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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I always wanted to be a medieval jester, the one who sneaks up behind the queen and makes her guess who caressed her. I always wanted to be the Lord of Misrule, King Lear's sad fool, and the one who started the joke ~ that continues to fester. Some guys literally have it all: a big house, a fancy yacht, trips to ports of call to meet a pretty romancer. And pancreatic cancer. And a lush plot for a much too early burial. From Barcelona, she shipped me boots of Spanish leather, with a note that said, "So you might get to understand Bob Dylan better." And that's the last word from her I ever heard, and sadly, we never listened to Bob Dylan again together. It's always fun to reflect on where we first hugged, and where we first necked, and when it first was that we crossed the line with you showing me yours and me showing you mine. I don't remember ~ were we still eight? ~ or already nine? “Irregardless” was never a word, regardless of what you might've heard. And "between you and I" will also not fly if you wanna graduate from second year college to third. Oh, kiddies, be ever so alert! Here live dangerous dragons that squirt all manner of green ire and orange hell fire, and if you get hit, you’ll really hurt. Life in this big old fishbowl was never quite completely whole, till Wally the walrus came to dwell among us, and gave this fishbowl some soul. No, I don't know what I meant when I said that the universe was rent. I think I was thinking that the stars just keep right on blinking even when you don't pay ‘em a cent. When I was still smoking two packs a day, struggling every morning trying to hack the phlegm away, my wife would get down on her knees and beg me to quit ~ that's how afraid she was I was gonna die from that . And so I'd say, "For you, Honey, anything, okay? ~ Just not today.” Skip to my Lou, my darling, Give my Lou a good view, my darling. Let my Lou see just how precious you can be, and what you wouldn't do for old Lou for a farthing. Among the seventh-grade girls, the rumor got really loud that Hary Long was truly well-endowed. But then Clarissa confessed that she'd seen it, and she wasn't all that impressed, although she wasn't believed by any other girl in the crowd. A cup, a saucer, and a spoon were crazily dancing to a Disney Land tune, till their itty-bitty gray matter got so dizzy, they all went splatter, falling, head-first, down the stairs to their ruin. Here we are, finally at our loose ends, with no more possibility for amends. Our love's edges just got too frayed for anyone to be able to come to our aide ~ no elf or fairy ~ who sews up, patches, or mends. Strolling by a sunny stretch of shoreline, I saw a great white shark eat a friend of mine. I yelled, "Hey Mister shark! This is supposed to be a private park! Who invited you here to come dine?" The way that scene closes invites a scrutinous diagnosis. For example, that fuzzy face ~ it appears in more than one place ~ with subtly different eyes and subtly different noses. Last night, I heard voices in the back of my mind, the voices of people you just known aren't kind. I got so scared, I hid in the closet and prayed to be spared. And then I heard someone declare, "I don't think he's here ~ his filthy kind are always the hardest to find." In an art history class about Johannes Vermeer, the professor asked a question that she found a little bit *qwueer. He said, "If you’d been that girl, would you have let him paint you with that pearl?" She said, "Only if he had held me very, very dear." * Poetry Soups won't let me use this word spelled correctly. Don't they realize this word also means "odd"? Guess not. We kissed in Act 1, Scene 4, and then I didn't get to see her anymore. The dramatist must’ve plum forgot to write what she and I were supposed to be doing in the play that night, which has happened to me so many times before. A working girl from windy Winnipeg, had Aesop’s goose tattooed high up her leg. And for the right price, and if you asked her real nice, she'd let you watch her goose ~ lay the golden egg. You know what I wish for the most? That we could drive one more time up the California coast, listening to Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, and John Prine, with me holding your hand, and you holding mine, and not stopping ~ till we had safely passed the fault line. When she disappeared behind the curtain, I knew that she knew for certain, but that she couldn't come back to tell ~ whether she’d gotten a ticket to where she hoped she was going, or a ticket to where she knew she could be going ~ just as well. This morning at a quarter past dawn, I got up and pulled my overalls back on. And I said to the manor’s lady, "Please say hello to my Lord Brady, and I'll see you next time I come by to do the lawn. I overheard two characters thinking: one about regret, the other about a maiden's pinking. Whether they knew one another, I cannot say, although one looked at the other, while the other looked away. And as one soaped lipstick off an empty glass, the other kept on drinking. When I find myself beginning to write on a topic that is just too erudite, I quickly throw in the towel, with an unfeigned avowal that frankly, I'm just not that bright. On a sunny afternoon, listening to a Mozart serenade, my girl and I sat on her parent’s veranda, sipping spiked lemonade. And we pecked each other lovingly on the nose, then kissed our way gradually down to the toes, then halfway back up, to the cooler parts in the shade. In the beginning, when Christ's followers were of life being bereft, by opponents who, at killing with rocks, were pretty damn deft, if someone like Bob Dylan had intoned "Everybody must get stoned," there might not have been any Christians left. Perchance, have you seen Mr. LaDoux? He's easy to recognize with his hair of straw blue, and his nose a red ball, and all dressed in a denim overall, perhaps soiled with a bird dropping or two. These days, she often forgets the many sorrows and the many regrets in which I played an outsized part by more than once breaking her precious heart. As the party band plays while the sun sets, I ask her, “Do you wanna dance?" She smiles and whispers, "Sure ~ let's." Some things I don't want to think about ~ like that closet and the coming out. Cuz I'm not even gay, at least ~ not all the way, and even if ~ it might still wash out. When I first told you I loved you that summer’s day, it coulda gone either way. You coulda said, "I'm sorry, I don't feel the same," and I coulda slunk back into the “just-friends” state from which I just came. But thankfully you said, "Oh, my God, really? Oh, yeah!" In a laundromat, I saw someone who obviously didn’t want to be seen, furtively fidgeting next to a giant washing machine. I saw him stomp out a cigarette, then, crawl in and get himself all wet. But when he crawled out, he wasn’t anywheres near clean. A thousand nights and one, and then the Gordian knot was fully undone. Not sure if it was the priest or the nun. But one of them said, "Glad it's finally done." And the other, "Are we obligated to tell anyone?"
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