I suppose, I must confess
That I’m just a single simpleton
Never a race I have entered have I won
Not even a single one
But, once upon a time:
I shall venture with this little rhyme
(Or, maybe a true life’s story)
Of a friend aurora’d in golden glory—
Shall we call her Morninglory
OK then, M’glory
Twas in the frozen North,
Anchoring away such and so forth,
I chanced to follow a fellow swabbie into a shop
Where hot hip transfers are pressed onto one’s top
And oh, my heart did stop—
Alas, of course, such a joy couldn’t last
As it happens: the many-many years have passed:
Morninglory had her own full Life’s path to travel,
As I sailed after green seas and trod flat rutted gravel,
Witnessing some dreams coarsely unravel,
Bang, the gavel
Now, upon these here internets
Where youngish oldies can place new bets,
Allowed I was to restart with a believed spent story
And became friends again with my Morninglory—
Never again to be sorry,
So, a Winter wish to all readers of this raggedy rhyme, and so-so story,
That your wishes come true and you again find your own Morninglory
The fallen leaves scattered across the tracks,
Southbound 53 would push these farther on.
A love that was empty as Ashland’s winter trees—
A hard weight was lifted now that she’d gone.
No tears, but also no joy, would be found here.
Yes, may the very best find its way over to her;
And should any good be left over hanging out
Perhaps might could entertain here along with Jack’s purr.
Santy Claus is due to arrive in a few days
And we’ve all tried to be and to do our best;
But sometimes it’s never close to good enough
And you cancel flights along with all the rest.
Maybe in the new year happiness real will come
And everyone can breathe and let it all just be;
Festivals and dances return for our lives renewed
And I can get back to that crescent bend in the Mississippi.
The southbound blew its horn passing thru Ashland town
And the online chatroom railfans counted up all the cars.
The empty trees shimmied in the rolling winter wind;
The resettled leaves looked up and counted up all the stars.
Several paces past
The beginning and the end,
Comes the space wherein
We like to try it all over again;
Unsay that awful
Which was sorely said;
Get up earlier
And make the stupid bed.
Say goodbye later
And just hang a minute more or two;
Maybe life could be better,
Not this evermore darkening in blue.
Leavening choices cast
Between the close and over there,
We can render a space therein
We can go for the Happy rather than old soggy despair.
Yes, I do agree!
No, that doesn’t make you fat!
Please, of course I’ll wait for you—
You like me? Well, imagine that!
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 freshening wind
Promiscuously winds down the creek
Orange-black cat darts under the eaves
Two dead branches low as if to speak
A door squeaks, opens
The firmament is shaken
The cat shrieks
LIGHTS BLINK THEN ALL IS BLACK
A grin, a dripping of red pools
Fluttering wings escape
How does the future shape
Our dreams, if only ‘if only’ were so
Old and 60 and alone
A raining morning
Floods in Wimberley
One dead, two missing
Rescheduled for a drier time
Happy All Saints’ Eve
Diddybob down the sidewalk.
Haven’t got a clue;
Tootsie Roll Pop or broccoli;
How’re things with you?
Sun is warm today.
What can you afford?
Beatles on the stereo,
Crafting words to the blackboard.
Got the second job.
Haven’t got a clue
What were those words?
Lagniappe, turkey, and glue.
Itty bitty kitty paw prints
Tracking off in the snow.
Feeling pretty good today.
Faith lingers at the edge,
Rush to chance a storm’s breath,
Foreign eyes play and snuggle,
Harrass despair to revel with the essence underneath.