Little Jimmy Short-Legs
took it in his stride
that everybody called him
“Little Jimmy Short-Legs”
‘cause he knew
way down deep inside
that his sturdy little legs
were really, really short
and one would have to be
all but blind
and ever so polite
to not plainly see the shortcomings
that his little legs displayed
he was however
very, very grateful
that nature
when being a little mischievous
which he readily understood
had thankfully chosen not to
place his hands in a position
that would have everybody calling him
“Little Jimmy Short-Arms”
a moniker
that for some unearthly reason
which he truly cannot fathom
would have been so much harder
to rakishly take on board.
Categories:
rakishly, humorous,
Form: Free verse
The train to Boston goes clonkity dong, clonkity ding,
and ever the handy hack Gershwin takes up
the rhythm and makes it sing.
Rhapsodic rhapsodies in jazz mode
stomp among the carriage silverware and glasses,
makes them tink, jitter and chatter
to the shoe shined suits
that doze along to the whitling of whistled tunes.
The moon necks in, illumines a fountain pen
as he, jotting, heels pumping up and down
knees’ a ‘cracking, sketches his syncopated sounds.
It’s coming together except for the molasse’s,
the liquorish stick, added later
with a whisky-wet wail,
then the whole city skyline spoke it up, ears flapped,
as the schtick stuck.
A small combo took to tuxedos, added more chairs
for symphonic fiddlers.
Chronic indigestion is relieved nationwide.
Middle-aged men wear their fedoras more rakishly,
ladies take to the streets in sheer nylon.
Del-eez and dives jive
to the pulse and swing of a scrawny Jewish guy
hammering black notes together
as if he were born in catfish row.
Categories:
rakishly, poetry,
Form: Free verse
One lady waits
for her long dead mother to visit,
another, earnestly informs her husband
that she is far too young to marry him.
One guy stumbles up to a care-worker,
his tongue drooling rakishly.
He wants her badly
but his pick-up lines
are clogged between gums and dentures.
A green leaf hangs from a dying tree.
“Put that away Mr. Fanshaw”!
They come and go
through holes in their memories.
These, the old and put away,
in their careless and slipshod way,
remind us that autumnal brains
wither of living stems.
As I near the last dance
I wonder
how green my sap will be
when it dangles over
the edge of the unknown.
Categories:
rakishly, poetry,
Form: Free verse
By ways ambitious, and efforts grand, your goals like
tripods on rocky ground they never walked or wandered
neither far nor wide.
At times under stormless blue lit skies
or rakishly brash, bleak black skies,
weather stunts did test the glue of your motives
and fogged the complexion of your progress,
every now and then.
Timeless persistence prevailed,
profuse desire subverted interference forces
never did tangled temptations trigger a variance thwarting your success.
And now a cascade of accolades
where honors mark the commencement of your vocations.
I saw, you tried.
You did, I cried.
Categories:
rakishly, graduation,
Form: Verse
A Hat is a Personality
Tip it forward, graciously
Angle it sideways, rakishly
~ Tilt its brim back, thoughtfully
Categories:
rakishly, character, fashion, people,
Form: Personification
A feeble old woman lives down the hall,
we chat on occasion.
I indulge her constant kvetching of youthful occupants invasion,
since this erstwhile hotel's trendy loft conversion.
Crook'd finger and conspiratory whisper
lure me to door ajar.
She tells of the latest spat between two male lovers living next door;
bitter pursed lips mouth, gays, a lifestyle she abhors.
Clad in wool coat, in August, faded scarf
hiding brittle grey hair,
gnarly fingers clutch at worn collar, scent of mothballs hangs in thick air;
up-turned nose revering fragrant yesteryears.
Deaf, my gaze is drawn within the open loft
where a grand piano,
sits, awash, in vast rays of sun spilling in from unshielded windows;
age-yellowed keys playing notes she no longer knows.
Miss Catherine, are you divorcee or spinster,
or a mournful widow?
Did melodies seep from beneath steel door and waft through open windows,
while in lovers arms, you danced in moonlit shadows?
Torches passed, some girl down the hall, fancies me
'an old maid with her cats',
eye to peephole, ear to door listening to youth go quickly past;
curious if in my day, rakishly I danced.
Categories:
rakishly, people, time, old, old,
Form: Rhyme