flying around in the attic
crashing into the walls
these dark angels never sleep
circle games and bocce balls
old men on sidewalks
blind canes tapping
faucets dripping iron
ghosts, ghosts
I smell the fear
vipers fangs
antique dogs barking
cluttered rooms
play ground to the dead
I play rummy with them on Saturday night’s
to try and keep the peace
but they don’t like to lose
nothing worse that two timing spirits
they can’t hold their liquor
and soon a fight begins
I’ts a regular cowboy Saturday night with them
peso cigars and tequila
things usually settle down around dawn
and they sleep the day away
But come midnight they’ll be at it again.
I don’t know why I stay here.
I think it’s the cheap rent and transparency of it all
They say life is just death on vacation but I think there’s more to it than that…
But hey I'm still alive…I think
Categories:
bocce, death, gothic, home, humorous,
Form: Free verse
I read that they sold,
the Days Inn now.
Each day that I pass by
I am reminded
it was the last place
that my father stayed
before he died.
I remember sitting by the pool
and releasing the differences
of over fifty years.
All parties to the new project
seemed to be ecstatic!
It would bring new life
to that part of town.
Extensive renovation,
even a Bocce Ball court is planed.
Each day that I pass by
I see the changes
and the landmarks gone
and the impermanance
of memory.
Categories:
bocce, allusion,
Form: Free verse
Risen from the ashes of a time gone by...
Out of the 1900's and brought back into the present,
recreation of a simple, peaceful time of moments past.
The grand entrance with its pebble stone drive ways,
circular,
flower trimmed with springs and the newest guest arrivals.
Long walking porches out of New Orleans line each floor,
three high.
Soft strolling decking, leading to the stairs down to the lush lawns of rolling greens below,
darting in and out from behind each other,
in the defilade of the landscape.
People walking the trails around the property,
Bocce ball, lawn darts, kids running with kites.
Fire pits lit are at night,
burning red oak
Chocolate Smore's dripping over the open fire
mixing into a smoke tinged aphrodisiac as blankets are drinks are passed around like camp fire stories.
Natural springs lead to the pools of clear water,
mist punctuates the air,
the intake...
walking around this past, while here...Now....Present
What a gift it is...
Bedford Spring's
Categories:
bocce, beauty, family, friendship, history,
Form: I do not know?