Across the dank protean mire
On the slope of a mowed field
The breeze rumples a page over
And the lass missed the poets last verse
Bewitched by the youth’s jogging pace passing by
She dared imagine his arms about hers
And pondered about passion’s cruel curse
The sudden rain scampered our lass
While the boy turned north and to dorm
The promise of Summer freshened newly
Like Latin winds bringing Mercury back to Rome
And a new Arachnida’s web is woven
Life and Death never pause nor long tarry
A half Moon finds the eve’s far horizon
Rooms aren’t the only thing empty back home
Shy winking stars spangle up
To make smart the Southern sky
Lass and lad miles apart wash dishes done
Neither knowing the others’ longing heart
Many mini plans made for reading nooks
A mighty edifice rises in the Tangipahoa
A counselor and her crook’s getaway suite
In a half-told love tale just at the start
Crimson currants scatter across the plate;
The ruin of his proposition dies on his lips—
The longing and the loss go begging, too late,
As two tired hands sag draped across her hips.
While puzzled puzzling puppies whimper without reason—
Is this the sure path to the higher parish ground?
Milady, crossed, throws vexed hurt blames and accusations;
Limped, the poet crawls away to contemplate a grayer sound.
Storm warnings fall, the sun finally peeks out;
The happy and free saxman takes the stage for his solo
Another rainbow dies unlit without a Southern doubt;
Can we sixters renew old loves, is it yet the secret go slow?
Leg raisers, push-ups, and the latest anti-cholesterol drug:
Guys muster what little left they have to play her knight errant.
Girls, wriggle and giggle, and deflate their swains with another shrug;
Boys, bluster and muster, try to achieve the ultimate, yet can’t.
Why is Love so hard to find and put softly in a peaceful space?
Why must Time dry up all dreams along with such a lovely face?
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.
I find myself caught in the mist between maybe and the maybe not,
With this shredded rudder and a jib which fails at its level best.
Is life always so testable? Please let it be multiple choice—
As fat fingers reach for another glass filled to its crest.
Now with passing rains that’ll never leave any trace,
We’re all a part of this same tired joke—
All of us punching the tattered line;
Whispering guffaws our parents wouldn’t have dared spoke.
Randomness lingers without offering any answers;
Hope smugly rises, then fades like a chimera.
There’s a late train passing thru Folkston—
COTU waves warm and deeply into the camera.
Passion calls bravely:
No one ought respond.
Remember the days of Doctor Who
And those wished-for nights with Amy Pond?
The poem yearns for some fulfilling reason;
Something clever, poignant, worthy of being read.
Ha! Good luck with all that—
I’m virtually going back to Ashland VA instead!
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.
He ain’t user friendly
He prefers bottom shelf
You’ll never see it coming
He won’t much mind, himself
“Baby’s toys gracing the floor”
She asks if there’s gonna be another stanza—
“Baby breathless, asking for more”
He gets the glasses down from the credenza
He don’t care who won the game
He hates to mow the lawn
He’d like to return to Barcelona
But, well, he’s slightly overdrawn
“So, what are we up now, love?”
His muse has some quite juicy lines—
“Don’t worry, baby, we have the time.”
She has the all of everything for which he pines.
He writes the stuff after dark
He likes his second glass
The neighbors seem to cringe:
Pity, he really hasn’t much class
Remember, deeply, the seventies
When Zeppelin was all the rage?
(This rhymester’s saddest secret:
Why wasn’t he born Jimmy Page?)
He steals words from his muse:
“Carefully caressing every soft contour”
Anticipation sweet, removing those fancy shoes:
“Even her red toes, that he does adore”
He thinks he can dance
He’s torn it up with the best.
But here comes Friday the 13th
He won’t much mind this test.
–thanks for writing assist by June O!
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
Ran out of red wine,
Ate all the almonds;
Ain’t this healthy living
Managed a mile run;
Piled on the push-ups;
Ain’t this healthy living
But I ain’t got you,
And no love is no good.
Aren’t you coming over?
Oh, if only you would.
Starting with several sit-ups;
Onto the overhead press.
Ain’t this healthy living
Stemming the saturated fats;
Diving after the Vitamin D3.
Ain’t this healthy living
But you’re still not here
As all these alleged muscles get sore.
To fully complete this course
Requires I be with you a whole lot more!
Don’t want any more red wine
And you can keep the nuts:
Please get over here—
No ifs, ands, or buts.
The scarred foil yielded,
Merlot found the bottom where dregs lay;
A cork sealed again,
Words limbered as Fall rains fell all day.
No pictures were ever sent from Pearlington.
Another’s dream has left the Pass,
Uncommon memories fade;
Time to refill one’s paisley-stained glass.
The black cat dropped down
Licking a lank paw;
A last leaf spirals to stillness
Alone in Death’s maw.
That chill in the middle of the back
Mocks the dread in your gut;
The screech-shriek died in a jaw slack;
Not in fear, twas anything but.
A stab of lightening you will recall,
Lit the surprise awaiting us all—
Jezebel was alive!
Then, your last fall.
It was just a simple October,
A parceled out poor Saturday.
A scandal of rains hung low,
But things were going your way.
Of course you were invited!
You’d bought that ruby bottle;
The costume party hinted promise,
And the fun engine roared to full throttle.
The storm rains had burst forth
As all the corks let fly.
Twas warm in the foyer
And your love you did espy.
The oriel would be deserted,
So Jezebel led you away:
Promises yielded to plea;
Yes, you could stay.
Upriver the dam was holding
As the partygoers were off at last.
Yes, alone with your Jezebel—
Passion unleashed as costumes off-cast.
But no one heard the rush…
Addams’ Dam was no more.
The wall of water they say
Was high—35 feet or two score.
Awakening drowning atumble,
You and Jezebel tried to cling to bedclothes,
But no succor there would be found;
Swept away as flood’s torrent flows.
Finding at long last each other;
Fear full afloat while loss uplifted;
The roar of the Onion Falls called.
You knew, only one can be shifted.
Grabbing Jezebel one time last,
You kicked for the nearing shore.
Flinging with all your might…
Her lips never to taste evermore.
A stab of lightening lit your Jezebel:
Safe on a branch was your fair miss—
She made it!
She reached… as you embraced the abyss.
Witches each year prowl the precincts
In company with jack-o’-lantern’s snarl obscene.
But things won’t ever be the same,
Not for Jezebel’s Halloween.
White wine poetry,
Sounds a bit fishy,
Wouldn’t you agree?
A summer time swill
Works its will
A mite underhandedly.
A bouquet demarche,
One could say—
Your smile betrays assent.
Poisson finish sweet:
Pears and lemon greet,
A cheerful air succulent.
Finish your glass,
My once fine lass,
As fire rises to your eyes!
Perissos Viognier 2014,
The heart races keen:
Oh, how the poor boy tries!