Blog Archives

Trade

Spangled Jewesses
Cry the Shoah;
Life was more splendid
In the company of Noah.
Now Muhammad rages—
Bloodies all the pages:
Can’t our child tremble at a first kiss?
Where did we go wrong? What went amiss?

Pagans, heroes, and martyrs,
All greet the dawn;
Who amongst us despairs
At the Spring’s new mowed lawn?
What ersatz supremacy has mastered
Over the Lunar Penumbra?
Colours convex and illuminate,
While toiled souls, lost, crumble.

And tomorrow comes soft;
Plans made, bed made, bread spread marmalade;
The race renewed for best laid plans.
Bainwood for The Quarter is in better trade.
While the rain lingers oer the park
As an old heart passes from light to dark.

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Wanna Misbehave

Wanna misbehave
Fall out th wrong side of bed
Let’s forget that Raggedly Ann
I’d drather play with you instead
Let’s break some windows
The amps cranked way passed eleven
Let’s sway to some ‘Stones
Find the morning along with a hint of heaven
Itsa fine wretch of a red wine
From the ashy dead Sonoma plain
Like a slow dance in the delta
Itsa waltz all ‘round with you all over again
Another orangish Halloween looming
Black cats and sultry witches in skeleton chorus
The lil kiddies pounding about the hood—
For the best chocolate goodies they implore us
Hey, wanna misbehave
Let’s shake it at the shaming dawn
With a toss of your sassy ebon mane
Despacito, our two hearts been long gone

Skip Skipping

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
Wanna dance?

Hopefully

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

Life’s Not as Easy as a Cajun Dance

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

A Simple Mind

In this place of tattered expectations,
The old novice at last did rise,
Hours before the dawn
When stars still ruled the skies.

Disdainful of mocking glances,
And all who’d dare criticize,
Piffle stooped to sit at table
To chance last night’s left over sprout pies.

When Master arrived after dawn,
The novices chanted their obeisance;
Twas aged beyond any reason
For such death defied any and all sense.

“You’ve nothing to fear at all!”
A grievous, now proved, lie oft told:
The young novice had been annihilated,
And Master’s now twice time too old.

But Piffle knew the dread secret
Of why PanWren had passed from life—
As he had chanted the dire incantation
His mind slipped to a memory of a wife.

Piffle swallowed hard at the held image
Of the foolish novice smoldering away,
Shattering the apprentice’s soft held thought
That today had been an ordinary day.

Escaping from his thoughts to the catacombs
The old novice took up his rusted quill pen:
“Treat not lightly with the Dark and the Dire
Or loved ones you won’t live to see again!”

The stars again claimed their kingdom,
Though sleep failed Piffle entirely—
The grounds grizzled raccoon high aloft,
Skittering a chant from the old Squire Tree:

“When thou doth play risk in life’s hocus pocus,
T’would much profit thee to never lose focus!”

Hospice Junction

So ready to cry in your arms,
But today’s broken heart is so déclassé.
I hold my iPhone in my clammy hand,
But mustn’t text when you’ve nothing to say.
Broken low down here in Hospice Junction:
I see pretty flowers wreathing the pretty birds.
I hear some pretty lady chaplain
Breathlessly whispering her fine holy words.
Some seventy-two have now come and gone—
The team completing some of their unending chore.
They’ve resurfaced that old tattered roadway, and,
And, another admission: how do they go on any more?
The Sun and Dawn drags up another new day,
Nurses and the all will shoo away the Dark and the Harms.
And they won’t get home until way after dark
O so ready to cry in your arms.

Atop Witch’s Hat Mountain

Ima gwain over by Witch’s Hat Mountain
Ware da horizon is all around
Atop mah Witch’s Hat Mountain
I kin feel mah feets on da ground
Gonna catch me some deers and hares
Livin round Witch’s Hat Mountain
Gonna pitcha tent and loose mah cares
Over by mah Witch’s Hat Mountain
Sout bout Fort Davis like
Above dem texican plains is Witch’s Hat Mountain
A risin sun paints da east side dawn
Come wid me to Witch’s Hat Mountain
Cuz dats ware Ima be gone

I’m Here

The Sun fell down the usual way:
Gold to pink to black.
The end of another tawny Spring day,
And no, they’re not coming back.

Too many deaths on Hall 5:
Cancer, Dementia, and Heart Attack;
Old and young lives fading away;
Don’t care our hospice census is on track.

The Moon creeped out its old way:
Half to gibbous on passing high;
Poor professionals lacking an out to pray—
Is it really okay for the licensed to cry?

Tomorrow returns the Sun in bust:
Azure to pink to hot white.
Not only families ache when loved ones return to dust.
Come, sit, and let’s talk a mite….