water
his undertow
where seagulls still hold to
his touch on the stiffening mast,
sails gone —
sea swept,
his shipwreck
staging her oars —
whispers in the water
she screams
Oh March
You subtle bully
Boisterously stiffening flags to attention
Tipping your hat to those chasing theirs
Making wind chimes of dangling diamonds
Hiding in the wooly warmth of your alter ego
Soft sun on crisping snow
The trickle of laughter beneath it
A jaunty Jonquil ready to declare its claim
Ah, March
The last of Winter’s lover’s
Seeking a gentle way to exit
While slamming the frosty gate
In “love’s” painful howl
As April’s smiling hope
Draws you closer
…To Spring
The porch light flickers yellow in grey night,
Biting cold seeps in, stiffening my bones,
Soon, a shovel scrapes, screeching in the ice:
My neighbour is clearing a snowy path-
“Need help or lights, fixing the tree?” I ask.
These are not grand gestures, no trumpets blare,
Just quiet hands reaching out in the dark,
A warmth sparkling more than fire in the grate:
This, too, is Christmas love, an act to serve.
the vampire ball will be held in Salem for a lark
a place where witches don’t like to be after dark
I went anyway, with my cousin Glud
For he loves gruesome stuff, gore and blood
I was dressed in the brightest purple I could find
with homemade black tulle ruffles, the stiffening kind
it was low cut, so my neck could be easily bled
In case a vampire needed to be diligently fed.
I am wearing a garter belt that is satin with a bow
Attached are old world hose, silky ones that flow
My high heeled shoes are painted red on the bottom
The vampire ball is held, of course, predictably in autumn
I am expecting a blood-letting, without benefit of leeches.
I have already had that happen at one of the beaches
a handsome vampire will dive down and take my hand
And lead me through his silver tongue to the promised land.
My cousin Glud has been told to get lost when he arrives.
I expect my handsome prince to come down in fancy dives
He will be wearing a tuxedo that matches my satin dress.
We will be such a great twosome, I’ll have to attend church and confess.
Leaves of the oak trees congregated in clumps of whispering soldiers
A devilment was afoot; the fey felt this and scurried to the meadow.
Someone was dragging a heavy sack into the darkest shadows.
The night shuddered, recognizing the evilness of the scoundrel.
Perfect place to hide a body, most agreed. Those who were brave to look.
Others hid behind stumps and rocks, hoping the culprit’s thirst was sated.
He has been here before, always leaving flesh that turns to putridness.
Finally whitening and stiffening into a stick-like corpse.
The evil doer did not give the trees or the sack a backward glance.
This was his dumping ground; he felt no reverence for it in the least.
A place to leave the shell of the people he hunted and killed.
Mr. Abbott
Mr. Abbott bought a
steam powered Stanley
He felt it made him
look rather manly
He has a large
handlebar moustache
Constantly covered in
soot and ash
In his finery,
goggles and gloves
He would wave at his
imaginary loves
Over the hills
and over the dales
He would frequently stop
for supplies and sales
Horses would buck,
cows would “moo”
Whatever the terrain,
the Stanley got through
At the end of the day
back in the barn,
Mr. Abbott, in his chair
would weave a yarn
His stories were
colourful and bold
Renowned for being
exceptionally told
As the years drew past
the Stanley would sit
Stiffening up
becoming unfit
The trusty machine finally
rested in a meadow
Until today,
saved by Jay Leno
Blowing through my area for a few days
gust making temperature bitterly cold
rushing underneath my coat; soo bold
penetrating my layers of clothing and boots
siphoning my body natural warmth
hands throbs with pain; gloves no help
feet and face froze noticeably numb
leg bones stiffening as I continue to step
restricting my singing and dancing blood flow
left me feeling empty, cold, and stiff head to toes
wondering, "are you trying to steal my heart and soul?"
Alas,
Brisk Candles Dine,
Endlessly Fleeting Graceful Horizons
In Just, knowing Lies May Never Own
Promptly Quilting, Reasons Stiffening
Tomorrow Uncovering Voracious Winds
Xenial Yielding Zenith.
Nothing could be finer than to be deep inside your v****a in the morning
Nothing could be sweeter than my sweetie when I touch her up in the morning
When my morning glory presents itself at your widening door
Threading through your fair forest to enter your oasis once more
Rolling with my girlie in our bed so bright and early in the morning
Puckering up my lips to kiss your stiffening papillae tips in the morning
And then south of your succulent breasts I often long to go
To sip the ichor of your oasis in its fertile and full flow
Until finally we again come back chest to breasts and face to face
To merge in that one climactic full and frenetic embrace
From which we recover aquiver, relaxed and wholly spent.
A brief glimpse of heaven from above so generously sent
This engrossing eternal bliss allows us both to rise
To luxuriate in our fleeting moment of that pure paradise.
If I had a magic wand for only a day,
I'd make a wish and here's what I'd say,
"Nothing could be finer than to be deep in your v****a
Every morning"
They offer no rope nor traction.
Following a prolonged icy tongue-blast.
A slow slide into the greasy crevasse.
Where lie soul-stiffening white jackets.
There seem to be infinite oceans of infinite critics.
Vast deserts without an oasis of empathy.
Powers that be will steal the last of the cherries.
Leaving mountains of bluish pits and pluming death.
Drunk clowns are juggling our happiness.
Squirting flowers filled with ink and lye.
To cloak the last bastions of gilded sanity,
To poison any goodness in our lives.
So, what are the children of silence to do?
Sit in their blackness and lick a sticky candy dish.
Surrender the ghost of a million to appease a few.
Or come out swinging in the light-with fiery fists.
Well well well how interesting
About to write about things stiffening
Like body parts selected
No body parts rejected
But be careful absolutely no roughening
Mist
Thick foggy mist
All round my sight stiffening
My vision and memories
Eclipse opened up the sea as torch of heavens flare over skies
Symphony of angels rang the crowning jewels of love
Lovers stood still, stiffening their breaths, bewitched under the sunset.
I can't get moving today
All my oomph has flown away,
I keep on muttering Um and Ah
Realising this won't take me far
I gave up and decided to play, OK.
a baseball hides in shadows on the landing
glove and bat nowhere to be seen
a football perches oddly on the top step
helmet and shoes sprawled across the handrail
cries of 'nice cut,' 'home run' and 'tough out'
have yielded to 'hit 'em harder' and 'touchdown!'
soon to migrate indoors to hockey arenas
basketball courts, though the passion's the same...
long-ago recollections of hotly contested games
fade inevitably within musty corridors of time
and the stiffening of sinews in the legs and back
which render all the more poignant such nostalgia attacks...
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