A glass of wine
a jug of bread
and thee.
i might be drunk.
Category: Poetry
We Know Them, Right?
the aging blonde hovering
beside a man half her age.
touching, always touching,
insinuating her presence.
her friend, a buxom brunette
hovers nearby, laughing,
competing, vying for the
attention of the alpha male.
the drama is intense; the
laughter raucous. thank
goodness I am the observer
and not the observed.
Poem for my Brother Brent
My youngest brother Brent, or “Brentia” as we used to call him back when we pretended he was a baby sister, was one of only three friends who participated in my first annual “Guess the Arrival Time of the Comcast Cable Installer and Win a Poem in Your Honor” contest.
Amazingly, having given us a window of between 5 and 7 on Saturday evening the cable guy rang our doorbell at 5 p.m., and while none of my guessers came very close to being correct, Brent’s prediction of 6:45 p.m. beat out the others. Brent, I hope you enjoy your poem. I wrote it from the heart. 😉
“Brent’s Poem”
Hey, baby brother
You didn’t know,
but this is true
when you were born
I wasn’t crazy about you.
I was seven;
you were a pain,
too cute for words
while i was plain,
but you grew on me
as the years went by
like moss or mildew
you’re a real fungi.
Love you little brother!
Peace, people!
Birthday Flowers
My birthday flowers,
a thoughtful gift from my son
and his lovely wife,
look as beautiful
today as they did Monday
and smell heavenly.
Thank you Jason and Liz!
Waiting for Breakfast
the most important
meal of the day,
or so i’ve heard,
is the one you’ll
eat upon waking.
who am i to disagree
with waffles and eggs,
pancakes with berries,
and mounds of crisp,
crunchy bacon?
but my favorite spot
has limited seating
and this morning an
incredible queue, i am
already weary of waiting.
Waiting for Mr. Cable Guy
Ah, Saturday afternoon! Post-golf, pre-dinner. Perfect for waiting on the cable guy or girl as the case may be.
Who schedules a cable installation between 5 and 7 p.m. on a Saturday evening? Apparently Comcast does.
So here Studly Doright and I sit on what is usually our night out waiting on a cable installer. I’ll be taking bets on arrival times. Closest guess wins a poem in his/her honor. Hey, I’ve got nothing better to do!
Peace, people!
Figuratively Speaking
From frying pan to fire and
To neighbor’s greener grass,
Life’s trials sure seem rosier
Seen through the looking glass.
But reality’s a cruel taskmaster
And luck not always a lady,
Hearts grow fonder with absence
For someone else’s baby.
Peace, people.
Guilty
hurting hearts may heal,
eventually.
scars will remain, though,
inevitably.
how will you maintain
deniability?
how will you deal with his
vulnerability?
prepare for excursions into
futility
coping with your heart’s
fragility.
Control
Think
then do.
Be sure to
mind your
p’s and q’s
Discard any
faith
in yourself,
and
Make sure
all your
needs
are properly
shelved.
What is gained
from
this control?
Surely not
peace within
your soul.
Scaling Walls
discouraging heights
intimidate most climbers
except those lovelorn. 
all those tangled hearts
drawn to assail reaches lost
without hope’s reward.
no rope, nor pulleys
may be enlisted for cause,
spurring hopelessness.
Praying for Eyebrowz 