Tried to share her in a poem,
But the heart would not scan.
Trying to forget all about her—
I fail, trying as hard as I can.
Winds turned to colding;
The heater runs all day;
I can see each wispy breath—
Singled out in about every way.
Staple-gun together some words,
But joy and doubt won’t rhyme.
Aloning it again on New Year’s—
It’s Love for sometwo else’s this time.
But, it’s all good for this po little coda.
And, yes please, a lil more rum for my soda.
Two lapsed Catholics
Sitting neath the tree
Contemplating the meaning
First comes Doubt,
Followed by Despair,
Then they’re closing down all the bars
Because they just don’t…
Give a rat’s rear end anymore.
I will be~
I will remain~
Silent as any inland sea.
My personal, private pain.
But You, dare chase away the shadows!
But You, dare speak my wee name!
Who am I without a shroud?
Who am I shorn of my shame?
To awake, to bold face the sunrise;
To awake, and glory in the day;
May I shed this foul Darkness?
May I choose my own small, little way?
Will you help as I chance the outdoors?
Can you guide me to that brave heart of yours?
My hand in your hand,
My hand led by yours,
I can try.
I will stand, to face what comes;
I will stand to plead my Truth.
Tho’ the Dire Draft ever lingers—
And the Cold Doubt readies to spring;
But to breathe free and fresh
Means absolutely everything.
Yes, boldly find your path or voice,
And we can then marvel with thee!
Stepping out onto the bare cliff face
The windswept girl looked askance:
Been a while since Cajun land
And firing up that two-step dance.
The poet reached out his one good hand,
But missy just followed the sun—
Watched it all the way to the evenset;
He wondered if all was over and done.
Chances are and chances’ll be
Swirling all about with the wind;
While Cajun girl browns look away
From the boy whose hazels seem kind.