our wedding day portrait
two made one
misted by years
masked by smoke-filled skies
bobby, gina—two of our three
days seared with sun and a child’s scuffed knee
through spelling tests piano recitals saturday games
kneeling together strokes of unquestioned belief
caps and gowns, crystal and dented brass
degrees in business and medicine
marriages grandchildren colors filling the sassafras
then job losses metastasis scares hospital gowns
loneliness
values smudged
quibbles spatter pigment
no one budged
boredom drowned in tanqueray the glass smelled of pine
blue smoke, screens, two strangers behind painted glass
lost in a bell jar of belladonna
two martini glasses, an untouched olive
the letter’s paper like granite, vows sun-washed away
body mind and spirit—desaturated
a torn canvas split along jagged lines
no reconciliation
reimagining life with unfamiliar faces
a torn canvas becomes two paintings
no masking tape or super glue
can ever repair a canvas torn in two
=======
his lacerated face bespoke
a rugged brawler
a life pockmarked with fisticuffs
he’d truly once been a mauler
‘til one fateful evening
in a smoke-filled ring
his chin shattered ‘gainst a fist
~ tied him to apron strings
I’ll burn the bridges—yes, ignite the night~
a blazing, dramatic opera staged in firelight.
Let sparks go swirling like betrayed desires,
each plank a martyr to my mighty pyres.
I rise victorious as the embers rise,
a tragic heroine with smoke-filled eyes.
Let smoke proclaim my bold, rebellious creed~
No looking back, no bridge shall I ever need.
And when I’m stranded on my lonely, self-righteous shore,
I shall sigh, “How noble to return no more.”
Then whisper to the ashes at my feet,
“Perhaps I overdid the whole retreat.”
Overcoming and recovering from my addiction to you
the highs and lows of loving you,
worth more than any precious jewel
The hangovers from our endless cycle of abuse
The nights of talking each problem through
The days where smoke filled up our rooms
The years we spent
I’d like to say the time was not misused
My muse
Worth more than the moon, sun and those measly planets too
The things i'd do to rewind the time
when you ran my mood
even if it wasn’t that good
i miss having you in my neighborhood
A lone knight slowly trudges across the snow-covered land
Shooting pain raced down his left arm, for nothing went as planned
Blood poured from a large gash on his leg that had expanded
Winning yet broken, he wished for a death that had felt grand
Approaching his stronghold, choking thick black smoke filled the air
Dancing across the Barbican were wild red orange flares
Realizing they marched not to war, but into a snare
Quickening his pace for there was not a moment to spare
Arriving to find nothing but death inside the fort’s walls
Wine colored land told of the violent fight for the fall
Fighting back tears, he wore each slain’s memory as a shawl
Vowing before God he will avenge the deaths of them all
Crashing loud noise informed the knight that he was not alone
Pushing aside the pain, he moved swiftly from stone to stone
Seeing his foe, drawing his sword, he soon would stand alone
Praying, he charged for the enemy’s woven fate was sewn
Sunday Morning Blues**
Whether it's the vibrant nights of Rio de Janeiro or the electric energy of Las Vegas nightlife,
I’ve indulged in two or three glasses of Twisted Ice Lemonade,
Or perhaps it was an Alabama Slammer. One lesson learned: never trust your memory!
My days and nights have been nothing less than a freight train ride,
And that's the truth!
I can’t forget the Cuban Bulldog that bit me
Three years ago, in Kissimmee, that’s a fact.
It left me weak in the knees,
All thanks to those potent drinks.
Was it that audacious, wild Long Island Iced Tea
That nearly took me down.
After watching a news clip about Muammar Gaddafi,
Or maybe it was an episode of Friends?
Yet, I met my sweet Marlon Brando,
And it was hallelujah and Amen in Key Largo.
So many bartenders, so many smoke-filled rooms,
And once again, here I am, tackling
Another Sunday morning blues head-on.
flames burn
sky smoke filled
dark like late day
the smell of burnt wood drifts-
I weep
It's no surprise
that I'm back here
looking out over the river,
painting thoughts, dripping
memories, smearing streaks
of the here and now
across the canvas of a dull,
overcast day.
There was a time
when I had ambitions to be
an artist, high school dreams
of a life in smoke filled studios,
tee shirts and paint splattered
Levi jeans. ( A la Jackson Pollock )
Fate though had me
nine to five dressed in a suit,
white cotton shirt and a tie.
Over a long career I digested
libraries of corporate jargon,
studied the intricacies of office drill,
the dark secrets of management
all with consummate skill.
To survive, I mastered the art
of disguise and deflection
as an undercover poet
learns to do.
what must I say to get you to speak—
I’ve tried the soft approach,
the hard approach,
drank whiskey alone in dark corners
wrote letters I never sent
screamed at the night sky
asking the moon to drag your voice out of the void
I’ve said all the wrong things,
tried all the right ones—
sat in smoke-filled bars
with the ghosts of old conversations,
sat on bus benches with
a thousand cigarettes burning holes in my throat—
I’ve been your fool,
your priest,
your punching bag—
but you never say a damn thing back.
Perhaps the new pope
Can offer some hope
To those who are lost and in need,
But to ones who can’t cope,
At the end of their rope,
That improvement is not guaranteed.
Though white smoke filled the sky
And no one can deny
The selection was balanced and fair,
Many skeptics will sigh
For the clergy on high
Can’t help everyone desperate for care.
To the faithful, this choice
Is a cause to rejoice
And we all, with respect, will take note,
But the world as of late
Is in such a sad state
It’s not likely to change with this vote.
I wrote this on a bus ride through the city
An early morning excursion with no sleep
A chance encounter flooded by unknown
Original reference AM/PM 26 years ago
The gritty rhyme blindly spoke for itself
Like the back of a smoke-filled jazz club
Notes transporting me to another place
Destination decided with no destiny
For certain this was uncharted waters
A whispered verse beneath streetlights
Each syllable swaying with the potholes
Did I write this or did the city pen it?
Its pulse echoing in the hollow of my ribs
Doors hiss open stepping off into fog
A silhouette waiting for me at the curb
Eyes I’ve never met but already know
Together we disappeared into the abyss
My friend, how deep can be your sorrows?
Through smoke filled maze of modern days
When time flies by in bleary haze
And we don't know about tomorrow?
Your eyes, once bright and full of life,
Nowdays, instead, to my dismay,
Are filled, like rainy days of May,
With hate, and pain, and fright.
No, you can't plea, no, you can't flee,
'Cause life is known for no compassion.
Your lust for it and inner passion
Have been dried up, like bloodless fleas.
Yet we don't know of what's to be.
You shed your nightly tears in bed,
But love, I beg you, please, don't fret,
And share them here, with me.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can't hurt me so let's draw a truce lock arms and go dancing under this year's 1st full moon. Giving all praise to my creator while you give praise to his creation.Yes! Once I was you drenched in black mind loss and blue. So blue Lucifer said it's time to meet you. Day to night, Night to day oh my gosh! Morning dew seeped through this smoke-filled blacked out room,eyes aflame feeling gloom so much mind
dragging affliction. Ouch! No jerking,
Soul intact,
My love for God won't be doomed
The other woman I was not the other worldly one I was
with sexy strut she came she did this is what I ghastly did
with a ghoulish voice I spooked and thwarted no applause
no I never did forget the hurt she caused, he caused...
A solitary candle glowed on my gravestone mod it glowed
a putrid smell of stinking corpse arrived when I arrived
like a hunk of foul skunk hidden in an old commode
I sent her goosebumps and a lump of hate archived
Smoke filled the air a tomcat appeared at her heels
with claws, fangs and two angry eyes ready to fight
yanking at her flaxen hair I prepared for a tart meal
as she screamed and screamed, wildly into the night.
The other man he was not the love of my life he was
wearing faded jeans and a Nike T, he goaded me
Slimy slithery things crawled up towards him with a cause,
he never knew what hit him as he burned to the 3rd degree!
In cogs and gears, her heart does beat,
A clockwork girl, both strange and sweet.
Her eyes, like polished brass, aglow,
Reflect the time, the world below.
With gears that click and springs that chime,
She measures moments, day and time.
A copper bodice, sleek and tight,
Holds secrets in the fading light.
Her hands, of bronze, a delicate dance,
Point to the hours, a fleeting glance.
A winding key, a silver thread,
Keeps her ticking, unsaid, unled.
Amidst the steam and smoke-filled air,
A whisper of her presence, rare.
The city's pulse, she knows it well,
Her clockwork heart, a silent spell.
But in her gaze, a sadness hides,
A yearning for the world outside.
To feel the warmth, the human touch,
Beyond the gears, beyond the clutch.
For though she runs, on time's own whim,
A part of her, forever dim,
Yearns for a soul, a beating heart,
To break free, from the clockwork art.
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