Short Off Season Poems

Spicy 
punk and crazy;
I’m spooky off-season;
October ignites a wildfire,
now free....

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its a game
they call a name
to play to win
make you grim
 they run  and hold
its the superbowl
its the reason
its
KICK OFF SEASON...

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Is it the off season or the mass murders are killing the Strip
Las Vegas right now is a bargain so plan on making that trip
Come lose your money
Bring your honey
But bring your wallet, common sense you can skip...

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sickle-sharp moon slashes
silken sky.
dusk darkens deep purple,
lights die.

tonight old hermit leaves
his cave,
weaves tales of freedom
for slave;

vanishes like off-season
monsoon,
back next night of sickle-
sharp moon!...

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We will achieve political balance
when republican be not be so
remarkably backward
 and democratic be not so  off-season
 as to be strange at the time... That's why
we need replacement of one for the other 
with responsibility ...  time to time !...

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old man
retiring
with slight dementia
horny 
with sturdy sled
and little to offer

looking for attractive
young female and/or male
with good body
compassionate
needing little
season greeting

send photo 
off season
between
January and October
to Santa Claus
Saint Barts...

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It's raining here off season,
but no thunder visible in the sky.
Everything happens without reason,
I don't understand why.
The walls stare at me with virtual eyes,
I stare back with no vision.
My mind is filled with lovely lies,
that gives the life some reason....

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The waves lap up against the shore,
A soothing sound that I adore.
I’ve heard this many times before
Yet always, it’s appealing.

Aside from sea gulls, there’s no sound.
Off-season, no one is around,
So when I hear the wavelets pound,
Relaxed is how I’m feeling.

My normal anxious state recedes.
The ocean rules; my mind accedes,
For this is what my body needs,
A little dose of healing....

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I am
a windmill, dilapidated but still rotating, creaking,
Lake Windermere off season, quiet and autumnal,
a tooth ache throbbing, an irritation, black decay inside.

I am
a foot stool unvarnished, one leg uneven, rarely used,
a penny farthing holding up traffic, out of time and season,
a pop song, mimed.

I am
an apple, red amongst a bowl of green.
I am one line short of a verse.

I am a letter unopened and unread,
returned to s-...

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Open the door and rest for a while,
around here we stay in flip flops;
A beach house never goes out of style;

Our broken clock stays on island time,
you’ll smell coconut in the off season;
Salt is meant for drinks with a lime;
 
May hear the ocean in every corner 
or instantly fall asleep on the sofa;
Did you just get closer to the equator?

Blue enigma, low key lies within;
Slice of heaven on a quiet street,
welcome mat reads ‘Come on in.’...

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