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Puzzling

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?

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A Simple Question

I was born
The petals of my life flower burst open
My shoots ached to touch the sky
Roots reached down embracing Mother Earth’s hug
Bees came, and I was pollinated
My youngens sprout at my feet
Frosts came and robbed me of my face
Springs return gave me back my voice
And sunshine ruled my every day
And now my old brittle petals close back again
The night attracts with stars and luminous futility
I once came to see and now long for sleep
Withering stems
And low-slung pistils
Call me home to Mother Earth
And I must answer
We all must answer
Because the simple question envelops us
But Nature doth fulfill and fails—
Clover softly calls us to assume fallow
And the warm soil receives our kind

Looking Up

Looking Up—
I see the Sun has come out
And chased away every Cloud
The cousins Rain and Thunder
Had been playing most very loud

Now the Rays—
Have warmed and dried up the whole place
Dogs and Birds and kids have all came out
No dour faces; no, not a single trace

I know not what may be this calendar season
Just want to run and play without a professed reason

On the horizon—
A rumbling and tumbling of clouds approach
It just might rain before we take our leave
The Sun’s rays scurry and hide beneath dark folds.
So, again come the rains, we do believe

Flashing and splashing—
Rain and Thunder make the scene
Such splendid commotion dazzles the eyes
And the roaring crashes so smite the ears
A thunderstorm is a glorious thing, I surmise

I know not what may be this calendar season
I just hope in the morning I’ll have a nice reason
To be

Looking Up—

Skip Skipping

Time is skip slipping
As the rain comes misting down
I think I really like you
With you I can sing and clown
Time is a sore pouring
The wine is half gone
Dance we again across the floor
We spin and spin until half-passed dawn

Time stops stupid short
You skitter sweetly out the door
You seem positively unsure
If you’ll come this way anymore

Time comes to do laundry
Separate the lights from the sweats
But we’d danced so hand-in-glove—
Always seem to lose at these kind of bets

Time for my daily bread work
Cloths are all neatly pressed
On a misty kind of rainy morning
One must always look one’s best

Because when the time seems right and the Sun supershines
The world may yet crash down but you still must work the mines
Wanna dance?

As It Will

Small people, little people
The Wind knows nothing of these
Big times, noble times
The Rains still fill the trees
Grand Love, Heartbreak
Discover your knees
One death, another last breath
Time passes as it will please

A month ends, a new week shines
No right answer calls
Newborn cries, an old lady sighs
A poor candle spits and stalls
Sun glows, Moon rises
Cold blusters thru the walls
A bell rings, the horde finds the access road
Time and midday traffic stalls

Little people, my people
Earthkind teeming all around
Mere races, many-coloured faces
Trying to keep above ground
Have Faith with Freedom to saith~
I disagree with what you propound
Singers spiel, Dancers reel
Look to what Music has found

Another death, one last breath
Time passes as it will please

Brussel Sprouts!

“BRUSSEL SPROUTS!”
Stomped Sally Gossamer Wingstep
On her non-existent floor,
Seems she’d flown into Jonathan’s web:
A thing she’d sworn she’d never do anymore!
As he skittered up an anchor strand,
Jonathan begged for her forgiveness;
Twas an old construction, he pled;
How he whimpered at her evident distress!
The ensnared forest fairy
Was sore mad as sour mushroom-heck,
But, she softened at his contrition;
True sorrow did she detect.
“It’s ok, Jon-Jon,”
Cooed Sally Gossamer Wingstep,
As limbs and wings plopped free:
Tis been months and months
Since she’d been on this side of the Queen’s Tree.
Offering tea and lavender,
Jonathan offered a feast with friendship;
But, Sally Gossamer Wingstep quick declined—
Maybe to share a cuppa on a future trip.
Spin soaring into the morning Sun,
Sally watched as Jonathan set to toil
Dismantling the errant sticky trap
That had caused her lightness to boil.
Off to the tribe’s market,
Sally Gossamer Wingstep continued out,
Trying to remember her shopping list…
Oh yes, Brussel sprouts!

Hospice Junction

So ready to cry in your arms,
But today’s broken heart is so déclassé.
I hold my iPhone in my clammy hand,
But mustn’t text when you’ve nothing to say.
Broken low down here in Hospice Junction:
I see pretty flowers wreathing the pretty birds.
I hear some pretty lady chaplain
Breathlessly whispering her fine holy words.
Some seventy-two have now come and gone—
The team completing some of their unending chore.
They’ve resurfaced that old tattered roadway, and,
And, another admission: how do they go on any more?
The Sun and Dawn drags up another new day,
Nurses and the all will shoo away the Dark and the Harms.
And they won’t get home until way after dark
O so ready to cry in your arms.

Conjunction

The empty space, the lonely face
Turns away
A moon arises, the day ends
Turning away
Tried to help, got home safe
Turn around
Found the wine, lost a friend
Fall down
Tears won’t come, three score or more
Look up
Feed the cat, do the dishes
Look down
Fret a chord, augmented minor
Look all around
Gorka speaks for me, walk to pueriles
Stand your ground

See The Sun

See the Sun,
Laughin with me:
Ha Ha, where ya gonna be?
See the Sun,
Laughin with you:
Ha Ha, whatcha wanna do?

Out the door,
To the park!
Run and Jump,
Sing with the lark.
Back at home,
Into the fridge.
Knowing you
Sucha privlege.

See the Sun,
Ha Ha, laughin with me!
See the Sun,
Ha Ha, laughin with you!

I just wantsta be
All up next to you!

Spur 191

so I took a turn down winding creek road
to see what I could see that funny sunny Thursday
there were deer and cows and horses proud
and roads turning off and about every which away

So touring the sylvan environs of Spicewood
betwixt here and there and those Marble Falls
off off off the main road heading out twisting curves
gotta pay extra attention: better hold all my calls.

bridges over Little Cypress Creek are a bit o’ let’s try this
and watch those scrapple gravel drives, please no dust!
Because you pop a tire way down there, my friend
taint no AAA a-coming, you are just stuck and bust.

heading home from Spicewood flying down 71
I saw deers and cows and some horses fine,
but the people there are so just the nicest,
exemplars of the best of the American kind!

hey! if you’re feeling poorly, bad news has darkened the Sun,
try a refresher country drive and take that turn off at Spur 191.