The silent kiss can come with secrecy
minus a face to reveal its patron.
Easily detected singing love’s strong melody,
best surprises come from unknown mister or matron.
A twenty-dollar bill found tucked in a pocket
with an unsigned note – spend as you like.
Unasked-for help with a faved broken locket
echoes thoughts of that boy with his thumb in the dike?
Without coveting acclaim for paying-it-forward
the silent kiss means planning things through;
taking serious your promises - keeping your word…
notably to a child who has before mistrusted you.
Cutting single neighbor’s grass and tackling her weeds
can make a difference when she doesn’t have time.
Treating her and her kids to dinner knowing their needs,
the silent kiss takes no account for each nickel or dime.
A life that's fading is a flame that's burning out,
I, a mortal, lament the departed soul.
Tobi Dike, your light extinguished—halfway unburned,
leaving us in darkness
—with only memories to hold.
We are all like candles—burning bright,
yet fragile
—our light shining edges closer to night.
Gradually, gradually, gradually, we vanish,
leaving only whispers
—shifting sands.
"Be kind, good, cautious" your words echo,
haunting whispers—guiding light in life's turbulent night.
The wise one says
—"a smooth sea does not make a skilled sailor."
Alas, sudden departure left us reeling, pained, lost,
yet legacy remains
—forever etched, museum of memories.
Your particle remains—testament to love, unity, light.
Tobi Dike, your light shines on comrades' hearts—
forever lit a seed of love, and unity's bond, planted in comradeship's soil.
The ancestors say
—"death is not the end, but a transition."
In time's relentless tide, your legacy stays—
a guiding star, shining bright
—through life's turbulent ways.
Lil mama in a Q50 infinity
Known to handle drama
Pulls up any vicinity
know a broad in a Amg
we hit the drive through theater
And we blow on trees
I know a hottie in a Beamer
She fiends for the d
Trying to have my baby
in a swooped up m3
Another shorty in a Tesla
Always smoking gas
Pulls up just to charge up
We loving in the back
Now I’m in a jag
This chick loves to brag
Ratchet ass hell
She ain’t got no class
Mama in a v dub
Fly mamasita
Use to be my dealer
Now she on flea
Cruising in a cooper
I’m with a fine cougar
Taught me a couple lessons
I call her my tutor
Freaky ass shorty in a
Honda accord
Open 24 she use to take me to store
If you see me in a corvette
You know she a war vet
Every time she pulls up
She meets me at my door step
I’m in a nine eleven
Clutching on her thighs
Mashing like the dash board
She texting with her man
Big body hellcat
But shorty was petite
Lets me take the steering wheel
While she gets in fleek
Lifted I’m in a tundra
A dike mutha lover
She pulls on all the females
I’m with her in the summer
Stray cats slipped under a waterlogged night
only to drift back bedraggled,
as if today still pulled at their tails
Old Charley Winslow died
before the deluge,
before the river threw itself
over the dike.
Laid out for burial
he was seen to float out of a lower window.
Lots are gone,
welcome mats and watering cans,
sheds and shingles,
plastic peddle carts,
potted plants, stretchy pants, and porta-potties.
Many never made it back,
though some may turn up tomorrow
to be salvaged and put away
for a rainy day.
Any Sunday 2015
Long is Sunday, empty streets
a tunnel of silence,
damp pavement, water trickles
into gutters.
Burnt matches, *** butts and
yesterday's leave forms a rust
brown dike, it bursts and floods
tiny pebbles-
flowers on the window sills
admire the rain on glass.
A life spent in a pot fear
no weed and see no evil.
A black cat decides not to
cross the road,
a child in yellow wellies
dreams of tomorrow.
Trump, the man
The mass media in Europe is as bad
as any mass media all over the world
also lazy and copy one another
and have in common a dislike of Trump
Sometimes, they take their cue
from the once-famous Guardian who
has a pathological hatred of Trump
snobbishly points out his liking for ties
the color and the lengths of this
menswear
They rage against his lies, which turn out
he spoke the truth when his enemies
told whoppers of the great magnitude
The fact that there was no war at his
the first presidency is overlooked or ignored
Those papers and their commentators
do not understand humor, and when he
was shot at and bloodied got up waved his
fist in defiance, no one had the grace
to call him courageous
His first act as president again will be
to stop the Ukraine war, expel illegal
and send them packing next will be
the Gaza problem, which he doesn't
talk about, but there will be a solution
Palestinians can live with and Have to
accept, thus the threat of a nuclear
will be over
If I could, I would vote for Trump he is
the dike that can stop the income tide
of an all-out war
Into the funneling drains,
go the lesser drains,
as they flow or seep.
Culverts coalesce,
the rain keeps moving,
the flushed keep swimming
through their own
momentum.
Is there an end to the flowing,
the passing through?
The highest dams,
the longest levee or dike
cannot hold back,
not a single drop
of sky or earth.
The mood lifts from the lips, parched with permanent nicotine,
and falls, like snowflake-ashes from a turbulent volcano.
The uninhabited eye, underneath the patch - a vacant stare
into a cloudless night with flamenco-stars. Further from the truth
comes the truth of perspective, perspicacity, the long draw
of his cigarette and slow sigh of ringlets. The Camel scent
of his clothing mixes with lavender and the draught of tears;
melancholy plugs up the dike. An occasional red fingernail,
as if down a chalkboard, his spine, taunts the old timer.
He grunts, and drains the erupting whiskey bottle. Thoughts
take wing…oft’ he hears her laughter, a bird call. Good eye
plucked from the bar, placed with the rest of the stars -
he doesn’t deserve the halo above his habitat, the floor.
Every day, life spins, like a merry-go-round, with no point.
He’ll never tell - the tale is decades gone and oversold.
5/7/2023
Anatomy of Melancholy
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Cats and cars slipped under the long night,
only to drift backward
as if yesterday still pulled them in.
Old Charley Winslow died
just before the deluge
but when the river threw itself
over the dike
he was seen to float out of a lower window.
Lots are gone.
Welcome mats and whistle pigs,
sheds and shingles,
plastic peddle carts,
potted plants, pants, and porta potties.
Lots never made it back to yesterday
some may turn up tomorrow
but when they surface
lots of things will smell bad
and just as clogged and cracked
as we will be.
Please, take me by my hand and show me what the subtle lining of a cloud really looks like.
For being with you brings tears of joy as if a finger was removed from a hole in a dike.
Lift me up to where the atmosphere is warm, comforting, pristine, and clear.
Let me sore with you above all that one can imagine, for being with you I have no fear.
Tell me of the treasures of the Creator in all Her Glory.
Speak to me of the magnificent unbounded story.
Let my heart be receptive to a most powerful love yet unseen.
Let me sore with you over oceans of blue and pastures of green.
Teach me the ways of thy lips and the truth of thy tongue.
Take me back to the innocence of a child, when I was young.
Share with me the grace and wisdom of Our Mother-Father's house.
Speak to me as I sore with you and I will listen intensely, quiet as a mouse.
Hans tried this save as a tike -
Episodic finger in the Holland-days dike.
Not afraid to swim.
See-through stranger didn’t spook him.
Friendly Casper scared the boo out of all,
Spared the scaredy-cats with a window y’all.
They see through the glass magnified fishes.
The aquarium, a dutch treat for all their wishes.
8/30/2021
not for contest
Casper the Friendly Ghost episode: Dutch Treat
I have a headache, so today will not do.
I like you of course, through and through
But this headache is awful, you must have a clue
That I truly usually really really like you.
Okay, Sweet Kitty Moe, I will wait because you I like.
I will take a sweet ride on my motorbike.
But when I come back from Lavender’s Dike,
I need an answer to my proposal said Big Mike.
Kitty Miss called her feline friends and said, “Woe!”
Big Mike wants to marry me, but he’d see my big toe.
Just tell him what it looks like, said her cousin Joe.
Hide it under your bottom advised her Auntie Glow.
When he came back, she accepted his offer so fair.
But they always got busy when a light was not there.
She never wanted him to see her enormous big toe.
He was delighted, with his darling, Sweet Kitty Moe.
game we will have won
down middle did muscle one
caused another run
really such a stun
game lost while not being won
bad luck came upon
Another Loss After One More Loss
civil war a loss
there way of life was great loss
for words at a loss
After Reading more of Soul Of America
by Jon Meacham.
over hurdles vaunt
and around track did jaunt
all done nonchalant
did love them a lot
so each one should receive shot
that we have been taught
prefer open mike
going for long ride on bike
catch fish while on dike
Team at first compact
no longer has been intact
Member must subtract
me and also we
who put lives in jeopardy
sure you will agree
Test icles
Female dog
Oral stimulation
Wood
Rectal insert
Bulb of the vestibule
Raccoon
Box
Ipipi
Del dool
Dike
Cigarette
Akkineni
Mouthification
Analingus
Fornication Under Consent of the King
Fudge factory worker
Gay
Ejacu late
Fleshy folds of skin
Handwarmer
Black person ethnic slur
Pene
Rose thorn puncture
Cono
Strange
Sack
Fecal matter
Promiscuous woman
Pluck
Pecho
Obnoxious person
Faighne
Master Baker
The boys sat on the bridge, dangled legs above the water,
a tractor crossing that lifts and rattles, loosely laid with sleepers,
rut tracks between the marshy fields as rough wheels slowly pass,
crossed with bankside bullrushed dikes and scattered lonely sheep,
dagged bottoms up, all black heads down,white teeth to wetted grass.
Fifty’s cotton printed frock skirts mother’s seated lap.
Her hair is tightly bunched and tied in cotton farm scarf wrap.
Her arms enfold and hold me there, as I am quietly sat.
The boys are pulling tiddlers, quick flashing in the sun.
Excited shrieks and sudden shouts drift down the weedy dike.
I see their makeshift rods and lines pull fish up one by one.
I hold my cane with cotton thread and watch my bobbing cork,
and wonder why the boys have fish, and why this boy has none.
Uncle made the fishing gear, made safe for one so young.
Uncle made the fishing gear and thought it would be fun,
so hook and bait were missing, for safety, there was none.
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