Out with the old, in with the new way of doing the same old thing.
Instead of snow, I clear the leaves. I don’t cleave to a resolution.
I don’t revolve around indecision. My natural giddyup takes off, as
the silence of empty-for-years-nest necessitated a sort and toss.
Happy New Year, a choice, when nothing precludes its success,
such as mourning in formal dress. Sneakers suffered from heel to toe,
as the alternative alteration of age - not hip, not on toes, unbendable.
Sixty-four years new, on the eve of ceremonial senior citizenry,
golden leaf revelry. Hold onto what is momentous: kith and kin,
giving in the form of an empathetic and devoted ear to your loved ones, acquaintances, strangers. Wishing you a Happy New Year. This one
begin with wraps and bows, even if the ball drops. Make it your best.
half past five - coffee
between sleep and giddyup
eight - another cup
sleep til nine - next day
set not the alarm, morrow
jumping beans - must catch up
nah, forget extra
need to catch up - exercise
stretch, bend, reach for sun
away with caffeine
surely a nap is in store
but not on the road
put the grinds away
the moon dictates - stay in bag
pour me into bed
early hour - coffee
attack that bag with fervor
sip and sip and write
And pondering the potential subject
coffee ignores politics
and turns to family
between light and dark
cream or black, the sip of life
Christ at the center
We’ll Ride a Horse Down Rocky Path
We’ll ride a horse down rocky path
Fall in love in the aftermath
Well do-si-do and do it right
Me and honey can dance all night
Roll away to a half sashay
‘neath the moon’s where we’re apt to stay
We promenade around fig leaves
with rolled up jeans and shorter sleeves
Hanging out in the doghouse tree
I circle left and she don’t leave me
Promenade with a giddyup
Be home in time for kiss-make-up.
Allemande left as we make things right.
all things beautiful, all things bright.
Weave the ring, a forever link
All ‘lone till life turns blue and pink
Suspense creeps in with tea and crumpets, dear,
And murder, mayhem, chaos, stirred right in
—Poet Stirring Up Suspense
IT IS TIME FOR TEA
It is time for tea, a giddyup I need.
Water is boiling in the glass pot.
Sublime scent and flavor guaranteed
and great to sip with a story plot.
The warmth of Earl and Lady Grey,
with bergamot or peel of orange-lemon.
So arousing - a nose and tongue touché
as well as the development of dilemma in
my cute mystery novel. The dust cover
shows a striped gray kitten and steaming
cup of peppermint tea. A Christmas lover,
I sup on crumpets and choice daydreaming.
Whether herbal hibiscus, cherry or chai
in this cockcrow explosion of birdsong,
I live for and long for the climatic high.
My brain fog’s lifted, character’s are strong.
It is an intoxicating concoction, time well spent
to awaken this poet’s muse, cozy in red pajamas.
It is time for tea, the steeping and bent
of a stupendous cup, steaming with sunrise dramas.
I see your mane, in each passing cloud,
the smoky stallion’s poll to the withers,
its giddyup and gallop, at midday peak,
in this arid Tucson where cowboys trod.
On the open road, contented and sleepy,
I see the shadows that form like a blanket
over the mountains with their historic shapes -
points, arches, dips and waves corral me.
I see the buckets, saguaros, prickly-pears,
organ pipes, and stunning cacti blooms.
They pass me by in the wilderness, and
as I stroll the slithering dessert paths.
Smiling big on Tombstone’s dusty Allen street,
I look extra short, arm in arm with handsome
cowboys, in Cochise County, romanticising
the OK Corral, the Earps and Doc Holliday.
Modern Tubac with exuberant colors,
its crafts captivate and decorate
most homes North of Mexico’s border.
Turquoise Angel with Roses’ paintings, endearing.
Back in her Green Valley home - my relative
displays art from all over the world.
Her home showcases an adventurous past
and the calm and love of Jesus Christ.
3/9/2023
“giddyup horsie”
a stick with no legs no tail
two legs prance about
9/29/2018
I’ve found the pasture with all the pretty horses
in origami red
junk pile silver
the painted desert
wild taffy
the proud one
a soft blanket
and saddle
“giddyup,” i’ve heard them say.
but all’s still and quiet, emotion’s
at the tip of a brush, in broken clay
with paper manes
and folded legs
iron skeletons
an infinite stampede
rows upon rows
corralled on stretched canvases
a serene place to view my face, a stranger
to contemplate,
take for a ride
8/10/2018
There was an ardent cowboy named Redd
Who wed a city girl beyond his spread.
They were a good match ’twas believed
Except she was acutely aggrieved
To discover that Redd wore spurs to bed.
"A Cowboy Christmas" is a children's song, sung to the tune of "Frere Jacques".
Christmas morning, Christmas morning,
'Neath the tree, 'neath the tree,
I found a hobby horse,
I found a hobby horse,
Giddyup, yip-pee!
Giddyup, yip-pee!
Lone walk. Fear the night.
Soft footsteps.. black.. still, spooky.
Fast flutter... Owl hoots.
Neck hairs standing up!
Headless horseman..giddyup!
Eerie pumpkin grins...
Noises behind me...
Closer....hot breath on my neck!!
Beat feet! Run like heck!!!
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