At times, at night,
Oft after midnight,
My mind won’t let loose the words,
For fear lest I might let fly,
Spiced brocaded prose one cannot call back—
All those burning bridges
Built to serve and to smolder.
What must you think of me?
We’re all getting quite older.
Curses not cast,
Happily ever after—
Will this wrinkled love ever last?
Give you space,
I take the time,
Lost in the meaning
Inside this sorry rhyme.
I desire to once occupy your keen eye
While I hide behind a sordid old lie.
70 and 80 come now too soon—
Can we teenagers ever see past the besotting Moon?
Why am I thinking of King Cake
Wreathed in a tether of flowers
I much prefer being on my iphone
I could just stay on here for hours
Oh there’s that boy from New Orleans
He’s been here for quite a while
He’s not all that bad looking
Maybe should put him in the Maybe File
Isn’t there someone out there for me
Who too likes long walks and talks
A guy who’d love me for being me
And not a toy to be kept in a box
Oh such a silly text from Sally
About that party last June
Yes, we should get together
And it probably ought to be soon
LOL, TTYL, and LUMOA.
Now time to say hi to Dad
Tell him I’m making the next Dean’s List
I love how he’s so supportive, and glad
That I’m my own true person—
Talented, thrifty, and pretty nice;
Cuz today’s awesome women
Are so much more than sugar and spice!
And still there’s that boy from New Orleans
He’s been here for more than a while
He’s not all that bad looking—
Maybe I could hazard one smile?
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
Been chasing, chasing, for so damn long
Just stand still
Lemme catcha breath
It’s not too late
I can be the one
I can do right
Always over the hill
Always out of sight
Just stand still
Songs are sung
Bells are all rung
Flood my mind
Stop a bit
Why so unkind
Just stand still
Over the hills
Across the sea
What must I do
Why can’t it be me
Just stand still
Marcus V Featherstone winged about the morning mist
Contemplating marvelousness if Sally G. he might have kissed
But she’s far too grand, he thinks, for one as insignificant as he
Perhaps if he completed the Annual Race to the toppermost of the Queen’s Tree
The he might could just barely maybe conclude he warrants the attention of said miss
Sally G. foraged amongst the garland vines of fairykind’s farthest field
She commanded by the memory of a certain someone’s cool violet eyes to yield
But he’s far too grand, she thinks, for one as insignificant as she
Perhaps if she completed the Annual Race to the toppermost of the Queen’s Tree
Then she could just might perhaps sort of conclude she warrants his attention to wield
The morning of the Annual Race dawned a foggy and clammy-close though yet Grand Affair
But such was the history and joy of the Queen’s Event that most of fairies did nae much care
But that few reached the canopy and much warning was about the hazards of such a quest
Some trained for years, and though many many failed to summit, they all tried their honest best
Oh, but at Start Time, the mist cleared, the skies blued, and the weather could be a day most fair
Marcus V. would go the southern approach and make his noble stab for glory
Sally thought after the eastern boughs to write the best of her winged story
Neither knew of the others flight plan or even that they would be there
Neither thought the other could possibly think this would be a thing wise to dare
Oh, then clouds shrouded the Sun and the gathering mists promised to turn the day most hoary
Lost in the dark and the fluff Sally alighted on the next promising soft tree bough
Crushed in the knowledge of this failure: what, oh what would she do now
Flying way off course, Marcus drifted ever and more further east
Summiting the Queen’s Tree seemed a dream to be cast off as a need least
But a far soft keening did Marcus and Sally perceive, but to reach the fairy, how
Working bough to bough, the two young winglets sought to help the crying one
Shaking off disappointment as this had been their plan for a heart to be won
Sally got there first to find a wee fairy far too high for his own good
Trying to impress a stern lofty Father as if such heroics ever ever could
Marcus arrived shortly after, tamping down his joy for the good that needed to be done
Down the tree Marcus and Sally silently escorted their frightened cold charge
Stealing glances at each other, young love paused, though their longing loomed large
His Mother flew up to embrace her naughty though ever brave young son
Father too weeping flew up to his boy, holding his loved and cherished one
Sally and Marcus feathered off, such a familial scene they knew not into barge
Marcus V Featherstone flutterbuzz-winged about the morning mist
Sally G foraged amongst the garland vines of fairykind’s farthest field
Remembering how the moment came when longing caused something to yield
And at the foot of the Queen’s Tree, as Marcus made his thanks, his cheek Sally had kissed!
But Sally Gossamer Wingstep already was planning to train for next year’s Queen Tree’s Race
Remember when too much was a great beginning
We’re so mature now
Remember how we fell for their sparkling eyes
We’re so much more mature now
Remember when buying the next album was SO TERRIBLY IMPORTANT
We’re so so mature now
Now Mama’s in hospice
Such a really nice place
Cannot remember the room number
She cannot remember my face
Remember Mama’s own too good recipe for love
We’re so getting mature now
Remember that parking space up behind the levee
Oh, too mature for all that now
Remember that first Domilisies’s half-oyster with a Barq’s
But finally I’ve achieved maturity now
One day I’ll be in hospice
Hope it’ll have a really nice place
Cannot find my Medical Power Of Attorney
Cannot find my Advanced Directives any place
But never will I forget those sparkling eyes
Oh but, now so mature and wise
“Beatles’ new record’s a GAS…”
So, have you decided to come on over
And do some boy and girl things:
Consume Moon Pies while making eyes
Listening to records as the hippy gypsie sings?
We could walk down to the gulch;
Maybe even while holding hands,
Traipsing along while wrenching a song
From one of our favorite rock and roll bands.
I like the Stones and Zeppelin.
Yeah, Taylor Swift is totally cool—
I like ‘Blank Space’ and her girly-girly face,
Just wisht she’d finally find a suitable fool.
But, down pours them Spring rains
And our Sophomore finals are coming fast.
My Dad says I have to make A’s,
So seems Sunday’s schedule is cast.
Maybe next weekend you can visit
And we’ll do boy and girl stuff—
Laughing at jokes like regular folks;
Seems these weekends are never long enough.
Grains of sand from the road to water’s edge,
Clumps of grass grace the seaward’s fall,
Tender toes brave dawn’s early light,
To stroll into the waves so cold and all.
Squeals of joy and peals of laughter let fly—
Summer is here and time to resalt the soul.
Billowing clouds hint at storms a-coming in,
But now bodysurfing‘s the only required toll.
Find a towel, find your sunscreen,
Lip touch a smile with no daylight between.
Salt and sand peppering red tender arms,
Coke and burger calls skink across Biloxi beach;
Run ask Momma for some dollars quick.
Lunchtime’s over: let’s walk beyond parental reach.
Hand-in-hand they’re yet too young to know,
How now will ever be so very special,
But when you’re in your teens,
All that later stuff is so very subsequential.
Find a blanket, no need for the obscene:
Just lip touch a smile with no daylight in between.
Love and Sex and chocolate coconut ice cream cakes,
But, sweet little momma, that’s not at all what it takes
To keep me intrigued and glued next to you,
And I bet you haven’t got the slightest clue—
Hand in hand you silently listen to my silly wannabe poems:
The warm attention matters much more than a hand that roams;
And the walks thru our neighborhood, pensive and royal
While sharing the road with bushy-tailed tree rats keeps me loyal
To the witty little brown-tressed smartly aging hippy goddess,
Though I must confess I adore how you majestify that skirted dress.
Back home we Cajun, cavort, zydeco, and swing, then waltz—
Sharing a trite wine we talk talk talk as the ringing laughter never halts.
We go together to Yorkshire and the playoffs and follow the Doctor.
Remember study hall with that mirthless lazy upperclassman proctor?
You showed me how to find the stupid area under the curve,
As I developed an image to kiss you, but never had the nerve.
Now we laugh at our grays and ponder richly the latest wrinkle,
[But you could spare me those raised eyebrows when I try to go tinkle.]
The sun approaches the far horizon and together we’ll learn
How the endtimes will play out for the likes of we old lovers in turn.
Thank you for the Together, the Love, and the Let’s See What Tomorrow Brings;
Can’t wait for our next day and the hundred million little pay attention things.
Hey, let’s go write our names on the beach,
Just don’t ever be too far out of reach,
Loving you is all it ever takes—
Yes, I did say chocolate coconut ice cream cakes!