Blog Archives

Where Are My Stars?

Where are my stars?
Why hath my comforting night lights left me
To blacked out windows in this small room
With not even full curtains to reel with the spring breezes;
Blinds keep the outside away and reflect my aloneness.
Leaded words with dissonant chording try, but fail
To stir thoughts of brighter days and warming evenings.
Dark thoughts, cachectic dreams attend me now.
Do not come this way: the path is unsure, and the end obscured.
The roof needs repair?
The steps brittly break and the animals snort their disdain.
Mothers hurry their kinder swiftly past the door.
In this late-March cold winds sink and lank rains linger.
Sore joints and crookt fingers lift but cannot reach.
Dark thoughts, cachectic dreams attend me now.
Do not come this way: the path is unsure, and the end obscured.
The tree killers have done their deed.
The cable lines are now safe to carry each and every thirty-minute fat show
With prospering inanities, but you can do better; if I may have a word—
Dark thoughts, cachectic dreams attend me now.
Do not come this way: the path is unsure, and the end obscured.

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Alone With The Jagged Cold

I don’t quite think it was the jagged insult of the cold while stepping out from the shower;
It couldn’t have been the yawning cold empty space beside me on a still unmade bed;
Perhaps it was that the single cup of instant coffee was just okay enough with real soymilk;
Certainly not the unresponded to question of what possibly could I have said to you instead.
More than I surely love you.
More than we can go so far.
More than dreams seek the possible.
More than let’s get out of this damn bar.
I don’t know but the cat claw calls for more food for his old porcelain bowl;
I don’t understand but the heater needs a filter shift out with the coming cold;
I can’t see the change that the sunsets promise for those unparoled tomorrows;
But I could have added that the place beside my heart is all yours, truth be told.
Unless the future scares you.
Unless you can’t chance chance.
Unless my words wither at your feet.
Unless all those maybes can only translate into can’ts.
And, down the tracks and beyond the call to prayer and the next bead-toss parade
I go on with my so lonely but hopeful heart, though I’m not quite sure I got it made.

Forgiving Father Marvelous

Moving down the page
At an acceptable change of pace,
We were so kind of in love,
Though I seem to have misplaced her face.
But I’m sure she was brunette
And possessive of wit and lust,
But like most of my choices
It all kinda went for spit and bust.
So here I write Saharan poetry—
Dry and empty as this Austin life.
Hoping better for the kid unit;
Truth oft separates like a steak fat knife.
No, no deep answers here:
Just marooned on the less traveled.
Awaiting that unadorned underbox
Overlaid in Southern granite that’s neatly marbled.

Sure As Felicity Follows Terpsichore

The Ice Queen turned from the window
The curtain folds draped back into proper place
She was again content in her Keep
Having begun to forget his absent face

While the snow salted the pines
Squirrels burrowed deep in their nests
The Ice Queen folded into her chair
Dinner as ignored as her discontents

She recalled his rude voice:

“Please give me back my delta—
Any seat on any levee on the Mississippi,
I gotta get back to Nawlins,
Sure as Felicity St. follows Terpsichore.

So take that cork out of vin St Francis
To go where we’ve been before,
Sonoma will have to do
Waiting for my Crescent City encore.”

But the Ice Queen felt a shiver versal of her own—

The ghost of a loss lingered lumpen there
Left hard upon her heart of gold
A tale one could tell of mind, body, and soul
If ever one was to be so bold

She’d been that comely lass with golden locks long,
Lovely as the dawn in the Spring;
Now she kept to her Keep,
Love a scoffed-at trifle, a mere unknotted string

But a heart-twist pulled her up short—

Where am I going?
Who will lead me there?
The fog isn’t lifting
And I fear the very air!

Are you really in love?
I know I would like to be;
Could we soon catch up somewhere?
Could you tarry with someone odd like me?

A dread expanded where certainty fled—

One day without you
Is a rainy day at the zoo;
Another night without you:
A starless, moonless night too blue;

She allowed: Come on over….

My Lady combed her silken, yet gold locks
And made her ministrations for bed.
She remembered her lists for the morrow
And made her solo cooling path to bed.

His eyes and tossed locks followed her to her dreams—
He to his beloved Delta, She to her duty and schemes.
The curtain folds draped back with proper straight lace,
She again content in her Keep and all in its correct place.

Synched

So are you newly married
Have you happily rewed
Are all my dreams in vain
And nothing more need be said
Are things really better at the ‘Dale
Getting home often before dark
Would you like to get together
Perhaps a catchup walk in the park
So you have a new number
Does it come with a new ring
No, that’s not my heart crashing—
It’s just missing you is a close thing
So, missed my chance when I blinked
It’ll have to be enough to be linked
Nothing more need be said
And, all my vain dreams are now synched

Git

Dar haint enuf chock cake
Ice cream ner gran marneha
to get me to stop missing you
The sweetness of just you is just
Too much to bear for just one day.

Dar haint enuf ours
Yours and all odat
To get me next to you
The empty of whar you was still is
Too cold for coals to make hat

So gib me more odat
Crimson glasses of some vine cold
To close all mine eyes on you
Perchance to dream of a new one else
To love befo I’m git old

Patience Exacts

My mind is gone
My time is not my own
My heart is besotted
My dreams on hold
My wishes burn soft
My hopes transmit
I pray for you the simple very best
Your hug and kiss await
With anticipation

Love In Reverse

Clad in regret
And coif’ed in despair,
Another day has passed—
You, uncalled by the phone by the chair.
Cobwebs adorn all
My old dreams forlorn;
The rains did fall,
And refreshed, the pasture of the lost awaits the morn.
Wick wagging,
A candle mocking—
Here, the only flame that burns
Lights a keyboard click clocking.
Poet bent double,
Love in reverse.
Is the regret or the rhyme
Which tarries for the worse?

11:59:50

He took her offered hand and into the surf they trod—
Milady and Milord, Milady and Milord.
She took and held his hand as into the grass they went—
The lady and the gent, the lady and the gent.
Chances and maybes risked and the future dawns anew—
Could be me and you, could be me and you.
Ten seconds to Midnight and looms a Happy New Year—
To all cherished and dear, to you all, cherished and dear!

The Granite, The Bouquet, and The Sad

The light followed the star over the hill
As the fog rolled in with the cold
Twas a different kind of Christmas story
At least as far as I remember what I was told

A deep abiding affection afflicted the old man
And finally had the means to fulfill a promise
And many, many lonely miles he did trudge to deliver
A last bouquet of daisies to lay before his one fair miss

In younger, luckier days our man had paid fervent troth
To she who now dwelt in yon granite sarcophagus,
But a wrong spoken word had ended it all forever;
Such a piteous loss as to be endured by any one of us.

But our Vanity is a grievously jealous mistress;
And he could not, would not forgive, the slight by his true love.
Such tragedy our old man had scripted in a cold bile ink,
Disparaging of her and placing his wounded veil above.

Carole, the second beauty born of Marble Falls
On one lank Christmas Day between the great wars,
Loved above all Nature’s beauties the blue daisy—
She would fill her Mother’s pots, trestles, and jars.

Silas, our poor fool from a far crescent city east,
Would bring bouquets of blue daisies to ply his troth,
And won her heart, and a date sure was firmly set—
What could possibly set aside such as this Love’s oath?

A sorry, sad mistake came to undo our lover’s story:
Carole observed unartfully our Silas over harsh tone:
As blasted to the quick, Silas cast off his cheery mantle,
And demanded keenly by Carole to be left forever alone!

Oh, Silas! One word passed without art has chilled thee so?
And bereft of her future, our shaken Carole turned to leave.
Only alone, later in his poor ivory tower of hot wind and pride
Would he see his error and allow himself to grieve.

Carole, the second beauty born of Marble Falls,
Would later, at last, marry fairly well, if not too grand.
Silas, alone, tended to his vanity and found old age,
But twas Carole to first find her final rest at Death’s hand.

Silas, hearing of Carole’s passing, fell slow to his knees
And swore a prideless oath to take every Christmas Day,
In honor of Carole, his cast-off joy, a last birthday gift:
A simple arrangement in a pristine blue daisy bouquet.

The light faded over the hill after the star found its new home.
The old man had placed his bouquet when his heart beat its last.
The fog blanketed the granite and the bouquet and the sad.
Is loneliness the grand prize for a wrong word lost to the past?

Not all Christmases are all tinsel and cheer—
Silas and Carole speak to us in more mature themes.
Please, this Yule, find it inside you to forgive and forget
Or woe may scuttle your fonder, finer, future dreams.

[Shikoba]