Blog Archives

Transylvania

Yay hooray
Achieved intoxication
Sorta kinda in-home vacation
Stay home, don’t alive
Avoid tickets and all that kinda jive
Thursday night
A faux start weekend
What will the future subtend?
Muscles, tendons
Fascia in full alarm
Tho’ never meant you no harm
Need a haircut
And a full-time occupation
Please a reprise in a better situation
Breathing in
My book arrives from Amazon
Still here, tho’ rather’d be gone
A wonderful moment
Aspirin and merlot do attest
Brunettes t’embrasse really are the best
Yay hooray
Encountered Beatlemania
But there are still no vampires in Transylvania

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Running Away (No One Knows)

Running away
Running hard
Getting away is not in the cards
FAILURE looms
Failure grows
My loss is mine
In verse or prose
Hunger for release
Hunger for the answer
The way out
Any way to get away
Not enough burgundy
Not enough merlot
Can’t find the reason
Can’t find the door
What’s to become
Of the knowing heart now so old
In a recumbent species no longer bold
The problem’s all sewed up by ten o’clock
And the problem tarries not for sand or rock
Where to go
When the tears end
where to hug when no one turns a face
Who am I and why am I here
Dying in the cold and the dark is just one thing I fear
The scars from the bars with their jars of disdain
Who gives a damn about the yarn rotting in the falling rain
So small the plans I plan to ply
Given half a chance ten times I’ll try
Make proud the child who still grows
Despite the warning No One Knows

Shoulda

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’

White-Hot Reason

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.

Wanna Misbehave

Wanna misbehave
Fall out th wrong side of bed
Let’s forget that Raggedly Ann
I’d drather play with you instead
Let’s break some windows
The amps cranked way passed eleven
Let’s sway to some ‘Stones
Find the morning along with a hint of heaven
Itsa fine wretch of a red wine
From the ashy dead Sonoma plain
Like a slow dance in the delta
Itsa waltz all ‘round with you all over again
Another orangish Halloween looming
Black cats and sultry witches in skeleton chorus
The lil kiddies pounding about the hood—
For the best chocolate goodies they implore us
Hey, wanna misbehave
Let’s shake it at the shaming dawn
With a toss of your sassy ebon mane
Despacito, our two hearts been long gone

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.

Mixed Emotions

Mixed emotions swirl
Then fall down
And curl
Another merlot-fueled atrocity
Masquerading as inspired verse
But it’s far from free random
Something much much worse
Second glass empties
Begs a refill—
Yes, please
A young Friday evening
Perseverating in isolation
I’d love to have a date
But that requires some ambulation
The ringer on mute
A cell insolent,
No pursuit
A Facebook lovely in Killeen
How to make a connection?
So many never-never starts,
Dust-in-sprinkles wet the imagination
Mixed emotions weigh
Then slip off
Anyway

See You On Down The Road

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….

Who’s That Old Man?

Looking at Sixty-two
Right in the face
Reminds me that soon
I gotta get out of this place
Back to the Crescent City
To ride a streetcar or two
Hang with my brother apes
Pay full cover at Audubon Zoo

Looking at Sixty-two
Who’s that old man?
Gotta dance some Cajun
Just as soon as I can
Meet John at Da Leaf
Then relax with David at the Columns
Then real beau coups soon
I can let go all these little problems

Looking at Sixty-two
Born in the magic year 1955
Wanna prove them all wrong
And gonna get out of here alive
Just one more beignet
And/or a Merlot-filled glass or two
Then it won’t be all that special
That tomorrow I turn sixty-two

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