Patios Poems

Andalusian Patios

Flowered patios,
admired for their charm,
Andalusian patios lovingly cared for.
As new-born babies 
that Andalusian women take care of 
with gentleness, dedicating
their time with the same devotion
to as a baby who needs attention.

Beauty with big eyes
that shines in a blind world 
to old emotions.
Patios of my Andalusia,
you sow joy in front of 
the ones who feel love 
for those old ladies, 
whose lives flow among your cares.

I wish you would always live
Andalusian ladies!,
so that our eyes
could delight those magical patios, 
full of colors and dedication.
Every flower has your name 
written on it, every new wrinkle 
on your face is the effort
of your everyday's passion.

Civilization

Civilization

They take root
and sprout up like
the corn that used 
to fill these fields.
Acres of grassland, 
fertile farmland,
and the houses 
grow day by day.

Trucks filled with
house parts, baseboards,
light fixtures, windows,
sinks and toilets,
concrete for driveways
ply the muddy streets, 
soon to be covered 
with macadam.

Forests decimated,
their precious oxygen
gone as the logs 
are hauled away 
to the paper mill.
Nature gives way
to more civilization.
Animal habitat destroyed.

The tracts mushroom,
first one, then two, 
then a hundred, a thousand.
Houses complete, 
lawns are tended, 
concrete covers patios,
everything neat and tidy
a paean to overpopulation.

Smith

I am Irish,
I do not patter a brogue, not lilt, or prate the Celtic.
I’m annexed English, cockney, a dead queens piglish,
chameleon tongued.

Something took me, shook me like a spade
until an un-rooted soil fell, a ground crumbled
grew tropical jungles of alien expression.

Years press, some bulldozed, some were the wrecking ball.  
Found my clay feet stomping, squishing mud, 
fostering images, a mire between a to zee
but never enough letters to fit a parlance;
my  placeless patios, my me.

America, a melting polyglot,
I’m still slanging, hanging words out to dry, new words
told contrary-wise estranged in an outlandish manner
of palaver, 
a poetry of sorts,
sounds unbound and breathing
but never replete, yet a bellyful
to live in the eyes and ears. 

Speak slowly and I will hear you with my lips.

Houses Life

we arrived and the world city did not expect
that we were as we are
the houses whispered about us
special tenants
I know we paid with our souls
to be less unhappy in certain matters
the indispensable presence of plane trees in the patios
and a good moonlight helps to equate this
to be the new members of the whole
later we will lower the volume of anguish
allowing the birds to sing
I was sure that we would look at the landscape
with a lot of desire to cry
it was hard for us to buy this existence
with the built-in death clause
we still preferred that property with a balcony
and the beautiful view into life

Someday Soon

Close my eyes and think of whimsy
reasons not to, seem so flimsy

tired of all this same old news
I want more rhythm, no more blues

this oh so endless reverberation
about quarantine and isolation

so I'd rather be inside my head
until this all comes to an end

where I can see the better times
and forget the recent days gone by

think summer drinks on patios
and campfire laughter up in smoke

high fives, hugs and whispers near
seeing someone grinning ear to ear

passions, and ideas collided
instead of being so divided

wedding dances, bouquets tossed
gathering to mourn the ones we lost

being able to meet the new ones born
birthdays, milestones, so much more

if you need me that is where I'll be
behind my eyelids, dreaming dreams

and when the world comes off pause
and the negativity withdraws
I'll open them up and finally see
the way it is supposed to be.

Fayenas Torhahe

From here I see you lost, clapping your hands on birthdays, getting worse with the years, never failing to disappoint. From here I see the roofs of the houses where I could have been a father, a good son, but also all the ones I would be are lost, all fleeing in their automobiles, poisoning the streets with tears falling from every face I had, while the rats would continue invading the patios full of trinkets, walking on plastic tables, on old vases with dried foliage, daring through the cracks in the doors, ignoring the loves built and broken in each room, gnawing the lamps, the cribs, the walls and the foundation of the world. It's like a sentence and then we know we'll never go back inside ourselves, where we once found what felt like peace, what should have been light, like the soft presence of those we thought loved us, before they showed their weapons in the quiet afternoons in which our hearts should be calm, playing at not listening to the arrival of rats, the imposition of antagonisms, the transformation of our dreams into scars, the slow and constant emptying of what was once our life full of life.

Droplet Waves

Windmill thoughts embrace
white cap foam aspirations
ocean patios

From My Front Porch

Porches,
attached decks,
patios,
intimate places for alfresco,

These make a difference
between a fortressed house
and a transparent home,
between an ego castle
and an eco-habitat.

We also spread rhododendron bushes
and hostas,
flowers and ferns
around our stone
and concrete bound foundations.

We want stable defenses
but prefer to camouflage houses
in organic color,
life giving and taking shapes.

These boundary vistas
speak of heart felt reminders
our habitat is rooted
in Earth's wilderness

In vulnerability
hidden from transparency
except with those who share our sacred space
inside
and upon,
within our co-passioned present time,

Presence bonding,
double-binding,
re-membering past wildness
anticipating future re-generative
re-storative
re-habituating
re-acclimating
re-bounding win/lose less
for more win/win paradise

Just barely 2020 visible
and silently audible
and fresco fragranced
and tasted,
felt
and so nearly touched
longing into belonging
on our cooperatively-owned front porch.

Ghost of 1988

Smack talking, crack walking track knocking
Pyro setting
Drama getting
Sun setting
 Down by the docks
 Flocks of Hawks
Dance on rocks
Crazy, snazzy bustin locks
Boats shakin
Waves breakin
Bodies quakin
Another summer makin
Beach nights
Hot rights
Drunken fights
 Lost sights
Neon tights
 Ocean and sand
 Water and land
 Patios and band
Drinks in hand
 It's 1988
We stay out too late
 Party? Can't wait
 Leather and pastels 
Flock of Seagulls 
Haispray and gels
Midnight Ssshhhh don't tell
 Time to go
 Don't say no
 Time goes on
 They'll know we are gone
 Curfews and rules
Churches and schools
 Hurry get home. Try.
We had a ride back. Who was that guy?
 We will be caught. Grounded. Must lie.
 We made it. There's still 26 days left of July.

The Home of My Own

My dream home
lots of spaces
gated and golden tall pillars
two circled drive-ways, and a few trees
stair-cases both ways to enter up
some carpeted, chandeliers all around
a movie space, library and more
several bathrooms and bedrooms
private entranceway
My name appears on the golden sign
entertainment rooms and lots of designs
over-looking a private space
square footage very  large
guest homes and nice patios
a venue for weddings
the home of my own
will soon be known.

Rain Pray

Grey mounds of a futile landscape
Life is a feeling the fuel 
Rain thunders; under cover drape
Remote, imm'diate and truthful 
Neb'lous clouds in illusion shape

O', but how the cooly wind blows 
Watching out the drifty clouds, stroll 
Spatters across the patios 
Water bubbles in bristling roll
Sighing each bursting bubble shows

Pouring it down with all embrace
Falling a down, the hard and fast 
Out of the sky, into my face
The beauty of the moment, cast 
The smell of wet earth, anyplace 

O' sniff of cool crispy clean air
So that is all around remain
It's so complete and so aware
Feel no sorrow, I feel no pain
In rain, as I stand in prayer

White Washed

Blinded by the bright white paint
Surrounded by royal blue.
There is something in the way she looks
Santorini staring back at you. 

Black rock beaches with blistering sun
Waterfalls way up high.
People laughing jumping off
Thinking they can fly. 

Hotel rooms with giant patios
Tans run deep by afternoon.
Bars to dance in till morning light
Everyone singing to their own tune.

Ladies hair dressed long with threads
And colored beads to match.
Beautiful jewelry handmade to wear
Sangria drunk by the batch.

By  

Picture perfect memory 
Like love at first sight.
When I’m stumbling through the day
I dream of this at night.

My Fondest Memory

The twinkling shine of dark eyes
Chestnut locks, effortlessly waved
Like the tides of the ocean
Practicing yoga on rainy patios
While cigarette ashes burn my skin

Morrissey sung the songs of woe
I crumbled at your feet
Your lips on every fallen tear
Echoing duets fall to deafened ears
Yet, never admit defeat

I can almost remember
The warmth of your hands
The breeze of summer air
I fell in love with nature
When you're not there

Retrospect turned longing
Your green-thumbed lover's eyes glow
It matches the moon on winter nights
I lost my desire for your flesh
My heart shatters more for show

Those days raced by, an open door
I shook in my place
My memories remained pure
An escape to space
The gap tooth smile on your face

My fondest memory
12/11/2016

Spring As Sprung Loose

Old man winter takes off his coat of white.
the fallen leaves have been brushed aside with  just wind and times magic touch
The birds sing that bit louder as to clebrate the start of new life 
The skeleton trees black on the skyline as the sun rises
and as  dawn breaks I open my back door  
And just Like a dragon who as lost his fire I breathe steam out
On a vision of yellow daffodils with the smell of a freshly cut lawn 
The results of yesterday labour bringing me joy 
Drifting and mixing with the steam off my breath 
The snowdrops are making their  presence felt, white tears on the gardens freshly made up face.
barbecues cleaned and patios washed Easter eggs bought and the shedding of coats
Rejoice at the fact that spring as sprung loose.   


comp entry 17032016

For Now, the Chimney Stands

In the ashes of a home
Remains a stone fireplace
That still stands against the sky
Decaying at its own pace
Earth, water, and wind 
Now its only adversaries, 
Unless you add time to the mix.

It marks the place
Where once humans lived, 
Like a cross without arms, 
A fragment of a tombstone
Is the best it can muster, 
The once cheerful warmth of its heart.
Indistinguishable from ambient air.

At one time a barn was here too! 
But signaling its weariness
By leaning too hard toward the future
As if to brace itself  for the final onslaught, 
It won its own release, 
Rough hewn planks stripped away, 
Finding temporary lives elsewhere.
 
Stone walls that once 
Sheltered whole towns 
From marauding hordes
Have their own plans
For reincarnation, 
Migrating, as it were, 
To patios and garden pools.

All is change my love, 
Everything we hold dear
Vanishes and then reappears, 
Briefly, in other bedrooms, 
Like warmth from a fireplace…
Only the stars in lover's eyes
Remain the same, until they change.

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