the date
it was late when my date entered
the kitchen closed, but the waiter served
We had gateau with white wine, but he refused
to give me red wine as it doesn't go
well with cakes
she drank a whole bottle and got giggly
at an outdoor kiosk, I bought two
hot dogs, one with mustard, the other
with ketchup, I ate both; she was in
the back throwing up.
I was not in a good mood when she
refused to come to my flat, the rain
didn't help
I walked her to the bus stop, and she
caught the last bus back to her parents
Days, months and years to all are special,
Because the rate of occurrences are spatial,
A deliberate art of super human,
To propel celebration of event and man,
Even those that are tragically comic.
We hold high birthdays for they are annual crops,
Centurys' first day is sold in a rare kiosk ain't shops,
A new day in a decade is ten years,
Is 1992 calender not as same as 2020 and coming years?
That is also the beauty of leap days.
While some celebrate as...
God and geographers bring mine not like ass,
For I was bore, once in four annuals,
A deep day to find in several biannuals,
As unique as a unicorn.
My birthday, like a sanctuary,
Privileged, get it not a mortuary,
We are those born on February 29th,
Count in fours from 1804 to 2020th,
Should we not celebrate a unique year?
I went to a holiday fair.
Many craftsmen and shoppers were there.
All the goods on display
Were well-worth what you’d pay
If you had extra money to spare.
Yet not one little thing did I buy
And in case you were wondering why,
It’s that all of my stuff
Seems to be quite enough
So I look and walk on, with a sigh.
I would purchase a lot in my youth,
Checking out every kiosk or booth,
But that hunger is gone;
I will pass the baton
To each tourist or craft-seeing sleuth.
~ A Little Post-Election Humor Never Hurts ~
Old McDonald’s had a roadside stand
“Make America Eat Junk-Food Again”
And at that roadside stand was RFK
eating processed food, Ole!
Old McDonald’s had a kiosk too
“Make America Throw Up Again”
And at that kiosk was DJT, version two
With Elon Musk, his 'new best friend’ ...
Now Old McDonald’s has a new lease on life
Just don’t expect to see Melania there, Trump’s wife
But – and this may surprise the ‘H’ out of you
I hear Barron’s got a hankerin’ for Mickey D’s mouth-watering
~ ‘filet of horse stew’
If demons had wings they'd find they're way to her heart,
It's a blasphemous affair
She's white linen fabric and I,a pitiable being
Our differences make us beautiful creatures
These are the forbidden thoughts I have of her...
Her father has purchased crutches for the man who is to champion her chambers,
I care less, at this point I died when she grabbed my breath only to give it to me after she exited the room,
Lately my sheets wake up to a fragrance of hope,
A taste perhaps.... It's like she visited tonight
And I tasted her in my dreams...
This is beyond sorcery,complete addiction
She's nicotine and tar, Gin and olives...
The thought of her has me stumbling to the memory of our first date,
As I looked in her eyes and she conversed of her deepest insecurities...
Ice cream dates are great but on this one I left the kiosk with a melted heart.
At this point i can't listen to advise....there's no reasoning with a man feeling love
And when we last touched I licked my fingers
This level of lust is disgusting!
Frequent flyer miles use can help us or abuse.
My son asked that we change and board another plane.
I told him, our passport, can't Havana airport,
said he'll use the kiosk, but my FF I trust,
counterintelligence needed--I’m facetious. (meant ticket counter)
Be that discourse of late, ill-present contemplate,
cards will fall where they may, I'll not gamble, I say,
payment via my card and FF disregard.
The moon had got itself tangled up
in a glass telephone kiosk.
Tricks of light do not apply to moonlight,
for it is a ghost
haunting its face only through earthy reflections.
It looks to us to see it.
The city was strangely quiet,
motorcars grew distant,
Like shadows upon cobbled pathways,
the clip clop of horse's hooves
could be heard to be passing-by.
For a moment,
time had slipped, between the cracks of the pavement,
I was convinced that the moon
was trying to phone me.
Standing as still as any wind-swayed lamppost
I listened raptly,
eventually the dull roar of modern traffic came back.
The moon had broken free and had returned,
to the darkening sky.
In the empty telephone booth
an old fashioned, Bakelite receiver
dangled from its curled chord,
while the night eerily hummed on.
In solitude with eyes
closed, a bell flashes with a
little girl chuckling, chasing it.
In stillness, silence, the bell starts
tolling and the girl intently stares at it,
eyes beaming with glee and a radiant smile
expressing delight. I opened my eyes, shook my
head, thought of the childlike innocence, the display
of honesty, freedom, enthusiasm and suddenly remembered
my own childhood always excited hearing the church bells tolling
for they meant fun, cheers, good times. Hearing the bell at six o’ clock
in the evening for worship or Angelus prayer at our altar, meant having dinner
with my favorite dish or dessert for dinner was served after our prayers. Hearing
the bells after the morning Easter Sunday procession meant fun in the beach
for everybody went there for fun and lunch to celebrate the Resurrection.
Hearing the bells after the four o’ clock morning masses during the
Christmas season, from December sixteen through
twenty four meant eating delicious
rice cakes at the church
kiosk.
He said to once again enquire
About the things he should acquire,
Which their Law School Programs require
From one seeking to be Esquire
And he's shown a gown of a Choir
He'd seen in a jeep like Sequoia:
On a good friend,catechist Isaiah,
Then,firing the jeep in a mire
In front of a kiosk Of Keziah
"No to a choir- like esquire:
Readers of Book of Obadiah..."
My t-shirt was bought on vacation.
It pictures a Vespa in front.
On seeing it, I felt elation,
Completing my souvenir hunt.
A kiosk outdoors was displaying,
With other reminders of Rome,
The shirts for which tourists were paying
In Euros to pack and take home.
I wear it and I can envision
Those tees flapping out in the breeze.
I bought it with no indecision,
Just know-what-I-like expertise.
An object can oftentimes trigger
A memory flash in the mind,
Investing it with enough vigor
That moments don’t get left behind.
and I
who just wanted a kiosk
of sugarcane juice
on the side of the road,
some laying hens in the back
and two cows,
sunshine and star,
drooling friendly in the pasture...
Ghost Mall
The chess king
still searches for
his foxmoor inside
the ghost mall;
she slips behind
a casual corner
somewhere
down by the Gimbels
sipping an Orange Julius
with Hot Sam.
No one sees
the old
bypass men
traipsing around
the dry fountains
overandover
in their white
Kinney’s
others
loop-de-loop,
over the Scoop
and under the
kiosk bone fields
stopping to
prayby
the Lazarus door
Sixth day,
hexagonal Hour;
is the Light still ours?
Philanthropic rays,
suits who sooty Ways?
beaks a Grain of rice,
is it true what the caw says?
lazy Pigeons cling to their pillows,
Chameleon and doves stand in one row;
Who knows, cage who the Sparrows?
tungsten filament in the womb of twilight Raven,
pebbles been stones until brims the tavern;
Oil in the lantern,
clocks in kiosk coo Eleven.
Still an hour left,
for Shadows to hide hues Theft;
is it still an hour left,
for Hands to unite in with off debt.
090520
Are Flowers for Picking?
I question myself,
silently standing beside
the quaint wooden kiosk
in the centre of the square.
My eyes scan the freshly
picked assortment of roses,
carnations, lilies, and orchids.
The array of colours tempts,
softening niggling doubts
arising from tender pity.
I enter the hospice, briskly
making my way to her room.
Her haggard face lights up,
slightly masking her fragility.
A wan withering rose…
I swiftly hide my pain
behind a loving smile and
the fresh flowers in my hand.
-------------------------------
Placed 1st in Brian Strand's
Pick 1 Contest (April 2020)
The line of people out the door.
The queue that snaked around the floor.
The building's sleek art deco style.
The carpets' faded plush red pile.
The "Coming Soon" in convex frames.
The "Showing Now" and big star names.
The James Bond pose in poster shots.
The tickets from the kiosk slots.
The heavy doors that often creaked.
The seats on springs that always squeaked.
The fan shaped lights along the side.
The screen that stretched up high and wide.
The smoke that swirled inside the beam.
The shapes and sounds of Pearl And Dean.
The adverts that had overrun.
The trailers for the films to come.
The feature that would come on first.
The sudden pangs of extreme thirst.
The usherette's cool ice cream stint.
The fancy names like Midnight Mint.
The expectations in the place.
The action of the opening chase.
The talking scenes that went nowhere.
The plastic cup beneath my chair.
The glance at watches in poor light.
The stunts and guns and final fight.
The seats that sprung as credits rolled.
The exit doors and night time cold.
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