Shoulda said my prayers
Shoulda married her quick
Shoulda stayed home that night
Shoulda seen it’s all a dirty trick
Shoulda taken all my meds
Shoulda wrote a thank you note
Shoulda finished that book
Shoulda missed that boat
Shoulda asked her out
Shoulda sent the roses
Shoulda done a better ‘best’
Shoulda listened to Moses
Shoulda spent the night
Shoulda declined those invitations
Shoulda went merlot, not rose
Shoulda admitted I’d had my reservations
Shoulda admitted I was wrong
Shoulda sought the one thing that’s true
Shoulda realized it’s always a rainy day
Should I ever forget to tell you ‘I love you’
The another has gone,
With the better returned,
Life curls out and onward—
Karma has forward churned.
Music and the Buddha
Parry for the soul of man.
We’re all about just doing
And becoming the best we can.
May All be happy
To whatever joy they aspire!
No thanks Mr Stewart:
I needn’t be taken any higher.
But today’s someone’s birthday:
Quite readily I wish you Many Happy Returns!
Be mindful of the hearts with which you tumble—
Howsoever cautious, some changes leave burns.
The rain keeps pelting
With a hint of winter bite.
I hope I live ‘til tomorrow.
Y’all, have a great night!
It is a total and dark shadow so deep and far,
Cast from the white-hot glow of this misplaced passion;
Wrought from a longing poorly nailed about you,
I am now blind to understanding in any proper fashion.
Ignored or lost, the borderline fades between
What is easy and what is the right.
We seek sure the embrace of the nether hues—
A warming in the shadows, distrust for the light.
The years pass so fast, and achingly slow,
While Master Future mocks in beckoning.
My path I still cannot hope to discern—
The answer in the mists yet demands a reckoning.
Temperatures inch to drop to below freezing;
Four days to make do into a New Year, and then?
Dark and Light curry favors, and demand fair pay:
Where and how this ends passes beyond my ken.
With a new red wine’s old laughing sneer,
I snuff out the candle that flickers a false content.
With words to betoken a trail to a better dawn—
New Year’s hopes are grasped then onward sent.
Once she was so pretty—
Now she tries to look not so old.
Can you still see her eyes sparkle
Beneath her hair of store-bought gold?
Have you found your one and only?
Hold on with all you’ve got,
Or like those who end up so lonely,
You may forget the grace you were taught.
He used to know so much—
Now he thinks he’s lost his place.
He still loves his son and family
Even though he’s not sure about my face.
Study as hard as you can
And master the skills you need,
But keep a hard eye on Time
Which flies by at a freight train’s speed.
I still think she’s a beauty,
Even with her store-bought hair.
And despite the wrinkles and the crinkles,
I love her; and the rest? I no longer much care.
That parceled out portion of understanding
Failed again this day—
Lost my grasp on the time and missed my
It was now after, just by a few minutes.
I’d lost that only one-time unique time.
I’d never get that 3:18!
Like missing an eclipse just outside one’s door
Because the phone rang! Nothing…robocall!
So, on August 26, 2017 at 3:18PM, I was awaste on a rung phone,
And missed a piece of Only Once Ever.
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.
Made it back home
Between the here and gone
Left the hugs all alone
And then cogitated on them tears
So many beautiful spirits
Sitting right next to you
If you’d only let a clue
In through all those clutched tainted years
Finished the timesheet
Liz needs them in by noon
As Love walks in cartoon—
Hey, that Guinness makes some handsome beers
Allman Brothers swear its true
Twixt the done and the doggone
Tangled up in the lost and the only one
Have you really met your peers?
But the neurosis pales in the wash
And now sitting alone all by myself
It’s not so bad up here on the shelf
I’ve a smitten merlot, cheers!
–last day FullTime Social Worker at hospice. Moving on….
Dark chocolate covered cashews,
But that memory of how you smiled—
Cajun two-stepping waiting for the drawbridge to repair
As our young moment passed as away the nighttime wiled
And then how we drove slow on back to NOLA
After a gig lovely in bonny old Lafayette
As a southern full Moon stole peeks out of the clouds,
But that was the best that things would ever get
Even dark chocolate covered cashews
Cannot pause the runontape in my mind
Of the passion, the loss, and the lingering rancor—
Leftovers of a certain thin, hard, sad kind
Love arrives hot quick and ends up a wreck on the coast—
The pounding memories: a waif on a beach missing her shoes;
And the only thing one could right now want the most
Is drown out the empty with dark chocolate covered cashews
Fireflies soar high
Some give their greetings
Others flash goodbye
Never saw a firefly
Ever lose a tear
Never knew a firefly
To pass on a frothy root beer
Once knew a firefly
On the fo’c’s’le of my boat
He flashed most determinedly
On the port sleeve of my peacoat:
The firefly had lost his damsel
To a flea cur from Balmooth;
Much darkening his dazzle—
A sad, poor lad, forsooth.
Years later said sad firefly
Had found his own true bonny lass
Fluttering about the far fields
Gracing at yon Isinglass
Happily flashed my firefly
Brightly from his bum
Now this damsel bonny
Is his kids dazzle Mum
Fireflies soar high
Most give their greetings
The others flash your goodbye
Some poems are wine lyric
Two goblets Clos du Bois
Others are simple syrup
Just so much blah, blah, blah
Now some too-humble wrought lines—
An old wrenched heart softly pines
Heart-tears gathering inside
Aching to let go and fall;
Words mocking a conscience
Of feelings so cold t’would appall
Terpsichore blanches, and then wilts,
Suffers in her marble a new deep fault:
Who can answer for these deaths?
Young stars ripped from the celestial vault
Haruka and Meechaiel pas de deux—
What are we all ever going to do?
The pain lingers…
The words won’t come…
Broken thoughts slip chalky fingers;
The glib finally struck dumb
How to unsee a sunset?
How to unhear the rain?
Where do we put these feelings?
Where do we plant the pain?
A far lightening pirouettes across your glance—
Dance for Haruka, dear friends…just dance