Blue jeans surround me
blue jeans all around me
Blue jeans everywhere I look
blue jeans in every store and shuk * *open-air marketplace, bazaar
Chicago, Houston, Detroit, L.A.
China, Russia, Canada and Paraguay
Barbeques, even fine dining
Blue jeans, all occasions defining
Creased, faded, ripped or lean
on the farm or in Times Square
Blue jeans always make the scene
No matter the decade or the year
~ blue jeans are what the people wear
MADE IN PARAGUAY
In "Asuncion"
the saddest guarania song
is "paraguayan"
TANGO
The father of the porteño tango
he's not born argentinian
he is a son of France...
SAMBA
The samba from Morro Carioca
survived for the world,
Long live Mama Africa...
ROCK
The rock dance, song music
runs wild surprising
on ice rock...
SPEED GONZALEZ
In Juanita canteen
mariachis and tequila
and bursts of laughter...
WALTZ
Oh! if i danced
oh! if I played
the viennese waltz...!
he had lunch in Paraguay,
just a typical type of day,
then stepped through his portal
for dinner in Bombay.
it was an exciting type of life
with his mental time machine
sometimes he left a place
before he’d ever been.
he recorded these aberrations
deep down inside his head;
he knew the day her met himself
was the day he would be dead.
he glanced at himself in the mirror
with a wry sort of smile
then slipped through his portal
for breakfast by the nile.
Two silhouettes
toe-tapping on an enchanted moonbeam
A nighttime romantic dalliance
Two starry-eyed lovers,
so much in love
So living a dream
Their love has this kind of feel ---
a touch of soft fleece fantasy,
a taste of honey flavored surreal
They got a love that flows deeper
than the waters falling down the mountains of Paraguay
Lots of cool peppermint kisses on a cold winter's day
Two hand-in-hand lovers,
so much in love,
So living a dream
Just a happy monsieur and his smiling fraulein
They have a love that floats higher
than two snow geese flying across the Himalayan sky at twilight
Plenty of hot chocolate kisses on a tropical summer night
Their love has this kind of feel ---
a touch of satin and velvet embrace,
a taste of saffron lips cinnamon laced
Two blooming tulips
dancing on a morning rainbow sunbeam
A lifetime romantic fragrance
Two bright-eyed lovers,
so very much in love
So living a dream,
living the life they they always dreamed of
trilonnet
Two thousand seven was the first
of "seventeenth" phone calls he's made.
"Hello, what cha doing?" his line.
Each month our computers coerce
with rapt attention we persuade
our faces and minds to entwine.
The conversation unrehearsed
we Skype as two friends on crusade
to prove that our thoughts still align.
As the day approaches, I thirst
for updates on his escapades.
The seventeenth is by design.
March seventeenth is our birthday -
Pat, my twin, lives in Paraguay.
written 28 March, 2016
A trilonnet is a form of poetry, created by Shelley A. Cephas. A type of sonnet it is a 14-line poem divided into four tercets followed by a couplet. The tercets are unrhymed but the couplet is rhymed. The tercets use a linked rhyme scheme, rather than rhyming within themselves. Two patterns of linking rhyme are suggested: Form 1: ABC ABC ABC ABC DD or Form 2: ABC CBA ABC CBA DD. Iambic tetrameter or iambic pentameter is suggested.
I tried to embrace you
as a steep descent of a river
with an array of steps
and you only sprinkled lightly on me.
But I was wet all over
enjoying your warm impact
before you became cold in plains.
White as the snow of
a single night.
Your eyes black as
moonless night
your lips red as
the berries of the rowan tree.
Your body soft as the foam of a wave
Chaste, clean and sweet as
a river- a jet of water emanating
From your lips.
Lest I remain adrift
To kiss those inviting lips.
Before you become a cataract,
with strong currents and deep holes
Or may later become *Sete Quedos
of turbulent power but beautiful.
* a great waterfall on the border between Brazil and Paraguay
+++
September 21, 2014
Form: Free Verse
The athletes marched in waving flags,
All decked in matching clothes.
In all of the Olympics,
That’s the way it always goes.
Some countries showcased dozens,
Others had but one or two
And two hundred thirty proudly
Wore our own red, white and blue.
As medals are awarded, though,
There’s one thing that’s for sure –
And that’s the fact that many nations
Will be medal-poor.
There are eighteen like Zimbabwe,
Paraguay and Mexico,
Who have just one single athlete
To compete in Sochi snow.
Still, they all looked thrilled and hopeful
As the games prepared to start;
Though they can’t all take home medals,
Getting there sets them apart.
What Kim can do in Katmandu,
Ken can do in Kankakee.
What Tim can do in Timbuktu,
Tess can do in Tennessee.
Scaling up Mt. Everest,
Or surfing in the Tasman Sea.
Wrestling with a wallaroo,
Or boxing with a wallaby.
Now, if your name is Anna,
And you live in San Jose,
Or if they call you Perry,
And you make your home in Paraguay,
It really doesn't matter
Who, or where, or what you are.
A Bedouin on a camel,
Or a fat cat, in a chauffeured car.
No matter where your home is,
Or what may be your name,
We are, everyone, quite different,
Yet, everyone, the same.
We're in this thing together,
From black to white, from he to she.
Rich, or poor, or in between,
I'm part of you, and you're part of me.