Seasons come and season go
With regularity there's ebb and flow
In tropical climes it's most about how much sunlight passes by
Summers steamy with lots of rain, so called winter time is dry
For six months now we've acclimatised, each morning, temps of twenty three degrees
It's late autumn, morning temp suddenly, seventeen, don a jumper feels like were gonna freeze
So called winter, a few real cold mornings temp is down to five, we're in a fix
We groan a bit, but soon it's warm, temp's now raised to twenty six
Raised in heavy frost wind and sometimes snow
So sensitive now to cold I wont return temp's too often way too low
At a Vanderbilt mansion,*
Two bathrooms surprised,
With features too modern
For me to’ve surmised.
In the owner’s own shower,
One handle controlled
A foot-facing faucet;
If too hot or cold,
You adjusted the temp
‘Til you felt the right heat
Before water would hit you,
Just touching your feet.
Only then, when correct,
Did you turn on the taps.
Maybe otherwise, those
Really rich would collapse.
In his wife’s room, a scale
In the floor tiles was sending
Her weight at eye level,
Preventing her bending.
These accoutrements really
Allowed me to see
That the rich are quite different
From you and from me.
*William K. Vanderbilt’s mansion,
built between 1910 and 1936.
Salty tastebuds are now aghast,
I am left with this stark contrast.
The coffee went cold way too fast,
a minute passed, a minute passed.
Already chilled and filled with ice,
the temp couldn’t be more precise.
What it sorely lacked? A bit of spice.
Bland at full price, bland at full price.
RAIN-LIKE FLY BY DROPS
Here outside
Graveyard silence,
A large gliding bird
In sky surveillance:
Walk with me
And feel all of which
I shall likewise feel
As the bright sun
Is up and out,
The temp is down,
And the chill is here:-
Such strange weather.
Is the devil’s wife
Committing sin again…?!
Oh, hell no!
What’s falling
Ain’t no damn
Falling raindrops!
Whew, warm and stinky!
He's been a ruler you
can't see
like a measuring stick
in hiding
He's been hiding the fact
he can see
but would you believe
his findings?
They've been watching
his back intensely
while he fills their heads
succinctly
Being light years ahead
is empty
guess that's why
they assumed he's ditzy
Couldn't be further from facts
he's shifty
while he raises the bar
he's shifting
On a whole other plane
he's flying
into spaces that match
his timing
Snuffing the wick of a witch
that's scrying
trying to see where his light
is hiding
In the dark many eyes
are crying
in disbelief of results
from spying
He just gives of himself
as tithing
is as natural to him
as rhyming
As for all of the ties
& bindings
it actually helped to
release the shining
Look to see what the All
is designing
it's unique dare I say
inspiring
They say the temp of
the earth is rising
so why isn't he
like the rest perspiring?
A sudden shift
I felt my spirits lift
Then the spotlights' glare
And I'm left standing there
Too new to identify:
An imperfect alibi
Their surgical stares
Dismembering me
With wry deft precision
Paralyzed by pompous glares
Cursing my decision
To com here willingly
And climb their golden stairs
Their spotlights fade
No jury heard my case
Their judgments made
Their cruelty bares one face
Their hearts: a crimson blade
Their eyes bestow disgrace
On my low inferior grade
Am I too much a fool to care
My brands blazed as I stepped
The high and mighty scare
Easily as my forbearance crept
In crushing bounds echoing
In the silence seized.
All eyes hollowed as one fainted
Their hallowed night tainted
My mottled old soul sainted
And thus, the rest of the night
Fell before me
On bended knee.
Oh, how I loath a formal party
The rumor mill is printing already
Some joker introduced as, Eddie
Ask If me and Joan, from accounting-
Were going steady.
From there-
The casualties just kept mounting
In 1948 Nina Ricca released a new fragrance – L’Air du Temp which means present time. The first spicy floral fragrance. The bottle was designed by Lalique. The two intertwined doves represent peace after WWII.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Perfume Bottle
In the quiet of silenced cannons,
And odor of reviled salutes now impotent,
Midst plaster dust and stained souls
Of shattered windows
A flacon rises from battle torn ashes
Caressing the breath of a woman
In present time
As two doves intertwine
Above crystal swirls of sunshine
Reborn in signature scents of treaties.
Flawless guardian
For the newborn bouquet of hope,
Beneath wings of peace,
As a silhouette of scent
Overpowers the stench of gunpower
And ministers to children’s cries for bread
In a kiss from immortality
Accents of new notes for princess and pauper –
Spicy and floral –
Released like doves of peace.
I return parted clerical error to a hall
In justice no frame
Nor corrective temp
Time as half
The titled days conveigning
That's my Monday morning appearance
This shall never be spoken freely
A civil right to act
Fine liberty
Next date, poor
Still due process
In accurate measure of published
I walk from work a smile upon my face
a busy shift, 'Emergency' the place.
Where sick and injured come in through the door
and we are always ready to care for.
Alarms are sounding, monitors beep, beep,
all beds are full, and to their needs we leap.
Check vital signs, the temp, pulse, and BP
take blood, a urine test, an ECG.
Put in an I.V. Cannula I will
if veins are difficult, it takes some skill.
Next, take them to Xray to have a scan
or, if their bladder's full offer a pan.
For pain, give medication, reassess?
but if they vomit, I'll clean up their mess.
For patient comfort always tops the list,
and to ensure this happens I'll assist.
When cold, a nice warm blanket brings a smile
sometimes I'll hold their hand a little while.
With reassuring voice allay their fears,
if they're upset then wipe away their tears.
Write up my notes including all I've done,
hand over to the next nurse one by one.
The hours seem to quickly run away
and soon my shift is finished for the day.
I'll say goodbye to patients in my care
be glad, that on this day I have been there.
I walk from work a smile upon my face
A busy shift, Emergency the place.
A garden is an
effort to express life's temp-
-orary beauty
We used to hear of “wind chill factors”
From the weatherman,
Which meant that it felt colder out
When windy times began.
So if the temp was 35,
But gusty breezes blew,
The wind chill factor might have made
It feel like 22.
Today that phrase has been replaced
And here’s the latest deal -
Despite the temperature displayed,
We hear of the “real feel.”
You’d think that would appeal to me,
That catchy little rhyme,
But since I’m change-resistant,
I prefer the prior time
When I took into account the way
The wind would add its chill,
So I’d know if extra layers
Or a scarf would fit the bill.
Star shaped, seriously sassy
Nodding needle-nosed, light chassis
Capped column, looking conniving
Irregular yet interesting without striving
Decidedly diabolically dendrite-dated
Practically perfect, placidly plated
Snowflakes have six points or six sides
Depending on moisture in clouds and temp outside
Dark, black, midnight in my cup.
Cream is light, especially sweet.
Hot, warm, rekindle Winter’s mug.
Bitter chill, biting, nipping at heels.
“Baby it’s cold outside” teeny trees.
Tenderness handled in warm grip.
The pour fell into the cold-temp cup.
Warmth filled every space, then
my lips, my tongue, inside cheeks;
fills cherry mountains below eyes.
A caffeinated prescript aft’ “ahh,”
and Boston brown “molasses” bread.
America’s on a limousine roll
with presidential flags waving.
Transfer of power, balancing -
perhaps we can all be friends, again.
Ivory flakes
this morn fill the skies;
feathery snow puffs
pass by my eyes,
dense as can be,
like a pillow fight
fostered by angels
filling day's light.
Something is wrong
with what I now see;
sun rays are bright-
the sky, dark clouds-free.
Flurries grow dense
to cover the ground
sparkling the landscape
here all around.
Angels are smiling
this winter day;
temp below thirties-
but still, they play
making snowfalls
in a sunny clime-
filling my morn with
scenes so sublime!
I’m bringing out the songs
lingering inside
as patrons in the bar
gaze at me—
I’ve been waiting for this night
for the last two days.
I am looking for the stars
while singing from my heart.
I sing I’ve Just Seen a Face
something I first heard
in sixth grade when walking
into the classroom.
Through the years it stirs
sweet memories of women I met.
I sing I Will, a ballad
for women I’ll always love.
People at the bar
wave cellphones lit like lighters
at a concert.
When I sing Band on the Run
by Paul McCartney and Wings
a sense of wanderlust fills my soul
to go back to my college town
as if I could live my life again.
I’ve been an aide to child welfare workers,
a laborer, a temp, and poet, too.
But now to the glow of neon lights
I become someone other than
my everyday self
as music spells the night.
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