Don’t have to walk the dog
Or let the cat out
Don’t matter
If the seats left up or down
I always know
Who farted
Still ask
Why are “we”
Watching this
Still check the mail
Mr. Edison
Writes monthly
The Maitre d’ shouts
“table for one”
OK…OK…
It’s the local deli
And a guy
Wearing baggy
Rubber gloves shouts
“NEXT”
I picture him
At heaven’s gate
Shouting…..
Has anyone seen a heart,
looking for its owner?
lost mine short while ago
jilted in the third row
before the finale
notch seven, her tally
Has anyone found a heart?
Surely no one wants two
knowing what hearts go
through, unless one takes
them apart, her main feature
from the start --
Please, someone call the Maitre D
with a flashlight for losers like me --
been dropped like popcorn, gummy bear,
paste ponytail clip, fake long blond hair
loudly she laughed, maybe spritz of pee
where Barbie sat, another downed today
cleanup in row three --
My Dear
My Pretty Polly
Oh My Maître d'
Serves you
A Fine English
'Iced tea
Herbal tea
Builders tea '
She is your Maître d'
"Lemon tea
Jasmine tea
Fusion tea "
My Dear
My Pretty Polly
Oh My Maitre d
Serves you
A Fine English
'No sugar Sir ?
Thank you
Not for me '
The lady will take one
Srirred in her breakfast tea
Level 13
Door 30
My Dear
My Pretty Polly
Oh My Maître d'
Serve me
My Fine English
Pour me my tea .
h e ‘ s r e a l l y
nowhere man
living life
s a n s p l a n s
stuck on roads
kicking cans
b u y i n g t i m e
h e ‘ s r e a l l y
nowhere see
u s e d t o b e
a maitre d'
for a cruise ship
on the sea
f i n a l l y e s c a p e d
h e ‘ s r e a l l y
nowhere son
a n e n i g m a t i c
friend of none
playing hard
having fun
d y i n g I n s i d e
h e ‘ s a r e a l
nowhere cat
d o e s n o t c a r e
where he’s at
growing old
getting fat
t r y i n g t o f o r g e t
This is a Rondine in pentameter
Never say never my darling Betty.
I think past sweet words have been a good start
and know they’re ingress to a woman’s heart
Would you like to rest on this soft settee,
there is no danger its firm and steady.
Gospel truth, in pantsuit you look so smart.
Never say never.
I saw you, dear, at Tavern Gramercy.
In Effie Silk Dress you were piece of art,
I could have torn your lucky date apart.
The Maitre d' had your table ready
Never say never.
Impromptu early dinner
Before party crowds arrive
December festive décor
Christmas carols in the air
Far from holiday shopping madness
Dining halls extremely peaceful
All truly mesmerizing and ever so perfect
Surely this is how heaven be
The fireplace ablaze and crackling
The jeweled tree propped in the corner
Glittering and winking on cue
This is indeed the best of the season
A fond memory through the year
Treasured preciously in our hearts
We meant to return every year
To repeat this heavenly date
Life happened – too busy or too poor -
Finally we did make it out
Excited at the prospect
Of renewing our enchantment
But where was our tree
Nowhere to be seen
The Maitre D’ insisted
There never ever was a tree
No matter what we had to say
In awe we sat in disbelief
Finally thanking stars up above
For our favourite Christmas memory
The one we both remember
No one will ever convince us
That Christmas magic is a myth
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS~ 2023
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
You incite me
You're exciting
Are you providing a sheltered love?
No objection
I need your thoughtful care
I enjoy you more and more each day
Delicious affection a heavenly constellation
Confetti ready
Drowning in celebration
Raw winged spell bound
Roaring anticipation
Michel Angelo Sistine
The ceiling how appealing
Becoming undone at the seams
I'm straightening when ever I
Lean in to hear you whisper
Intensifying breaths of roses
I am pouring this love out to you
In desperation, episodes of heart
Pounding contemplation
Fluttering hearts contagion
Of sonnet say it seductively
Am I your royal joy?
I will not faulter in this
Honor I am your Roy Roy
You are the maitre d' of me.
Enjoy be clever and thinly coy
Diligently love me free.
You know him
This man you never met
You know him
You've seen that walk before,
the cool, confident stride
You've seen that smile before,
perfect white teeth
with a grin a mile wide
You know him
This man you never met
You know him
You've heard that voice before,
the ultra-cool smooth cadence
You've seen those clothes before,
gator shoes, leather pants
and a silk shirt diamond laden
Oh, you know him,
you know him for sure
This man you never met
has you checking your memory once more
You've witnessed this entrance before,
fur coat draped over a chiseled arm
You saw this kind of heads turning before,
maitre d' running like he heard a fire alarm
Yes, you know him
This man you never met
What you don't understand
is how you could ever forget
Gardens – After Dark
Buddha sits stoically observing his garden.
The Gnomes snore as the Fairies toss and turn
asleep on the soft petals of flowers. The impish
Pixies party with the flashy fireflies.
Nocturnal seekers. Mice, forever paranoid,
scurry to and fro in a break even carbohydrate burn.
The raccoons, mask-wearing felons, are more direct.
They have already “cased the joint” and are sure of their objective.
Le Skunk, “but of course”, Pepe LePew, he fears no one,
boldly waves his white stripe, slowly peruses the menu.
Monsieur Owl, something of a Maitre d’, oversees the
dining arrangements - while planning his own.
The first hint of sunshine will trigger “last call,
dew will form on the flower petals awakening the Fairies.
Fireflies will drop the pixies at their three story walk-ups.
Gnomes will snort, stretch, and scratch themselves.
A gentle breeze will cue the wind chime.
The Buddha yawns, the birds sing morning prayers.
6/20/2016
submitted to – Little People – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
Written By: D. Collins 12/1/15
Love don’t sweat in rain, sleet, or snow.
It’ cool, calm, and collected in dealing with foes.
It doesn’t worry. God gives it an upper hand.
A decisive advantage over every other man.
Love don’t sweat, it tag-teams with old school.
When they think its sleeping, it comes right at you.
It may have to dress up in camouflaged fatigues.
And repel upon you from the tops of trees.
Love is intimate. Its close and personal.
It gives you a hug and says what’s happening Bro?
It is indiscreet with nothing but good intent.
It can suddenly change and want revenge.
All is good in a world of love and hate.
Love has never gotten to the party late.
It’s the Maitre D’ who greets you at the door.
It’s extremely confident and never insecure.
The Pilgrim told the Maitre d
I’ve had too much, no more for me
The food was great, the fruit was ripe
I’ll take a hit off of that pipe
“I’d like to dance”, said the Indian girl
The lad was shy and white as pearl
The fire lit the forest floor
The drums played late, they yelled for more
The elder pilgrim told the Chief
We love your land beyond belief
We mean well now and wish you health
But those that follow may want your wealth
The Chief sat back, eyes to the night
We know they’re coming but we are tight
Feast with us now, enjoy the living
This party will be known as the “First Thanksgiving”
They partied on like family close
The elders rose to give a toast
We thank you Lord for this fine day
We know tomorrow will be what may
The mouse lives a simple life
Eating out for free
'The a la carte menu please'
He tells the maitre d
He orders chocolate biscuits
Some tasty dried fruit too
And you know when he's about
By the little pile of poo
He sleeps where it is cosy
And ventures out at night
He sniffs his way to food
And keeps hidden out of sight
But mice should live in gardens
Not behind skirting boards
They live in huge great families
Like little warrior hordes.
So if you see a mousey
Make sure he goes outside
All he wants is warmth and food
And a quiet place to hide
We ascertain pleasure in reliving our past,
Though lurking matters often bankrupt our day;
For that portion of living in chronicles is cast,
This content can't change much to our dismay.
We justify retrieve as value to years emerging,
That beyond this day's history we will refrain.
Our subconscious is active with incessant urging,
For it realizes we shan't pass this way again.
Life, like a Maitre d', usually delivers what we order;
But unlike the meal we pay for life after we exit.
Tom
Coiffed petals glad tidings tell
Vintage red cup raised to the sun
Whose heat mellows hearth's veil
Enticing host signals feast hath begun
Aromatic vial with sweet scents stew
Hypnotizing fumes already suitors cue
Maitre d' winged banqueters will review
Whizzing minstrels waft toward rendezvous
Arriving guests with sweet libations do woo
Neon-draped Bumble bees enter flickering buzzing strobes
Metallic Green bees browse corridor; each succulent scent probes
Ebony-caped, Wasp beetle antenna fondles light, delicate lobes
Orange, sequined Monarch butterflies prate in paper machete robes
Salivating, virile male patrons imbibe freely from nectar fount
Nubile, female matrons nibble heartier fair; pollen from stamen mount
My spouse and I were ushered to our table by the Maitre d'.
We noticed right off that it was strangely quiet as could be!
Zombies sat at their tables, heads bowed as if in meditation.
Many with glazed eyes as if in la la land under sedation!
I noticed that each held a small gadget in hand,
And deft thumbs clicked away to beat the band!
Each was 'texting' oblivious to family and friends.
Concentrating only on their 'receivings' and 'sends'!
Conversation was limited to an occasional, "Pass the salt, please!"
I was fearful of being tossed out of the place should I dare sneeze!
I mused, "Will future generations learn to text before they can walk?
Lord have mercy! Will kids in the future even know how to talk!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
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