A smirking box landed on my door:
Ha, didn’t think you cared anymore!
Oh, old letters, stuff, rings and things, passe—
So, you’re really telling me to go away?
Another storm warning for our Gulf shore
Nicholas’s turn to Louisiana full explore;
Biblical inches so promised, we’ll get thorough wet,
But ‘tis not Armageddon, at least not yet
Another drained glass with merlot at the store;
Palmolive suds up the dishes to drain galore;
Wishbone Ash chasing golden hair blowing free;
Paris in two weeks, just to see what I can see
Smirking box makes it all the way out to the dumpster
Along with samesuch trash with our inarticulate Trumpster.
The stars out of reach for sad hearts so compressed
Ah, so it’s Noon, I ‘spose I’ll go get dressed
A life grown smaller
Measured from glass to glass
Sunny days dimmer now
What horrors new shall pass?
Granpa passed today
The next soft soul rising to a sure heaven
Awaiting the next kickoff
Are we kneeling for our unseen clerk in 7-Eleven?
A chippy bite of merlot
Chartreuse green simmers in our glass
September signals the Fall
What horrors new will pass?
Matriculated on yonder Austin hill
Pray for the new generation
While preen we old and spent—
A history mitered in misty veneration
Are you masqueing this year?
Can’t we just get a pass?
Tiring of this asterisked year—
What new horrors are to pass?
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!
Their wine glasses met
Their lips were sure to follow
She of undetermined glances
He an escapee from yonder hollow
A chance meeting in the Artmosphere
A renowned Cajun dance band
He asked for a dance
Later she took his hand
Up the forty-nine
A full moon recumbent
Light paused and cloud scattered
Allowances taken and full spent
A rainy morning greeting
Toast and coffee? Sure…
A drive around Alexandria
Another three hour tour
Returned to Lafayette
Keen promises to meet again
A thought: do you like trains?
Have you ever heard of Ashland?
There’s doins down in Lafayette
Time for some has beans
No chardonnay in CenLa
No lover in New Orleans
Friday growing older
Rains chasing the sun across the day
Only 80 minutes to a Wilbry sunset—
What will the neighbors say?
Need to hear a Weasel solo
Pierce another load of complacence
Need to find something real
To make any of this make sense
Sidewalks in the glen crest—
Where will the trees go?
Are you still drinking bad red wine?
Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know?
There’s something at the Artmosphere
And at the RocknBowl club too
Can you teach me to be discerning:
So, why is the sky so blue?
Sorta kinda in-home vacation
Stay home, don’t alive
Avoid tickets and all that kinda jive
A faux start weekend
What will the future subtend?
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
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
But there are still no vampires in Transylvania
Getting away is not in the cards
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 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’
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.