Clear as Night

In an ugly little room
By the side of the sea
The Sun still slow rises
For all, for you and for me.
With no gods, monsters, or ghosts;
We poor few make our own way
Thru the sadness of clashing agenda;
We’ve little room to have our say.
Yet so majestic the Sun claims honor-
Brooks no question, no how nor any why;
But once every twenty-eight days comes Luna
With the Full Moon to rule the sky.
All simple full answers do clever hide
To yield to the curious at the Hobnob.
Less surprised, we find, are all of us:
Of course you’re the one for the job!

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Proceeding

It was two glasses in
And the curling memory of brunette hair,
But she has erewhile gone
And Sonoma Merlot just doesn’t care.
The rhymes won’t come—
Here I am inside this couplet mess.
I guess it takes more than mere Love
To complete this synapsing poetic process.
Meld two roughs into one,
Balance the scan and mind the rhyme,
Maybe I’ll get some ‘Likes’;
I manage to do so from time to time.
Fear floods in;
I managed to lose my job.
Now with gray hairs and beard
Who now would care to hobnob.
Today next-door neighbor
Pleasantly responded to my hi and hello.
There’s no ‘there’ there
And it’s so past time for me to go.
Brother turned sixty—
Who knows about sixty-one.
Wish we were better friends;
A brother would be nice on this long end run.
We need a finishing couplet to release our tortured reader;
It’s all good, love from your poet, another forgotten bottom feeder.