Cut me some slack, Jack!
I’ve done nothing recently
Most all my sins are past.
There were days when I
Could not tell the truth
Even if my life depended on it.
It was a weakness.
Some days still I find lies
Pulling at my tongue.
They are so much more
Interesting than my truths.
This is why I write.
Peace, people!
All along the wooden pier,
benches sit immobile,
beckoning visitors to rest.
Words etched on brass plates
for all to see:
“In Loving Memory of My Parents”
“For My Dearest Aunt Laura”
“In Memory of a Great Fisherman”
One imagines the benches might
mark the places at which each
memorialized person spent time
casting hooked lines
into the gulf’s waters
while drinking cold Budweiser
to better pass the time
between sunrise and sunset.
Now, lovers claim the benches
wrapped in embraces, scarcely
noticing the memorial plaques
on the creaky, weathered slats.
Fishing for affection
in the early evening hours
catching no fish,
but not caring.
Today I crossed the street
just outside the crosswalk’s lines.
Tonight I plan to have white
wine with a juicy red t-bone steak.
Tomorrow I might just pair
plaid pants with a bright floral top.
Need a rebel?
I’m your gal.
Peace, people!
Somewhere in the great
Kingdom of Almost Never,
next to nothing,
yet close to everything,
lives a mighty ruler:
the much lauded,
but seldom celebrated
Queen of Procrastination.
Her intentions are worthy,
her heart quite pure yet
between her needs and
her deeds, her urges and
surges, her beginnings and
endings lie many
debilitating can’t be dones,
buts, and what ifs.
The Queen of Procrastination
goes out of her way
to explore every option
in the name of delay.
The kingdom keeps running
just barely, at best
the knights aren’t lazy
but they aren’t full of zest.
You swept my soul clean
digging into the corners
with an old straw broom.
splintered handle held
in calloused, gentle fingers
moving dust around.
motes travel quickly
swirling faeries in sunlight
each a piece of me.
on hot summer days
the ice cream truck beckons youth
canned music piping
to heat-parched children
scampering through neighborhoods
clamoring for treats.
hey mister stop here!
mommy it’s the ice cream man!
may i have a dime?
please? i’ll fold towels.
we’ll mow the lawn tomorrow!
promises offered
some were even kept.
A future prepared
Frozen smooth, without ripples
Skating on thin ice.
Cracks form and widen
Water seeps through, threatening
Surface gives quarter.
They all then fall down.
Peace, people!
Finally she knew
no one could ever save her
neither knight nor prince.
Armed with this knowledge
she sallied forth, unafraid,
searching for dragons.
Empowered woman
whole and unafraid of strength
could not be distressed.
For lo and behold
no dragon needed slaying;
fear had been man made.
Armed only with grit and determination
(and a brush, rubber gloves and a tonic for mold eradication)
Fair maiden set forth one morning in May
to for once end this harbinger of death and decay.
Pandora (the music, not the lady of myth)
Heralded maiden’s approach as she addressed the green filth.
“Begone!” she cried and the mold did not budge.
“I gave you good warning, now perish you sludge!”
Fair maid sprayed and scrubbed, her back bent at odd angles
She swept sweat from her eyes and made her old arms jangle.
After hours of labor she rose from tired knees
Expecting to see a sight which surely would please.
Instead a difference she could not discern
“Dammit,” she muttered. “Let Studly have a turn.”
One small section of our wall taken before and after. I guess I made a bit of a difference.
Is it too early for a glass of wine?
Peace, people!
rampant emotions
storm the brain, wreaking havoc
let my tongue stay calm
dueling friction
using words as our weapons
exhausts my spirit
grant me five minutes
I’ll get myself together
now I’m in pieces.
and my opponent,
we’ve not changed the other’s views
sparring for nothing.
Praying for Eyebrowz 