Another foot or so.
And after you have shoveled
The winds begin to blow.
But night has overwhelmed you and so to sleep you go.
Cradled in your bed, fits of dreams begin
Until the nightmare shakes you
And wide awake you scream.
For all your work has come to naught, nay sorry this I say
The foot of snow that yesterday was cleared with force so fierce
Has come to haunt your every joint
And break you piece by piece.
When I was young, a little pup
I had such difficulty getting up
I flipped and flopped
And slid some more
Till I had polished the entire floor.
You see, my ears were verrry long
And often twirled me round and round
Till one fine day I lifted up
And flew ten feet, then did not stop.
That’s Easy! I cried aloud
And soon I flew to parts unknown
Where people looked and cried aloud – that’s Easy!
As I waved right back.
I traveled far, I traveled wide
Collecting friends from every side–
Australia, Paris, New York, Berlin
How glad I was to be invited in
To homes of thousands, and to share
My life and antics everywhere.
So Easy I was to everyone
So Easy it was to make having fun
As Easy as life can be for one.
I showered my love on all I met
I shared myself with nay a care
I’ll Easily see you again, I’m sure
I’m in your heart, forever more.
The duck and the pigeon met by chance
Stowed away on a boat to France
They hopped a truck parked at the dock
Then drove to Montmartre and on to Chartres
And while they journeyed to Par´e
They each told stories of their families.
Arriving in Paris, they leapt from the truck
The pigeon danced wildly with the waddling duck
What a funny sight these two birds were
Walking the streets, looking in stores
Seeing the dazzling wares galore.
“That hat would make a lovely present
To match my sister’s new-born pheasant
And for my mother I’ll get a pot
She loves to bake and cook a lot.”
“That’s great,” the pigeon did chime in
“My wife will like that shiny pin.
And for my brother I’ll get suspenders
And for my sister, a pair of book enders!”
So off the duck and pigeon strolled
From street to street and boulevard
Admiring everything in sight,
They did this long into the night.
The happy pair had a grand old time
They visited the countryside again and again
To see where grapes were grown and then
Where Van Gogh painted and even Cezanne
Before returning to Par´e
To take a train to the ferry
Where their journey home would begin
Loaded with presents for family and friends.
Brought to tears
my heart does cheer
and thoughts of how you appear
to mellow my response
in ways I may enhance
a quality of life
so often rife
with war and woe
though this I think you know
my feelings are sincere
I must reply
I am not tied
by land or sea or sky
and will admit
with fitting wit
I’d rather live than die.
Death by a thousand cuts.
A sweet and gentle wish that you would soon reply
to worried inquiries about your health and happiness.
No one would write as you have done without a fearsome demon lapping at mind, souls’ edge.
Take care, and know that someone waits to wrest those demons, ease a heart constrained by hands unseen, by misconceptions of a life’s reward, of waiting for release from things you were always free from
And so you know I wish to hear your plaintive tones against the winds of nature spread so softly that I would even tread to heaven to release you.
Your life, filled with discord, rolls by
A paranoia unprotected
So convoluted you cannot know
What pain is real and what is not.
Jane, you are a true and beauteous moment
Of god’s own glory and nature’s bliss
Of loves’ lost and loves’ awaiting mist
Of minds beliefs and minds believing grist
You can surrender, though you would not admit
What your own mind tricked to assist
The venomous regions
Of life’s beguiling twists
That you alone have seen the coming end
Of wife and husband
No love, I can assure.
Love, sweet, soft, gentle wind
Swept across my proffered cheeks
Heady love, a sweet, sweet wine
Cloves and nutmeg
A mead to mine
Own love, I do profess
To love and never to regret
That you I held to heart, to breast
That you I loved the very best.
Find God in funny places; under the bed, under the carpet, in the carport, hanging from the ceiling. Take care where you vacuum. When I first found God hanging from the ceiling I was inclined to call the police. I thought it was suicide, I mean, how often had I heard “God is dead,” and here was living proof, right in front of me. You’d think the light fixture wouldn’t hold him. But he must be light as a feather, because as I untied him he spoke so softly I thought I was imagining it, saying “I am not dead. This is only a test.”
How you sleep, I don’t know you in this sleep, this sleep you sleep so well. While I kiss you, feel the warmth of your cheek, the breath that slowly escapes. I inhale the scent that lightly clings to you after a night’s sleep; the scent that defines you, makes you one with me.
You turn around, your old bones stretch, lean your head against my thigh under the blankets. I have been up for hours. Sleep evades me, echoes of previous days haunt me, dreams of car crashes, waking into sanity/insanity. Night, day, night, day, waiting for what. For sleep. A good night’s sleep, a solid, complete sleep, dawning to a bright beginning.
Not for me. But for you, there, softly pressing your head against me. For you.
Good morning New York.
Too many times I open my eyes and I’m without you again…
You wander around, nose to the ground …I’ve heard it all a million times before. Anticipation. Waiting. The greatest times are out the door, no time to wait, let’s get there straight. Now.
Whoa, what just happened? That sure was fast! Here I am, waiting patiently on the steps for my mistress’ return (what else is there to do all day, yes, well, sleeping, which feels so good…). So I thought to fulfill my household obligations, you know, the watching, herding, protecting aspects (not the cuddling, please…) With that in mind, and a quick bound, or rebound (I missed the first step the first time), I applied myself to the vigilance required for perusing the passing parade beyond the window, waiting, waiting, waiting…
Now waiting and watching are worthy professions from where I come. Thus it was not without some chagrin that I must express my embarrassment at having missed a prime suspect, my reason for being (she hasn’t taught me French) and with hopes, I remain at my post…Adieu!
Tear out the telephone. Then deal with screaming people, complaining, cajoling; you need a phone, we need you to have a phone, its not healthy; what if something happens, what if…
So what if, so what. If I had wings I’d fly. If I had sense I’d put the dog in the car and leave. Leave it all. House, friends, family, bills, taxes, job, no job, just leave. Alone, always alone. Before life, during life, after life.
Now after life. That’s funny. Memories of “before” life? Is today real? Grim. Yesterday is nonexistent. One chance. One breath.
Loved ones, friends, acquaintances, strangers go to war, die. Endless bloodletting in another land. Bloodletting on our streets. Empathy, nonexistent, empty words. Death is benevolent, the last refuge.
Fall into winter. Yes, fall into winter. Not spring ahead, no running here, just falling. Even the swamp won’t let you forget what’s in store. Cold just thinking about it. No wonder the dog wants to stay in bed. Brrrrr… So today he remains quiet without knowing I can speak as well, or well I am that I speak for him for good as he (or not?). Another day, anon, a new photo to take for the morrow.
I’m beleaguered by thoughtlessness. Why, I must be invisible most of the time. Or she only considers me a bed-warmer. No sooner than I hop up on my (her) bed, than she’s stroking me, running her fingers through the fur on my chest (how sensual…), as if I didn’t know she only uses me when she’s cold-no love lost here. Yessiree-bob, I can accommodate her, why not? No one else is running up to bat, hands out, offering a home, hearth and haven.
Heaven knows, heaven sent she may not be, but heavenly is the feeling I get tucked under all those blankets on a cold November night. Wouldn’t you like to snuggle up to someone your own size? Someone to press your body against, bury your head in their neck, take in those pheromones? Oh, oh, you say I’m naughty, inhaling her essence, but forget not, my greatest sense is my nose. Just come a little closer, I know who you’ve been with today…you can’t lie to me…maybe your partner…
Yes, it’s ten minutes to eight, and already her eyelids are drooping…guess I’ll have to pick up another day…
Late swallows, the jaws crashing, crushing, snapping, popping, rise, and hasten upstairs, endless tomorrows, a dog who knows no control, the pooling of saliva,, nauseous with recounting.
Avoidance is not relief. Years have proved that method inadequate.