Run Tell Say
Tell me you want to be craved
Tell me you’ve already been saved
Tell me to linger just a while—
Come on over here sweet honey chile
Say you wanna go dance right here
Say you’ll tarry in the Artmosphere
Say things may be hot, maybe moist—
Come o’er here and kiss me foist
Run down the road to Alexandria
Run down new dreams outside California
Run down the best you ever seen—
Come o’ here lil Cajun queen
Run, tell, say why our romances all fall, fail, and crash
Only we do it again at the long crisp linger of the cymbal’s splash
Sweet Bonnie Marie
Sweet Bonnie Marie
How do you fare?
It grieves me you’re distressed—
Need you a kiss, a hug, and a prayer?
May the following new days
Spread Light and Joy over your way;
And into the yon cold nights
May Happiness and Warmth with you the longer stay
Sweet Bonnie Marie
Of the Shamrock and the Thistle—
If anything I can humbly add
Know well all’s required is your beckoning whistle
Be Ever Grand And Light of Heart
And bring your Smile to the new day’s start
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
What would Ferena Ashbury say on National Poem Day?
It was one of those determined, inquisitive, tussle-headed boys;
Should she hazard a kiss to find out what he knows?
Dropping down from the Queen’s Tree on Honeysuckle Ridge
Sally Gossamer Wingstep bussed him one right on the nose!
First crinkled into asterisks, then the eye lids slid wide open.
The boy got up from his bedroom willow copse,
While Sally regarded safely from behind a toadstool—
A lad all alone out here? Where’s his Pops?
A half-walk whistle slung low caught her sharp ear:
Sally saw Evelyn over by the ‘Herroyalship’s Tree’.
Sally whipped over to her cousin’s hideaway.
Alright, so now we caught-lost number three.
Evelyn Eagle Wingtip was shaking like a leaf;
“What’s ever is the matter, Eve?
Why are you in such so evident grief?”
“Oh Sally, that boy chased me all morn.
He followed me into our fairie dome;
Now he is oh, so, so lost
And cannot find his way home.”
Sally then thunk some deep thoughts—
Then, smiling, beamed, “Not to worry!
We’ll just call upon our own sage fairie
And spin a spell taught by our Ferena Ashbury!”
Arm and wingarm together they spun
Ascatterin’ fairy dust and achanting as one:
“Take us where the willows glow,
Away from thy Darkness know.”
The boy wheeled and then headed back towards camp
Missing the fairies shrieking glee of joy.
Twas an older spell for the fairly Lost:
Kitten, pony, or overly-determined little boy.
Sally and Eve flew off, soaring on up high
Back to their own warm abodes in Fairie Dome;
Happy the boy was headed in the right way,
And they too were safe, aheaded home.
–thanks to Lillian Patricia Perkins Fedoroff for loaning me Ferena Ashbury
(and a line or two) as a character for this poem for National Poem Day 2015
Grains of sand from the road to water’s edge,
Clumps of grass grace the seaward’s fall,
Tender toes brave dawn’s early light,
To stroll into the waves so cold and all.
Squeals of joy and peals of laughter let fly—
Summer is here and time to resalt the soul.
Billowing clouds hint at storms a-coming in,
But now bodysurfing‘s the only required toll.
Find a towel, find your sunscreen,
Lip touch a smile with no daylight between.
Salt and sand peppering red tender arms,
Coke and burger calls skink across Biloxi beach;
Run ask Momma for some dollars quick.
Lunchtime’s over: let’s walk beyond parental reach.
Hand-in-hand they’re yet too young to know,
How now will ever be so very special,
But when you’re in your teens,
All that later stuff is so very subsequential.
Find a blanket, no need for the obscene:
Just lip touch a smile with no daylight in between.
Candle Light Blazes In Your Eyes
The stout little candle flickered its last
And scuttered out and left the oldster in the dark
He thought he’d attempt the 15th century
And imagine a time of dragons, for a lark
The safety matches safely lit a new wick
And the poet lifted his quill again
Skritter scratch and his lines pricked to life
Another damsel rejects a lonely swain
Refilling the merlot-stained glass
The oldess sat next to her oldster
The muse again amused, the poet grinned
Wishing he hadn’t sold that roadster
Gray hairs and faded eyes
But a mind keen as ever
Maybe he can’t drive
But his lines still tickle clever
Half-passed a candle later
The oldess kissed her oldster
The poet abandoned his quill
Surely, later those lines he’d bolster
Later, the stout little candle flickered its last….