You’ve No Power Here

The glass misted over,
But that’s not entirely right
It was a more liquid remorse
That bedewed my lensed sight

She had borne my child
But she couldn’t bear me
Seems 8-balls and feng shui
Aren’t long together friends-to-be

Another dark winter passing
Cold fronts, love chill, and lost friends—
In the negative balance amassing:
All aspiration to the living Nature bends

Where is our Episode IV New Hope,
In reconciliation or masked medicines?
A new maturity is whispered for and called upon—
Can we but rise up above all these civil venal sins?

Digital Sith and Jedi return to the nursery;
All illusion is dead, what’s to become of me?

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Protocol

Want to toss you from the window
Kick you on down the hall;
Totally because of another Covid Solstice,
Songs will blame you for everything and all.

Twasn’t quite all the lies
That drove me deeply into the mad,
It was lingered honeyed phony histories
That made us all go aware into the bad.

Acid lyricism beat upon ragged congas—
Tattoo played upon my head that storied eve:
Another sterling child father moment never ending,
Still now for your passing, and embrace, I still grieve.

Six feet under is the agreed protocol,
Yield thee to the last cool embrace of Death;
Whether or not you’re ready or not at all:
Lastly arrives the time to draw one’s last breath.

Don’t cry , don’t blink—
Missus Vera is buried today.
Of course I still love you;
I’m just alone and have lost my way

A Safe Place

I’ve lost that place to let a tear;
My heart’s gone to its safe place.
How could things go so wrong?
What new horrors must we face?

Barricades fall from Seattle town,
But nothing’s better, not at all.
I’ve no stamp for my letter
Begging to be allowed to call.

Things today sing with a minor key,
But youngin there’s just one thing:
Passion stills, for just a moment, the longing—
Yet loneliness in old age still prides its sting.

Did she survive the novel virus?
Will she return to us fully alive?
Glasses for all to share the sauterne!
Breathe the air! Dance! Sing! Thrive!

I’ve lost the time to shed a tear,
My words go without a decent rhyme,
The End: how will we deeply know?
What new pain unfolds with wrinkled time?

Quarantino

So, it seems I gave up coffee
And I WANT a cup RIGHT NOW
To return to a fresh-dripped state
Of magnificent equanimity
Seems six feet apart
Isn’t far enough away
You want meaningfulness
I just wanna play
So, Bob be a-singing
Right out of Delacroix
I earnestly proffer love praises
That only seem to clomp and annoy
Turning away to wash my hands
But I’m the only one here—
I’d rather my glass of merlot
To your frosty mug of beer.
But I’d wish to walk with you
Those years ago when we really loved,
But gotta change the kitty litter;
Thusly I’m now COVID-approved engloved!
Aqualung and I are looking for her
Far enough away to preserve the fantasy
Yet close enough to perturb the very air
Tossed tresses caressing languid eyes [oh so very fancy]
Back inside my little apartment
7PM Thursday in deliberate sub quarantino
Dreamt of eyes pulsing from behind a 95 mask:
This has got to end—momentum arresto!

Happy Valentine’s Day Faye

So at the Gates stood Conor
Awaiting his newest best friend.
Faye joined him eager yet sore confused,
This was no one’s idea of a good end

She’ll never be seven
She plays now in Heaven
And our tears yields no answers
To the never answered Oh God, Why?

Why did that thirty-something
Lose contact with his humanity?
Just playing outside in her front yard
These things are always so damn hard

Are we all so willfully and totally blind?
Is this some new flavor of miswrought insanity?
Our ocean awash in pain and despair—
There’s no satisfying answer, ever, anywhere.

Bad parenting, bullying, party drugs?
A chromosome split and expressed wrong?
Just why can’t this stop, just…please…stop!
Do we just let this go and let Pain chase erelong?

Faye and Conor skip off into the sunset,
We here, head in hands, perplexed and twisted.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Faye, and to you who still love;
While our tears coalesce with a countenance sorely misted.

Her Surreal Highness

Her Surreal Highness,
The Fairie Queen Helen Of Tippie,
The High Duchess of Laney,
Order of the Dreaded Honey Bee Sting [Knight & Plank Owner],
Nurse Most Excellent of the Shire of Greater Bastropia [Ribbons with Flourishes & Bows],
Hottest Reddest Heart Insignia, First Class, Distr. (Education) of Lockhartton,
And dozens more exquisite honours and accomplishments regal,
Was in mourning.…

Sally Gossamer Wingstep, hesitant, took one step,
Then walked slowly onward from her nest;
No fluttering nor soaring above the Fairielands—
Grounded, given the great sadness, she thought best.

In the distance…The Queen’s Tree…
Her great branches weighed down in sorrow.
Betrayed The Fairielands further grief:
There was to be no Queen’s High Tea tomorrow…

Sally felt so awful to feel so awfully angry;
The Queen’s loss was far worse than a missed party.
Even though Jonathan Spider had woven her the finest dress
Which shimmered bright while flowing about her curves smartly.

But the yawning emptiness in the Good Queen’s Castle,
Even the young fairie felt as she struggled with how she was feeling.
She could not grasp the meaning nor see a path ahead;
The sheer suddenness had left all their minds sore and reeling!

Absentmindedly, Sally rounded into Copse Square,
And came face to face her Most Regal Presence!
Wide-eyed, stutter stammering an apology quick,
Sally keenly hoped she was making some sort of sense.

“Oh, my dear Sally, it is you!” Queen Helen said.
“Are we not cavorting across the sky?
Such joy you lend us with your loops and curlicues…
But you are walking, please tell us why.”

Said Sally: “Oh, Your Highness, I thought it improper to fly
When in these dark days we mourn with thee.
We too share in your deep loss, and weep.
We agree on foregoing this year’s High Tea.”

“Nonsense and nettles!” roared the Queen.
“As our spiders weave and the highland bees make honey,
I will care to have our fairies unfurl their wings, to fly,
And so to rule the skies, whether they be dark or sunny!

“So, such and such a time that has as now passed…
Methinks, it is time to move on, I most solemnly decree.
Yes, he has gone, but we shall recall his Royal Goodness—
Sally, care we must and shall host a Great Celebration Tea!”

As swiftly as their wee silken wings could beat the wind,
The fairies carried The Announcement all over and beyond the Fairielands:
All who had furled their wings were to don their most Fun and Glorious Finery,
And TO FLY into the Castle Ballroom with all the Joy such a Fete demands!

At the appointed hour, our fairies looped, soared, fluttered, and flew,
Doing the most ambitious winged acrobatics into the Castle Ballroom;
Even Queen Helen, in her richest Duchess of Laney silver livery,
Flew around such that even the keenest witch could not match on her broom!

Sally Gossamer Wingstep, seized the room—such curlicues and soaring loops!
She was wearing a new shimmery gown, so tight and true to her young frame, without guile.
Her Surreal Highness, The Fairie Queen Helen Of Tippie, The High Duchess of Laney,
Joined in the fairies’ rapturous applause, and did give Sally a nod, and a knowing smile!

Wondrous fruits and cakes and teas were served to the celebrants in abundance.
Her Majesty even allowed the Royal Tea Keeper to let loose the rare jasmine.
From now, and for the time ahead, she would remember the lifting joy
From her subjects as on this night all joined in the grand celebration of him.

So, the Great Celebration Tea ended as a wondrous success—
The Good Fairie Queen went to her rooms while floral aromas caressed the air,
Because surely you know that what is best with good jasmine tea
Is a hearty, loving serving of Tender Laney Care!

In the Dark, in the Cold, in the Quiet and All

A simple shameless shuffle
From blonde to brunette
Until he woke up again quite alone
Realizing only now it was so too late

That you really must make a considered choice—
Decide finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or you will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

The music was a rapture,
Fiddle and accordion entwined,
Her unfurled skirts blossomed across the floor,
All were happy, two-stepped, wined and dined.

Next morning bags were quick conveyed,
Gone Concourse C to return to her places up North;
You slow walked to the parking garage
Not realizing the so on and the so forth:

That you really must make a considered choice—
Decide on finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or you will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

A road trip here and a visit there
How you acted as if you were above it all
Everyone was coupled, partying, and fun
Now he wonders why is it no one ever calls.

The best ones really are all taken.
All the smart happy ones have debarked the bus.
You thought love will always be out there;
So, why should you have to make a fuss:

That one really must make a considered choice—
Decide on finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or you will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

Now the eyes fail, hair thins out,
And the joints no longer so strong.
Am I really the grasshopper in the end
Who must admit he was so so wrong?

That all really must make a considered choice—
Decide on finally who you want to take to the ball,
Or we will certainly, in the end, pass all alone
In the dark, in the cold, in the quiet and all

Hey Mom, Hey Dad

Hey Mom, hey Dad
I have some news,
It’ll make you glad:
Lilly’s finished college,
She’s done with school;
Has bunches of job offers
And she’s still nobody’s fool—
Aint she something!

Hey Mom, hey Dad
There’s a little more news,
But this may be bad:
It’s about your eldest son;
There’s spots on some x-ray;
Nothing more to be done—
For me, it’s always something.

Hey Mom, hey Dad
I’ve something to say,
Hope you don’t get too mad:
I hate it you two weren’t around,
Seeing Lilly born, happy and growing;
See life worth living per every pound—
And that’s saying something!

Hey Mom, hey Dad
I guess I’ll go now
To face my own version of jihad;
Meet looming troubles on the yon side of living
With the grace to see the better in all,
Or at least yield to loss with a heart forgiving—
I hope this all meant something.
By Mom, Bye Dad

[I’m fine. Xray verse for poetic effect.]

Puzzling

Crimson currants scatter across the plate;
The ruin of his proposition dies on his lips—
The longing and the loss go begging, too late,
As two tired hands sag draped across her hips.

While puzzled puzzling puppies whimper without reason—
Is this the sure path to the higher parish ground?
Milady, crossed, throws vexed hurt blames and accusations;
Limped, the poet crawls away to contemplate a grayer sound.

Storm warnings fall, the sun finally peeks out;
The happy and free saxman takes the stage for his solo
Another rainbow dies unlit without a Southern doubt;
Can we sixters renew old loves, is it yet the secret go slow?

Leg raisers, push-ups, and the latest anti-cholesterol drug:
Guys muster what little left they have to play her knight errant.
Girls, wriggle and giggle, and deflate their swains with another shrug;
Boys, bluster and muster, try to achieve the ultimate, yet can’t.

Why is Love so hard to find and put softly in a peaceful space?
Why must Time dry up all dreams along with such a lovely face?

Brass Tacks

That heart of gold I was searching for
Has passed me, bye, and found an ending elsewhere;
Chasing the sunset and the final mystery—
Grow old, die, who’s gonna cry or care?

Finest wines and vines splendid,
My only lasting loving friends.
[We’ve] some trouble down there,
With no lover to share these bends.

Harvest some words for this one empty page,
Everyone else out there chasing the latest rage.

Don’t tumble much dice, do you?
Crimes of passion outweigh the ones of neglect.
Maybe I never ought to have learned
That most things in life we all can cathect.

Refill the goblet and wipe the counter—
Whimsical droplets tell their own tale;
But you came for something more eclectic,
Not this wheeze with no secret to entail.

Grow the rhymes to fill up the charm;
Empty is as empty does, what’s the harm?

Catering to hearts promise-given to another;
Forgiving Alabama and Neil Young, now so old;
Like I said, dropped my heart of gold, sure as not—
Such an old story the young won’t hear when told.

Finest vines give wines so splendid—
My only lasting loving friends.
Born in the 50’s and so damn sure:
Wish I’d found that love they say never ends.