Long Busies Poems

The missus served me high test coffee...

Ah... tis nothing more heavenly 
(to one borne again devout atheist)
then a spring like January 18th, 2023
here at Highland Manor apartments
picturesque green covered landscape,
where intrepid dandelions 
dare to defy...

Read More

The missus brings me high test coffee...

A cold wintry January 53rd, 2021
at Highland Manor apartments
picturesque snow covered landscape
safely ensconced within Unit B44,
we (yours truly and wife)
occupy bedroom and
television room respectively
comfortably numb and toasty warm
at sixty...

Read More

Only when yours truly busies himself...

Feigning to emulate NON GMO
garden variety English major oh just so
ho-hum, this ousted son and cingular bro
biological byproduct of papa's yoyo

after mama taut Peppy how to grow
big and become vein,...

Read More

Hedwig


Her house, a memory lane of sacred spaces:
the cobwebbed attic travel trunks, 
high heeled shoes, pink taffeta gowns, 
skirts that open into spinning parasols, 
cool musty wine cellars lined with dusty bulbs 
and oak barrels,...

Read More

...inspired by 'Cul-De-Sac' by Allen Tate


The golden sheen had turned to rust,
the laughter to a pile of rags,
the joy to ghostly lamentations,
how the weighted second drags.
Blind and deaf to consecration,
weak the beatings of the heart,
barren...

Read More

...inspired by 'Cul-De-Sac' by Allen Tate


The golden sheen had turned to rust,
the laughter to a pile of rags,
the joy to ghostly lamentations,
how the weighted second drags.
Blind and deaf to consecration,
weak the beatings of the heart,
barren...

Read More

...dedicated to Allen Tate


The golden sheen has turned to rust,
the laughter to a pile of rags,
the joy to ghostly lamentations,
how the weighted second drags.
Blind and deaf to consecration,
weak the beatings of the heart,
barren now what...

Read More

If you fight with fervent heart,
roar of lion from your part,
perhaps true kindness will impart the vengence of a Goddess staved,
the moon now red with the noon's dead,
in your heart I'm sure is dread,for this...

Read More

The golden sheen has turned to rust, 
from Gucci to a garment bag, 
the joy to ghostly lamentations, 
how the weighted seconds drag. 
Blind and deaf to consecration, 
weak the beatings of the heart, 
barren...

Read More

They wait, deep down in the red earth,
covered from the yellow, Wyoming sun,
like Tom Horn, a while ago, 
but deeper than he, not the same, 
they wouldn’t kill for fun, 

and the bored army busies...

Read More

Naomi has seen this sight many times before 
She knows Mrs. Bee will be gone in two days
If not before

She makes her as comfortable as she can
The doctor comes in; he takes the lady’s hand
Attempts...

Read More

Dementia
By: Miracle Man
5/1/2023 

The scent of recall of times long past,
Uncovers many years of hidden hurt.
However, hinder years, can’t be recast,
life can’t be washed like a dirty shirt.

Dreams of the past now seem as ashes,
two...

Read More

splashing. sunshine.

etched glasses with paint in mind -
water goo.

rose reds and blueberry blues.

as if handling a ginormous flatscreen,
the canvas placed.

splash...splash...splash
like a conductor with an orchestral skill.

the maestro puts on his visor and busies himself,
squeezes the...

Read More

THE STORMY DAY

Awoken by 
Rumbling in the 
Deep distance
Shallow waters subside and 
Gliding across white wakes
Makes for the sanctuary,
A distant glimmer in the 
Heart of the storm bird.
Building and gathering, 
The mind on the shore...

Read More