Old Love Affair
clouds linger
outside my chamber
a gust of air
breaks silence
I bear
unfinished conversations
two years ago
of poems shared
with someone
who called me
to a grocery aisle
to clean up a spill
and she stood by me
a trial in life shared
now it looks like rain
a cool September day
first of the fall
the housecat I fed
wanders room-to-room
restless and searching
for his time and place
I suppose a shower
would do me good
but memories can never
be washed away, but I
learn to live again.
A love affair with fingers
May seem dumb to some
If only their brain cells would linger
The depth of the matter plumb
Fingers play sonatas and arpeggios
Hold the spoon for to eat Cheerios
They fold up into tight fists
Unfolded, help to play whist
They tap out rhythms on desks and tables
Of so many things are they able
So, why shouldn’t we love our fingers
One can even be 'given'
to lunatic left or right-wingers
Snow came down hard
Harassing the roadside bar
Taking one more shot
Reminding himself, 'he was hot'
John proceeded to the lavatory
Without any worry
Mirror, he did reflect
No fear of the word 'reject'
Ventured into the night
Seeking a romantic sight
Reality stated hurtful fight
"Goodbye, my dear knight
Our relationship is dead,"
Wearing the pearls he bought, she said
Returning to the watering hole
Shivering and cold
Shocking we were told
Seductress commanded the stage
Half anyone's age
Protected inside a cage
Belting out a tune
Loving warmth came back soon
After being swooned
Patrons did say
Heating bill, owner electronically paid
When the tempting tease was done
She approached the admirer, looking for fun
As for the haunting past outside
Confirming someone had lied
And died
"Those pearls fit you right"
Stranger mentioned, eyes bright
"They are a little tight,"
Informed the songbird, preparing for a deathly fight
Confirming fan, a nut
She kicked them in the butt
Finding a cell
Lonely, I must tell
The Main Theme For
" Subject To The Movie"
--------------------------
The Orchestration
--------------------------
I once believed love would
keep us together
we'd go through whatever
our desire not to be apart
I characterized, the reason why
it was cool to say I love you
that feeling we share
the one no one would dare
to come between just
cause I love you
Everytime we kiss goodbye
I never doubt the reason why
cause your the top
you're the best
that I must confess
it's love I guess
When I lose my concentration
or get losed in conversation
I step away to ask
what do she want me to say
That passionate behavior
is the kind that'll save yah
when you loss your concentration
or lose you way.
what then to say ah
what denotes the point of our
existence
i don't know when
I can't remember how
I just know it's a special thing
we have together
The charm of a home smelling like mint
upon ticks of laughter, seasoned with
a dash of kisses plastered on walls :
And how the readiness of bodies huddle
in the kitchen feasting on leftovers.
Yes, it's all too regular, this kind of setting---
the language of rooms cluttered, wild
as child play: and when breezes call Sunday
to end, their world gives and takes warmth,
enchanting slumber in a fireplace of affection!
It's never finished—
endless need for dab or daub
with ink, paint, still wet
pen and brush, quiver and quake
aching for last touché touch.
Mind waits, contemplates—
sees the flaws, fizz, flaunt, and seethe,
edges come undone,
making more space to be filled,
with more touché there instilled.
Smooth will not lie smooth,
each move runs against the grain
tremors spill lava,
each correction answers back—
it's never enough—touché.
Obsession obstructs
the path towards completion,
becomes a minefield
of bits missing in action,
cowardly in dissension.
There's fingerprint smears
on every surface, shined clean
to show perfection—
obsession won't rest until
each shine shows more hidden rust.
At last, the step back—
but the work clings on, and on,
it won't—can't let go
obsessed with never-ending
contraire touché affair.
Mine have been brown for some time now and refuse to grow
Rather or not your garden is any greener I'm curious to know
I can only go off the way your lawn seem to appear
The fresh cut grass smell anytime you're near
That promise of growth due to your daily manure
Unlike my garden, your beauty comes off secure
I can tell you have had a green thumb for some time now
I want to change from grass to wood chips but wouldn't know how
I been tolerating embarrassment from the eyes of others
Water can't hold under fake grass, shall I go any further
Other gardeners have given help and different suggestions
But I tend to over water at times leaving wrong impressions
I've tried different methods and every idea over the years
I've tried replowing, re-weeding with blood, sweat and tears
I realize your grass isn't greener and that my soil is just tough
But my current garden is withering and at this point I had enough.
In a glen where the mushrooms glow soft blue,
Lived a critter who loved to change his view.
A pooka by name, with a golden eye,
He’d start as a hare, and then—why not?—fly!
Poof! went the tail as it turned to a feather,
Changing his suit to suit the weather.
“Too sunny for fur!” he chirped with a grin,
And turned to a dolphin to jump right in—
Wait, that was a pond, just a small muddy puddle,
So he turned into a frog on a sunny-day muddle.
He popped out of the mud as a bright orange fox,
Then turned to a moss-covered, sleeping grey rock.
He tickled the badger, he startled the deer,
Whispering jokes in their unsuspecting ear.
Then off he went dancing, a shaggy old hound,
Before shifting back to his own silly sound.
With a mischievous giggle and a spark in his eye,
He’ll be something new when the moon hits the sky.
Epstein's boys club
Mossads black mail list
Trumps buddies
Netanyahu's whores
no morality
example's so shameful here
Mr. Zionist
rants of hate
disguised as depression of tears
the supreme court of perverts
rules guilty
as charged
not so cunning after all
Visage
like a frightened owl
she gazes
into the looking glass
frozen foreboding
her lonely companion.
Shadows coil
viridescent and haunting
in the snowy canopy
of sardonic mist
where a bygone lover
moans his blood elegy
before a cuckolded liege
who brandishes
his razored lance.
Every love affair breeds a villain’s name,
Whispers in grapevines assign the blame.
What once was Eden, soft and bright,
Turned battleground in the dead of night.
Morning breaks, but cannot mend,
Shadows cling where vows once penned.
To one, a wound too sharp to heal;
To another, the monster they reveal.
O h
s i l e n t o r b,
in heaven’s high bower,
You sit and smile on this dark,
quiet night; A pale companion, with a
gentle power, You bless the world with
soft and silvery light. The watchful
eyes of those who walk the
earth, find solace in your
constant, steady
worth.
I love to play with writing words
to steer and harness them like herds
or let them fly like carefree birds
returning then from somewhere
to form poetic fanfare ~
my blended heart and soul affair.
As I escape the red lights
I see the crescent moon fading behind the clouds,
just as I thought I was left in utter darkness,
I look to my side and see a beautiful dim light shining.
A fragile light with thin glass and tiny cracks that must be handled with caution and care,
a light that can break at any moment....
this light will shine bright again.
He trims my hair,then half my pride.
Declares: ''Vivi,your bald spot cannt hide!''
I asked for ''short'',he heard ''absurd''
Now I look like an alarmed porcupine
He winks,'' a new style-bold couture!''
I tip him thrice,though I'm not sure
Next week I'll shave and call it art
And tell the nyatsi ,''that's the smart part
Dictionary
nyatsi: A Back-door husband when the real husband is with the back-door wife.
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