Blog Archives

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.

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Hey Everybody

Hey, Everybody—
Come sing this song,
If you can feel Life’s Love
Then you’re welcome to come along.
Yo, Everyone!
Raise your sweet voice;
If you crush on the next sunrise,
Then you know that this joy is the best choice.
You, over there—
You’re my brother or sister, oh man;
Lend your heart and strength,
We’re all just doing the level best that we can.
Hey! you right here—
Take a chance to know:
That together the hate barriers will fall.
And, as One, United, we can make this Life Love grow.
Hey, Everybody!
Come sing this sweet song;
If you’re still in this, our Life with Love,
You know you’re most welcome to come on along.

Older

Remember when we did as we pleased?
Now we’re wrinkled, gray, and diseased
With Rage that crushes any caring heart,
And drops us low to our knees—
There is no succor or understanding
For respite or for relief for any parents’ pleas.
Why do we think ourselves
Into such boxes of darkness
Into that snare of ever wrong turns?
To put down hard roots
Into a never loved land,
Grasping, with our heart that burns—
Another lost kite strung over a high tree,
Another lost thing we swore to safe keep—
Living a clueless life beyond what we hear or see;
As now I lay me down to sleep?

–Amberly Alexis Barnett’s body was found in an undisclosed location early Saturday morning hours after authorities began searching for the 11-year-old, who was last seen at her aunt’s house in Mt. Vernon, Ala.

Hours Pass So Slow In The Day

The hours pass so slow in the day
Then decades are gone in a flame
Y’all, hold your lovers a little longer
While you can still remember their name
Forever lasts before end of the day
Then forty years have gone just like that
Y’all, hold your lovers a little tighter
Before you die and get laid out down flat
Our lives read out in poems half writ
With or without a dear someone with which to care
Y’all, hold your lovers a whole lot closer
Make sure it’s with you the time they want to share
The hours pass so slow in the day
Then decades are gone in a flame
Y’all, hold your lovers a little longer
While they still care to remember your name

Do You Mean Me?

Are those soft words meant for me?
Is it now safe to settle into tranquility?
Icy rains ahead on roads fog-wrapped
Fleeing a love wherein I was once trapped.
Twelfth Night revelers muster at the Carrollton barn
Their annual trek to recover their childhood yarn:

Hey, throw me something mister!
Hey, don’t look that way at my sister!
Meet me at The Avenue and Seventh
Of course! Bring your cousin Kenneth!
Doubloons, cups, beads, catch the daylight;
Oh baby, kiss me good; sweetie, hug me tight.

And so Hump Day with ashes full arrives
And recriminations cut with dull knives—
I only kissed her once on a day care forgot.
We’re done, that’s it, you’d rather not—
Why is life in the thirties so stupid?
Aren’t we adults, who killed Cupid?

Why do we think ourselves
Into such boxes of darkness,
Into that snare of wrong turns;
To put down hard roots
Into a newer unloved land;
Grasping, weak and missing—
Another lost kite string over the hedge;
Another lost thing we swore to keep;
Living a clueless life over the edge
As now I lay me down to sleep?

Are those soft words meant for me?
Is it now safe to settle into tranquility?
Diseases and ruin now arrive to drag us back home.
My armor was never silver but warehouse chrome.
O, to die in Ashland, intox’ed by her clackety-clack.
Just to home return, but you can never ever go back.

Meet Me Once Again

Always wisht for a ‘grand affaire’
A love that rattled and shattered and grew
But only stolen glories and dried up hopes
And always the remains: ‘oh, how I’ll remember you’

Now guilty grey outcount the callow brown
And real age looms large in my mind
And alone with my picante Bordeaux
A joke portion remains of grace that one can find

Without pretense or malice aforethought
I plead you risk a newer pain
Join my foolish tilt at aged windmills
Meet me once more again

A riverbank, a hilltop, or bar
Your house, my house, running train
Restaurant, cemetery, or banquette
Meet me once more again

No promise of happily ever after
Just attentive present conversation
A chance to explore old embers
Or bury a youth’s spent intercession

A promise of ‘la grand affaire’
A love that filled and shattered and grew
Meet me once more again
Are all daisies really better when blue?

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

A Scattering Of Quizzical Looks

A scattering of quizzical looks,
A flurry of meaningful hugs,
Why must my sad lady fair
Scare as if all men are thugs?
More than a pair of kisses &
A small certain of rolled up eyes;
With a hand-to-palm reflex too old—
Ma’am, unspoken thoughts aren’t all lies!
Just gimme some shelter:
Those northern storms boil up so fast.
I’m not very sure your fear and dread
Will all night gunk us up in the past.
Lovely one retired just last week,
Congrats on your monies independent,
But risk a chance with a dancer cheek-to-cheek
Before your tired heart is completely spent.
To those eyes whose tears have shed Afghani sands—
Find your calm and take hold of loving carefully hands.

The Sun Goes Round and Round

Did you see how that sun did sure set
Burning down and turning grass to hay
A fiery heat like in our redhead’s eyes
When things broke up but it’s gonna be okay
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to learn life’s that dirty
Too young to have to always gear up again
An old old woman before she made thirty

Did you see those high night sparkled skies
Space with just enough empty to hide all the shame
Stars breathless shining down on we the unworthy
Though not so for our redhead who lost the game
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to sail in the Horror Sea
Too young to fight it over and over again
Another veteran shotgun betrothed to PTSD

Did you see how that sun did early rise
A fresh start promise of another new day
Like the love flowing in a nurse’s pure heart
Floating in a speed boat off a New Jersey quay
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to become so old old
Too young even if she’s only just fifty
With a sad sad story too often again retold

I Need To Think

So I find myself on the far side
Of a failed happily-ever-after—
What happened to all the joy?
Where’s all that guilt-free laughter?

And to all my ever-lovely ones
Who so luckily got quite away:
I wish them all an undying love
From the other who stayed the next day.

But my slice of Confederate heaven
Has grass that could be soon be green;
Once the lingering Summer falls aside
I’ll then look deep between

The choices to that youth resigned,
Incautious, and stupid languidly met—
Always took out the trash and paid the bills,
Dreaming of distant hills and beaches yet:

Words make sad toil to fully tell
Why are we here today?
Lucky, we’re still allowed
To have any part or say—

From A joyous Hard Day’s Night
To The mature Razor’s Edge:
A generation sees in full bright,
But lost is the line for our kedge.