Blog Archives

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.

Dark Chocolate Covered Cashews

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

Number 62 In Blue

The candle sputtered
Then guttered out
The wick a speck in the wax
The old poet looked
And suffered to stand up
The last present wrapped was Jack’s

A fresh Christmas candle
Striped Santa red and holly green
With its new flame warmed the room
Placing presents about
A tree to shame Charlie Brown
The shards of wrapping left with the broom

The cat’s tail flicked serene
The poet reached for his quill
As words soft filled a new page
A chance Winter memory
Spurred the poet on
Thoughts neither steep nor very sage

She bought him skis for a gift
Though “cross” country would mean something else
Tears of laughter with every tumble and spill
He wondered where she was now
A score of years have long passed
When meeting on Concourse B was such the piquant thrill

Chinese Five Spices
Floated upon the solemn merlot
The poet paused to let the tightness pass
Tomorrow the two-state drive
Back to his beloved Crescent City
Though this year without his own wee lass

Daughter would be skiing
Off out with her Mother and half family
Cross country over in the mountain West
He’d be with swiftly aging brother
And a Christmas with the family Creole
But things always work out for the best

A meow and a sigh
The poet let Jack out the door
A cat in search of secret nocturnal meetings
The candle blew out neat
The cold front had as promised arrived
As the rain pelted out its Season’s Greetings

Waxing and waning here came Christmas Number Sixty-two
But he yet looked ahead brightly through this Yuletide in Blue

Synched

So are you newly married
Have you happily rewed
Are all my dreams in vain
And nothing more need be said
Are things really better at the ‘Dale
Getting home often before dark
Would you like to get together
Perhaps a catchup walk in the park
So you have a new number
Does it come with a new ring
No, that’s not my heart crashing—
It’s just missing you is a close thing
So, missed my chance when I blinked
It’ll have to be enough to be linked
Nothing more need be said
And, all my vain dreams are now synched

I Know I’ll Never

Scattering of chittering
And the birds have flown
So here again all alone

Thinking of you
To what end
I know I’ll never
See you ever again

So pour me a second

Yes a red will do
Maybe this is the night
I finally get over you

Hah! No chance—
The sadness augments
When it came to you
I never had any sense

Hands thru your locks
Your snort at my observation
Could you call me thence?
Should I make that reservation?

The dregs sneer and embrace me soft

Bacchus makes for second class
But my problem always was
Reaching for the next and the after glass

Goosebumps tease
And memories seize
My cell remains unrung
I miss our tongue

Across A Far River

Back down around the ole oaken bridge,
Hazel and I tried really, really long
To cross together over that forever ever ridge,
Separating Love from the rest of the wrong,
But handily, hardly, barely, we surely did fail—
Living on so as to shame the curse.
Corked wine and rained out Saturdays
Don’t hurt near as much as her sad, sweet smile.
Tis trying to find carpe diem all the while,
But there is banana bread, it remembers.
And it’s back down around that ole oaken bridge:
Where Hazel crossed over, and left me in tears,
Wallowing in the wrong;
Chasing the horror left over, numbed to us in years—
The creping ashes blew over acorns, the whole span long.