There has been no snow for over ten days
Neighbors have pulled chairs to driveways
Facing the sun, chins up, eyes closed –
Lizards soaking up warmth.
Anyone seen Jeannie walking Chanel?
or Sonya with wiggling Murphy?
We really need to have a potluck on our front lawns.
Hold those thoughts!
It snowed again!
Everyone back to the caves!
what do they get you?
MY LONG SUFFERING SHOES
It’s an age old habit,
just kicking them off,
then leaving them where they lie.
Right now in the kitchen
are red driving shoes,
and hiking boots with the laces still tied,
Here by the back door,
are red, heart- covered, slip- on sneakers.
Out on the front porch,
tough, elastic, trek sandals
worn by all the well known fun seekers.
there by the pantry,
my Roxy fleece lined slides.
grey – green slash of neon,
wait, silent, flipped on their sides.
It’s true there are two
shoe racks in my closet
holding a dressy, lace heel,
black leather Clark’s,
and my old comfy clogs,
worn simply for the way that they feel.
I have shoe trees to help them
hold that new shoe shape,
if I would simply remember to use them.
And I do! Then I don’t.
Consistent I am not,
but I do polish all with soft boot creme.
I mean, of course,
those with the all leather uppers
get buffed to a military, high spit shine.
The toes AND the heels (Dad)
and the sides and the tops
all brushed ’til they’re looking real fine.
But shiny or not
I have to admit
I ultimately throw them all hither
at the end of the day
to lie where they lay
as the cares of the day simply wither.
There stands a rock pile named Mount Sopris,
That challenges the strong and the hopeless.
I climbed past her lakes,
developed some aches,
fell flat when my knees became worthless.
“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” Oscar Wilde
NOT SO SURE
He could be right, our Mr. Wilde.
I think, however, it is not only the child
who begins with love beyond belief,
then at some point is overcome with aching grief
when sometimes some things go completely awry
and parent and child feel bits of them die.
Not only the child will rise up to judge.
Oft times its the parents hold hard to the grudge
built up against eyes rolled in utter disgust,
or smart aleck comments, complete lost of trust;
protection from pain when their darling’s hate bursts,
and harsh words fly as proof that love hurts.
It makes no never mind at the end of the day,
when really there is nothing at all left to say.
When e’en if they had them, the words will not come
while the monitors beep, blood pressure cuffs hum.
When life meets its maker, hard work must get done,
the game played all out, the last prize well won,
the child and the parent find each other once more
and right then or later their love will restore.
(inspired by the whisky in John Coyote’s “Trying to Lose Your Memory”)
scotch for blood
oblivion for pain
floor for ceiling
at least twice
“Well, well, Lucius,
“I thought you might.”
“Oh, I just had a hunch.
Would you like to come in?”
“Let me take your coat
I will hang it right here where you can find it.”
“oh, please, sit down
make yourself comfortable
I was just putting on a pot of coffee…?”
“You know, I have been thinking about our conversation…”
“cream? sugar? croissant?
I have tried to cut back, myself, but there is something about the butter…”
“I agree. I agree. It is not the easiest thing to grasp,
but if you really consider it, you will find it will have the best result.”
“But you said you were hoping to find a short cut…
and if it gets you what you want, it would be worth it, yes?”
“That is not true. I am not asking much from you, no time, no money.
“I do not need your money or your time.
“Nothing will change for you, I swear, except that you will be a complete winner!”
“No, not really, it is actually completely painless,
I mean, it is not a physical extraction, or anything.
It is more like a weight off your shoulders,
a true lifting of your spirit…
none of that phony euphoria.
“Think about it!
You will have nothing left to worry about.
Your place in the world fully established!”
*** *** ***
*** *** ***
Oh, what in hell are you whining about?
Did you not reach the top?
Did you not attain everything you desired?
Is your wife not lovely? your children brilliant and accomplished?
Then why are you carrying on like a fool?
You are recognized by your peers around the world.
You are handsome, healthy, wealthy beyond imagination.
Sit Down, Lucius, and Shut Up, you sniveling worm.
Begging and pleading like a simpering fool.
Do you not see it became mine that morning over coffee…
Your shining eyes – blinded by all the possibilities I laid at your feet.
You – so wrapped up in what could be, you did not feel it slip away…
You did not even think about it! did not even wonder! did not even care!
Your soul has been mine from the moment you came to me.
Your soul became mine while you agonized over the right path to take.
Get of here now.
Go back to your wonderful life. Toast your success, knowing that in truth
you have nothing, nothing, nothing worth holding.
(this needs more work…but I post it today to get it on the books)
I WOULD BE A BALLADEER
Would that I wrote ballads
The sort one reads with glee
Like those of Robert Service
Or Hugh Antoine D’Arcy.
I’d write of love and treason
And low down treachery
Heroines and bastards and
The horrors of John Wayne Gacy.
Oh! to regale the antics
Of brave men out to sea,
Or speak with solemn reverence
Of the lovely Annabel Lee.
Me thinks I just need begin it
Putting fingers to keys steadily
Telling the tales I’ve heard on the trails
With a cadence and words deemed worthy.
IN DISCUSSION WITH HELEN
was thinking about you losing your joy –
my experience has been that my joy is never lost.
tho’ sometimes moldering under layers of grief, or anger, or exhaustion,
inevitably it pushes through to the surface
refusing to be denied
refusing my miserable attempts to ignore it,
much like Emil Catt insistently butting his head against my hand for a rub
it can be so annoying