oer t’me
Hopefully da nexts day
You might want to see
Dat dawn’s early light
And that I loves you just a mite
Hopefully yer following scheme
You could finds some sharin time
Hopefully you can sees yourself
To agreein to be all mine
Ta has and to hold
Iffin you allows me t’be so bold
Hopefully dese few sad lines
Will makes for you a big smile
Hopefully we kin share a dance or two
Then walks the road the nex’ few mile
Til rises dat dawn’s early light
And see I loves you more’n a mite
Einaudi lingers on the stereo
As burnt chicken wafts thru the door
Happiness takes its turn to go
The reason why matters not any more
I’d give anything for one more chance
But life’s not as easy as a Cajun dance
Tomorrow will be a lesser day
Twas oft told to watch what you say
The cat wants to so go outside
As paltry aromas scale thru a crack
Nuances are things I could never abide
And now she is another you’ll never get back
I’d give anything for just one more walk
But life’s much more than marbles and chalk
Dawn comes so early in the day
The sooner you’ll be off one might say
The keyboard rings out its golden tune
Time to drain a merlot glass quick
Bedtime approaches too ready and ever soon
Cat calls his return with condescension thick
Lonely and longing lie buried deep and strong
Life’s losses are worse when you know you’re wrong
Tomorrow will be another lesser day
A fresh curtain for any farce or threadbare play
I want to go back to the streetcars,
the beads in the trees,
the shady uncle cousin someone
round the corner who has JUST what I need,
just a little after midnight; then
I need that walk the length of Esplanade Blvd
during Jazz Fest to approach that steamy Southern Mecca of Sound
where a southern soul can find release and respite and relish the latest fishy dish;
the only crawfish here is the department of no transportation
as I sit and sit and sit and inch by millimeter creep on home,
at TWO in the afternoon…[the schools aren’t out yet!]!
and all the girls are sworn sisters from the order of pure remorse,
Texas friendly…you got the dough, they’ll be your friend,
but all my grapes are sour and its Friday, the stereo is on twelve—
the cd is on capricorn records and a lil band from Georgia…Ah-MAN!
so let’s raise that glass of merlot from St Francis, sonoma valley—
brother gots a pig valve, and aunty is winning at bourre, de cours.
Go to the gospel tent! Where’s that streetcar…