Morninglory

So, well…yes
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
Not 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—
Full 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,
Never 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

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Maple Leaf Dance

Faraway from the witnessing sun,
Escaped away from reproving glances of dead roses never sent,
Once dared think our love might grow,
But crushed beneath small expectation to answer for a knee unbent.
Loose laced shoes carry old feet forward on,
Stumbling with a book of ill written rhyme to find you there—
Polite as always but with nothing to add.
Assaulting the ramparts of indifference, I wonder if or should I care.
A frisson of longing ever lingers—
Some memories of dancing in our Maple Leaf Bar;
Happily ever after slips from old fingers
While an indifferent Moon grandly outshines any old star.

Love In Reverse

Clad in regret
And coif’ed in despair,
Another day has passed—
You, uncalled by the phone by the chair.
Cobwebs adorn all
My old dreams forlorn;
The rains did fall,
And refreshed, the pasture of the lost awaits the morn.
Wick wagging,
A candle mocking—
Here, the only flame that burns
Lights a keyboard click clocking.
Poet bent double,
Love in reverse.
Is the regret or the rhyme
Which tarries for the worse?