These urgent strangers dressed up in green gowns
Snip rip strip
My dad’s red pants underwear and shirt
From his ancient body
A de-frocked clown not funny anymore
“Oh Bobby, don’t look.” He cries
Mocks
Wonders if I get the joke
But rather than some skinny sagging
90 year old man
His skin is taut
Pulled round his plumpness
Knees bent to hide his hairy tangled groin
Head proportionally squat
Eyes darting with shock
Skin greased with sweat and blood
Like a wet canvas
Of the water colors he loves on walls
Hands panned under his flop
Skootching him up the gurney
My old man
As fresh and upset
As a new born
Helpless like us all.
Fox frisks snow
with seeking whiskers,
finds a waft of her
on frozen winds.
There! There in the moonlight,
his hearts delight!
Fox sniffs, snuffles,
snares the sweetness,
follows her warmth.
In he goes, first nose
then his whole lusty heart.
Lord of the coop,
he lolls his tongue inside her,
dances. makes love
to the plumed plumpness,
to the surrendering blood. His play,
does not stop
until the goodness fills him.
Pelt slick with grace,
he stands panting among
the feathers.
Then dog-fox trots away
to praise this world,
and laydown
under a sweetheart moon.
i met her
in the fall but
better to call it
Autumn even though
we were
both one
and the same
falling asleep but
being bears
after all this is
the time of year
a cave is calling for
to crawl
into since
filling our full
bellies even to be
fat but
when i saw
her curves and
plump happiness
i had
to ask if
she would
join in a spacious
cave
with me
for the season
of sleep and dreams
she laughed
with a yes in her
eyes as we stared
at each other's plumpness
then rump
to rump we
stumbled off
to find our dream
Though my mind has clearly gone,
my hollowed vessel sails on and on.
Tattered memories clatter through,
dried leaves in search of their limbs,
desperate to seek the plumpness of youth.
Their only hope; give up the fight,
to death magnetic earth,
once more, rebirth.
Yet far and wide they stride,
the empty vastness of my tumbleweed state.
My world weary gait,
my lucid lament,
only serve to further propound confusion.
Scents send senses searching relentless.
Optical deficits, no acoustic solution.
Solution beyond reach,
beyond my touch,
and I want it so much.
For King and for country,
for valour not treason.
I search for The Season,
the peace I believe in.
For peace eternal,
for posthumous pardon.
Splashes of green lined up row after row.
Limbs of green shooting skyward downward everywhere.
Vibrant light shades of newness this time every year,
each displaying its own quaint uniqueness. Explosions of color as Spring rolls around.
As the winds blow hot, green takes on a mature look.
Little orbs of green begin to appear, growing larger redder, same as last year.
Big red plumpness filled up by the rain.
Limbs droop and groan as the weight of the task made increasingly clear.
Warm winds give way to their northern brethren, blowing cooler and stronger.
Limbs pregnant with swollen redness moan waiting, wanting
to expel the burden, as it does every year.
Leaves darken, grow crunchy and float to the ground.
Redness has spread from sky to ground, as colder stronger winds begin to expound.
Straight lined scraggly row after row, hunched over old women worn down by the snow.
Limbs whipping in cold wind like witches hair,
gnarly bent fingers pointing, accusing everywhere.
Dark skies in control.
Old women waiting, waiting for warm winds to reappear to be once again made fruitful, as it was just last year.
Rejection Dejection Connection
Rejection
So common to creation
this forced engorgement
signaling neon lit liquor stores
caressing the parched heart of acceptance
combustible fuel rails through veins
mercy begged
inhumanity relived…
again
Dejection
Diner eggs
hours old coffee
starch clad plumpness
white as snow
fills cup after cup
for me
for me
Connection
Outside
my eyes peer back in
a pastiche of winter night innocence
sitting now where once I sat
frosted windows
portray the anticipation I once embraced
stick figure smiley-faces
drawn by tiny hands yet to know
smiles turn downward
when coldness of heart freezes hope
Still he draws
Still I walk
First grin of the day forming
r andomly I stare into
e ach reflective surface
f orever pondering the
l ines of age, pain and joy
e ach one a splendid testament
c ulled from a full life
t eased endlessly, eternally
i nto distorted images
o f the soul of me
n ever quite
s eeing..I
s urely, I am
n ot this shallow
o nly time can plane my cheek
i nsight my eyes to fade
t urn the plumpness of lip to
c rinkles of mirth
e nlivening the gray
l anguishing in silver
f orever seeing but parts of the
e cstasy I
r eflect
The silken softness of your plum red lips brush my parted mouth.
Your body eclipses all thoughts not carnal as your tongue moves.
The heavens shines all the brighter for the bliss of your kiss.
Across my teeth your tongue plays stopping to dart against mine.
The give and take of breathe and heat a course past love's incline entrapped.
Oh, the engorged plumpness of those moist and parted lips divine.
You were a very bright star in post-war Germany.
On both films and stage, you garnered popularity.
Most men did not consider you a raving beauty.
However, with your pleasing plumpness, you were a cutie.
What a great talent you were. You must have been proud.
You had a great singing voice that was rather loud.
One of your hit songs was one I can’t forget.
Translated into English, you sang “I Don’t Want Chocolate”.
I was sad to hear that you passed away.
Trude, I wish you were still around today.
What if awake, asleep, does it really matter?
The walls ache, the pipes creak.
A tinny sound, hollow and empty
as my womb, all the plumpness gone.
Shriveled petal dreaming of past blooms.
Weeping in sleep for remembered kisses
from a child grown who no longer misses me.
Electronic screens proceed with two dimensional images
playing at the brain pan of three,
mining the fertile memories of black and white.
Awake, asleep what does it matter?
Carpets cushion foot falls, dust dances
in stray beams of sunlight, circuits hum.
If life is not soon inserted into this scenario
Death will wed Mrs. Haversham.
Leaping in barefoot abandon
Soaring every which way from Sunday
Laughter effortlessly exhaling cool breezes.
Lounging on nature’s lush carpet
Silhouette illumined by carefree serenity
Lapping up rays and shining them back
Licorice sticks and crackers and brie
Sweet plumpness of kiwi and mango and peach
Licking ripe juices off contented grin
Long luscious showers in waterfall glory
Swirling delightfully playfully pure
Lingering loving caresses of freshness
Last blush of daylight’s electrical charge
Sunset yields gracefully generously kind
Lights flicker syntax where space enfolds meaning
Lay here beside me
Savor my dream
Let my enchantment touch yours
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