haiku adulterated

his shadow stands over me
and i still obey
isn't that the way of it
?

no more

are you still making dreams
for the sorrowed up fellas down the way
finding sleep on some dusted earth
burning broken trees to ward off
everything

if i could wake the old women
bring their prayers to day
but some things are meant to pass away
like the sons that followed weary
gone roaming and sorrowing

i would make this earth whole
would bring the seas to halt
bring back the dead gone early
heal hearts turned raw in grief
but i too bear the wounds of love

i once knew the way of return
yet somehow it's gone lost to me
my steps are vanished
the ground holds no memory
am i fled down some ghostey path?

are you still making shadows
standing lone in the field of sun
wary gainst the night approaching
sowing cautions for the children
some lonely oracle unheard

we've had no peace in these days of steel
i'm battered by the unsane wails
and hold no remedies or medicines
for the sickness come with stealth
when will you let me end?

some men can only count the breaths
they're given so very few
some men can face a champion
with some glimmer to prevail
some men

i cannot wield a spear or sword
have not the strength or solid will
not meant for a sorcerer's fodder
to rally battles in choked black air
will ring no hero's trumpet

look for me down the lane
sitting with the sorrowed up fellas
maybe passing whiskeys round a fire
we've let this day pass
it will come no more

no more

5 lines with a semi-puzzling meaning

let me stop
i'll watch my footsteps fall into themselves
eager for the tide's return
giving a flat and tidy shore
what's wrong with that?

little bird

little bird, broken wings, you've lost the airs
i feel the wind go raw, you're left agrounded
the earth gives little consolation, as i said it would
little bird

lost, #something or other

don't dawdle, little sweetness, we've got some steps
before we tire, losing time on 4th street, counting
down the alphabet on the eastern avenues

i'm hankered for a second-line, carrying torches
in this yankee place, can they make a jazz man funeral?
move beyond their irish wake, but let me say

memories make heavy lovers, knocking with
their fearsome clamors, shaking my old sleep time
is it too late to set some traps for wayward ghosts

why do you want me in this cluttered and
unwholesome town, noised with angry barking
maybe running backward is the key

or am i simply lost
?

a doris day lament

he did his sliding dance, with a twisty smooch across her
ankle, singing coffee songs filled with morning breaths

knowing that his buttery lips, fresh with borrowed tawdry
promise, could wrap her with an ancient sweet delusion

knowing in his artless glimmers that their rumba moved
against the under syncopated rhythm of a doris day lament

so he scats his happy patter as she closes the act's old curtains
and he panders to an audience that has never seen a stage

while she slows her heart mis-beating, covers mirrors for the day
he does his sliding dance, and smiles, and then he fades away

it's said that time is the great thief. but what if you could steal from time? then you'd be . . .

young, again

tomorrow, i'll be young, again,
quick shadows in your window,
a siren, again, pubescent scented

summer-faced down in dallier's lane,
bare footed, bare necked, sweat drops
beneath your sheet, salty on your lips,

will i fade before you wake, insubstantial?
sleep unfelt beside you, leave you in some
restless twist of 4am confusion? and so

you'll follow me, tomorrow, somewhere,
i can magick you, draw life from you,
then i will dance that phoenix rumba gig,

in a butchy boy finale, spinning,
and when you love me,
my breathing's done,

when i'm young

i'm ready

what memories are on my pillow
wrapping me and binding me
i once thought it quite enough
lie and listen to the clouds tossing
breaking day into its many pieces
in the darkness i can fly
i can soar above the tangles
a mute angel done with earth
and in the black my blinded face
can feel the water of the night
smell the past wearing old haunts
what a conversation we can have
cause i'm ready

a few rambling remarks from my travels. forgot the camera, forgot the journal.

the wedding

there's gonna be a church wedding, later
i've seen the billboards in splashy color
calling friends, announcements from family
i must be stuck somewhere in nowhere
cause they make flapjacks with maple
melted butter, sweets from all these plains
buzzing honeybees are talking bout the festives
it'll be like the county fair, fun and fancy
big dresses, lots of hair, coordinated
i'm nearly hyper-ventilated

reception's got this town scampering
garden club, elks and masons
boy scouts and future farmers
funerals will be postponed
timed around the high school playoffs
just gives me time to take my walk
gather flowers and my thoughts
on a day when the world goes past
never takes a sidelong look
i've been hearing voices

what will i bring these small time lovers
elvis on velvet?
sartre untranslated?
something from my old house?
old or blue, new or checked off from a list
hurt's a haphazard thing
strikes reckless
and i can't even country dance
but i've been sitting in my angry garden
wondering

don't have boots
just my daddy's funeral suit
will they laugh at this mis-matched man?
coffee and bourbon can surely do no harm
chocolates from belgium
sugar and spice
what am i made of?
throwing rice and rose petals
talking whispers with the mayor
aunts and cousins, wives and floozies
scotch is warm as summer
at a wedding

shave and shower, am i forgetting?
haven't i done this once before?
my old scrapbook's missing pages
who would take away the years?
who would tear and burn my memories
faces smiling loved and gone
were their secrets worth forgetting?
closets emptied with despair
bedrooms locked and boarded
keys i've thrown away
why do i stand here undecided
on this wedding day
?

like me

old man, you've gone a'priesting
making with your latins
writing on the walls in backyard greek
black and collars don't bring holy
how many dimes were thrown your way?
i like my recitations on the downtown corner
where i can mix with blue-eyed johns
they're out looking for salvation
hawking smiles and selling short
just like me

unwelcome strangers

i thought dying was the great liar
bringing its special gifts
standing at my door like some
awkward suitor
bearing flowers and the dusk
dressed in fanciful confusions
asking always if i dreamed
if i thought of running to the sea
howling at the crashing waves
leaving its small concoctions
by my bed
baskets of hope
tidy bits of consolation
whispered stories so i may sleep
i've had no other lover
who'd think to kiss an untidy man
and i've made no way
here in the world
all done with passions
not returned
i pushed my quiet hours
to clear some room for
unwelcome strangers
liars asking questions
and bearing gifts

the ceremony

sit by the sea
until the salt lies heavy
let it cover lash and brow
capture murmurs somewhere
escaped
it is the why of it
bind your feet to sand
bring God to earth
His legions govern heaven
as you have some final conversation
at last
a Companion for a solitary
there'll be no judgement
just another fallacy
old heresies in jealous cloaks
hide and give power
randomly
God remembers nothing
that's a simple error of man
always making wishes
always kneeling
that only brings us closer
to the ground
i have time to sit beside you
watch your marriage
to the sea
this is a ceremony
will you kiss God
?

rules

night-blooming jasmine finds me anxious, rounding down
through your summered window
too heady too fantastic for this indiana boy
forgot why i ever drove my studebaker
breaking on the corn fields, sliding loops
maybe drunk on fresh tobacco leaves
leaving brown county

i said explanations are everything, i said
spanish wine can lead to fame
when i'm given over to backroom rousings
asking for some inspiration, begging nickels
i said a lot of things in those rambled days
wearing my old red jacket, orange cummerbund
barking in new orleans

when it's time to sell your soul, look for bargains
i sew extra pockets, deep with hidden places
quick fingers sharp eyes slow talk, hypnotize
hold the air very still and found objects float
i amaze these strangers so they'll give me gems
bits of gold strands of platinum
are you jealous
?

jabber or yammer or generally obfuscate
but never leave behind unforgotten memories
rouse and dazzle then wipe the teacher's slate
it's all in a circus but i don't accept checks
these momenti mori are for silver boxes
made to order cash demanded smithy signed
are you listening
?

but now i have a window of my own
where i can sit to count my newfound secrets
where i can howl and make a jitterbug
talk to the old man asleep in my tree
these are the rules of a life well tended
once you've learned the steps from here
to there

uncertain ghosts

sitting in circles, isn't just the passage of time
isn't counting hours, degraded minutes, echoing seconds
waiting for shadows to find their proper place

we're bound by the years that enclose us
white wines at a proper chill, degrees regulated
done dancing with the ghosts on the stairs

are we friends, uncertain in our boundaries
grandmother's lace and old family silver
you were fond of root beer floats, once upon

i've given up my mysteries, sorted father's photos
they keep us young, daring and full of pride
i had a certain charm, you always said

we're still frightened by the darkness, children
stay within the magic of their dream, children
may grow older, tend to fade, but not away

and here we are, sitting in circles, waiting
for a sign, listening to the roses make their bloom
do you love your ghost, from so very long ago

i wait for footsteps before sleeping, for the
rustlings of the blind, make my midnight song
to please the spirits, and let me with some quiet

this awful hesitation, when i know what must be done
i've been no good at giving treasures, hoarded more
than my fair share, is that the secret gone unfound

my quiet days draw no applause, no curtains raised
no clever conversations in a ravished hush, knowing
whispers from some literary light, eyes closed, amused

oh, yes, i know the steps and where they'll lead,
and may even have the strength to close the door
you'll find a key beneath the tulip tree

use it well

funeral songs

funeral songs make full use of d minor
7 stanzas may take you to the close
long lost cousins do a brief appearance
cut roses are mysteriously appropriate
these are the elements of our despair

casseroles and cakes, would you count the chairs?
cover mirrors, pull the shades, what have i
forgotten?
fendi knows their fabrics, dark and subtle
just the thing

mother wears the same chanel, to every wedding
every wake
neutral colors are an investment that the sensible
should make
donations, phone calls, closets need some air

i understand there was a special friend
perhaps from omaha
they'd meet in far flung places
chicago, or san fran
every spring, every autumn. is there tea?

towels are in the dryer, beer is in the fridge
aunt cecile has made her favorite cookies
put the children out to play
not the china, it was granny's best
there may be strangers in the house

i think that i should lie down, just
a minute of repose,
organize the christmas dinner
a diversion, but i'm in need
we had a lifetime bound together

now i'm all alone

moonlight sleep

a book half-read, notes in the margin
comments on the fog across the hills
they carry their own weight
self publishing

he has fruitcake on the table
pieces broken with some lack of care
reds and greens separated
into a sly motif

moving swirls an ancient dust
caught by sunlight spectered
shadow puppets run abandoned
round and round the walls

rumors were once written
with a flourishing script
multi-color inks withheld a code
laden with cryptologist care

he often fell into old black musings
watched an autumn's child
lying on the grass
hardly bending any leaf

his books are profligate
commanding an attention never shared
a life barely circumscribed
full of gentled rule and comfort

jackdaws lack the language of foxes
becomes a note on page 783
tidily printed from archaic sensibility
small message from the past

celery catalogs lie unopened
stacked apart from mormon tracts
hand delivered by walking strangers
offering unsought deliverance

he's dreamed of cotton covers
scented by a life made without angles
tossed upon a bed moved near the window
so he can sleep in moonlight

the recipe

porcini and truffles, now let me get this straight
heavy cream and butter, you've joined a group for est
garlic must be simmered, isn't that for hippies
take care it doesn't burn, and their designer drugs
add salt to boiling water, but i thought you rather happy
not too much, oh do take care
made the pasta just this morning, organic eggs
flour chosen carefully from warm italian hills
you sleep up in the western wing
feng shui has been consulted
i leave my shoes by the southern door
instructions were included
solar panels, herbal gardens
what more can i do?
you're not
leaving
?

untitled

ordinary human unhappiness
it's an odd sort of goal
why is it so elusive
?

at the end

the end, was it not to be upon me
with some quiet
a subtle darkness toward a shroud
where did i find these imaginings
captured out where i did my roamings
breathed from old degraded air?
listening gave me some raw purpose
gathered words became my prey
buzzings harks and gutteral
whispers
all told the same and gray soaked
tale
don't wait for glory
metal trumpets
the path to ashes wends
in inches
monuments must be earned
not scooped in sand
subject to all the primal vagaries
it was to be upon me
stealthed in sleep
cloaked and nameless
another stranger smiling
beguiled by mask
it was not to be
the exhaustion of all i know
come in rampaging battalion
in shrieks
in tears and breaking howls
for none of us lie possessed
of name
of worth
the end is the great impoverishment
the final taking
but as with everything that does man
liars write that tale
at the end

a life like mine

who follows me, inside a life like mine
i manage my walk, stack ladders
easily found
what i seek is somewhere
easily boxed
counting breath is a pastime
for the poor
are books shelved and full
with explanations
day bleeds but night withholds
their similarities discomfort
there has never been an ear
so finely tuned
can hear the rankles
choppy murmurs persistently
making weight
are my hours any shorter
than yours
should i recalibrate our second hands
if we patter, side by side
similar destinations, but never
the same
my questions no longer require
answers
that day was frittered
loosed for a bit of sour whiskey
you see, i once collected
hard replies
had pockets overbulging
they've been so easily remembered
inside a life like mine

a new noel

been making bullets in my basement
it's an artform with many flavors
silver full of honey
copper to impress
etched but never fingerprinted
when you tire of bouche amuse
truffles out of season
clever gifts are on your list

city life carries various pleasures
anonymity assured
dusty windows diminish
ladders leave a trace
mothers gather casings
recycling's such a chore
the streets give up their treasures
slowly

armor comes in tangerine
puce and vivid yellow
urban winds bring jolly tidings
cracks and syncopated shocks
metronomic regularity
harmonies to lure our lost candide
back to town
promises with clauses
and i guarantee my bullets
they're time-tested as you know
better than collagen caresses
twice as sweet

if you order
order quickly
it's the season
for despair
don't come knocking
make appointments
don't look for bargains
i'm always fair
receipts are never offered
they must be purchased
like the air
let's hang our lights
up on the rooftops
an elf's an easy target
a cookie and a glass of milk
is irresistible

growing weary

walk me through this world
i can't explain these heavy steps
can't explain the pain that smiles
beside me
friends, old lovers
i've let wrongs go where they will
who has the strength to stand aside
when strength is all he owns
we know that breath will follow breath
we know how weary grows
God's confessor

i carry secrets like any man
and i accept the comforts of the dark
cherish hours far from day's hard sun
that righteous fellow
eats my sins for God
swallows them before me
tells me to go forth
and flourish
but where can anyone so heavy
find a welcome sanctuary
aren't those doors fixed
with implacable guardians
?

sitting at God's feet

sitting at God's feet incurs
certain sartorial considerations
if i'm to gain the favors
that will ease this change of day
thrones of gold would certainly
preclude
fashion statements uninspired
how many steps to rome?
paris brings its costs to bear
but swings a mighty balance
with a culinary obliging
beyond compare

can i be a consort
to an angel?
can they appreciate my rather earthly
attractions?
and is it proper to appreciate
a cherub in return?
every court flows on
with regulations
heralds and trumpets
delicate refineries
make fair this path to absolution

will i blanche
at certain undiluted gossips?
where truth alone be told
is there room
in the fields of heaven
for a man who's loved
and failed
given over to caresses
and the bruises they entail
can a voice without devotion
find a place in some new choir
will He appreciate armani
sitting at His feet
and offer me a chair?

funerary wreaths

funerary wreaths are for the taking
lying here, lying there
offerings tossed idly down
where the earth has been undone
ghostey lads have scarce regard
for dying flowers

all this glorious and public mourning
makes my humours quite fatigued
sepulchers must be damp for sleeping
unwholesome spaces lacking
in creature comforts
cleanliness, godliness
where are you now?

but a lover of cold marble
can indulge in seven acts
play ancient oratorios
for an audience enrapt
replete with tears
immodest excess
hardy suburban despair

i find i'm soothed
by these most unsubtle melancholies
a fertile source
for my collection
of plastic devotions
made across the sea
for my nightly intents

wings of angels
hardly chipped
hang from my kitchen ceiling
enjoy securities
in my closets
though i wear them badly
they are unfailing

you can earn an unsought holiday
housing free of costly rent
furnishings with lasting quality
waiting for your quick approval
waiting for the close of gates
quiet neighbors
and funerary wreaths

hiding in trees

men, hiding in trees
what a peculiar form of art
thinking in concealment
has profound pleasures
and ragged little stutters
don't confuse
dreams can make some leap
into those unwindowed houses
smell the sweet confusion
that keeps them in their lairs
footsteps don't leave traces
on ever changing branches
voices don't go echo
keys stay unremembered
and no shelves for oddments
or the past
no cups of tea with gushing suitors
for men
who hide in trees

the beast

all that was right, has gone into hiding
this avenue comes full with a beast
just as it had so comfortably
settled into black and white
grays and anything not red
all my hot scent draws him on
he hears the coursing that goes
bashing and flooding inside
can follow my raw taste down alleys
but i've often been a feast

there'll be an ending to this run
my steps are counted
the night is on me in its roar
i doubt there ever was a time
but memories are somehow
making rants and strange deceptions
get me leaping on these hard places
he can see me from any roof
can the beast

counting cars

counting cars from iowa, somewhere
round 2am
my next sunset is wracking clamors
gone in me full of shakes
round 3am
sun, go take that other man
leave me some shadow, anywhere
you get so caught in laughing
making up your twisty games
you and i, we've finished
with all our conversations

enough spying, hiding upside down
counting cars from alabam
cadillacs and lincolns
weary me
leather and cubanos
tired sinatra tunes
round 4am
aren't i fierce
and beautiful?
worth the effort
change to spare
do you fancy this endeavor
capital is always welcome
round 5am

old friends

old friends, gone by with their
deliberate steps
how do they see me
now
in my young grace?
sharp soaring in our firmament
i have breath for the asking
but long gave up the will
do i go still with longing
captivated
once entranced
following strangers
now my look has felled, so slow
backward, forward
where is the consequence?
you find me never closer
than a window's careful eye
disturbing only passers
over full in caution
how do they see me
raw
drawn in callow
taken now to dreams
i am

but as our characters continue to tell their tales this week, please read beyond the new work below to remember and reflect with . . .

everything

everything has changed
i've lost my wings, gone cut
only these bloodied stumps
remain
but may be comforts lie
within this cold swept sea
its gray grows round
the shallow sky
barely filled with thinnest airs
cloudless into the farthest place
given up all strength
to toss the waters
support the aging storm
are these my red soaked feathers
good only as an ornament
the discards of one final day
i can stand here for some hours
though it's too late to turn
it's not too late for small regrets
when everything has changed

characters, oh they do continue

we hark back to the dank days of summer for this lad . . .

shim-sham jimmy

shim-sham jimmy made some cantakerous combobulations,
with a to and a fro that left hizzoner proud, and he glossed
his lips with an inky inspiration from some j.crew poster boy
cause today the preacherman's a'callin', callin' jimmy's name

shim-sham jimmy took his sherry straight, smooched castratas
with abandon, when the vapors held him in their scintillatin' grip
and told his daddy-tales to strangers on the streets of downtown
beaufort, giving southern comfort where southern comfort's due

he was a grief and a trial and a sore-felt tribulation, was this
fallen magnolia, this splendiferous celebration of a river delta's
pride, and he did a fine bojangle, with a softshoe skip-dee-doo
hopping over sidewalk cracks, making rootbeer jingles for the crowd

but when the man comes callin', and the dead kick up with pride,
and god's own angels turn away with a snicker and a hoot
then a lad knows as lads have always done that the hard time's a'come
but jimmy was a caution, and the preacher but a man

there is a tale worth the learnin', for the preachers and their wrath,
from the buttery tongue of a shim-sham boy, jimmy quick and easy
never live your sermons or dark old father sun, 'cause when the book
is finally written, you'll know your day is done

after reading the new work of the day, please peruse onward to our character from this week of characters.

eggs and honey

let's go walking, make some wisdom that we can leave
for winsome lads and lasses to retrieve, a signatory
offering of threaded machinations and hilarity

bring seashells to these kansas plains, palms from
macedonia, figs from the isle of crete, such gardens
that our memories are secure into another age

i'll do no more causing with ghosts long broke
let them drift with other foolish steps, let them fly
uncheckered to the christian graves beyond

and while we yammer we can break a path
through all this corn and wholesome air
lay a road of gilded stone edged in fabulosity

let's be done with our collections, with our bits
and shards and scrappy tawdries, my pockets
are fat full up and they slow this journey so

let's be done with spouting poesies, no more rhymes
verses for sopranos, rumblings in a bass or false
contralto, and leave our costumes in the grass

if there's still singing to be done, it's best in some
bluesy syncopation, yester day's not finished
it still knocks with a floozie's bald insist

i'm nearly stiff with all my past carousings,
how did i ever make it here, to this land of bovine
adulation, flowing milk and eggs left for my pluck

oh, i'm done with overripe bemusings, speculations
hardly ever culled, hothouse germinations that
won't grow in the light of nature's day

can we finally sit and count our offerings
are they too ancient in their intentions, too
wearied lying wrapped in my ripe hand

bed me now, let's be done with such a chase
as would sprout into mythology, too far fetched
for even peddlers of stolen gossips

honey flowing will catch your feet, trip the runner
gone unwary and enamored of a stream so sweet
but the day goes finally ended, and i can only say

bed me now

still revisiting old friends during this week of reminiscence. and it seems that susie's not the only one attracted to the deep pockets of the catholic boys. there's also . . .

billy-ray

billy-ray tells tawdry tales to my neighbor lads, those deft and dillied
gawkers, out foolishing in my yard, and takes the pennies from my
bedroom floor, slips my nickels into his shoes, finding luck where
he can find it

but he saves his silly kisses for the dawn, and doesn't hear my
whispry tales, steals his place up in my window, where he can
listen to the pixie songs, maybe sell some charms to the catholic boys,
he is a crafy lad

and loose with favors, or did i lose my billy-ray, south of cincinnati,
chasing hop-toads through the grass, or did his loopy smiling leave
me sorrow-full, driving those old backroads, dusting round his daddy's
pawpaw trees, or did we

take our fancy down to bourbon street, make a monday dawdle
for the tourists, and they might have chased us with their rum and
coca-cola, chased us to the levee where the oak trees hide the light,
and where is he laughing now

my sweet ole billy-ray

be sure to continue reading after this new work. i've another character below for your continued appreciation.

a conversation at the edge

walk the edge, what a stony rough and twisted place
i'm breath held, full up with imaginings, outside caution
ready for my dialog with this coldish sea

so much we need to bark and yammer
that water seems welcome for a long expected visitor
checked by margins of cantankerous inhibition

if its rowdy minor protests can bring some sway
bring a burst of surly assertions
we can have our conversation riped in algae

god i'm gone stilled with all this granite
massive hardness barely cracked by winds
glory seems so close with its fundamental plea

if i can stay face forward my eyes can shut away
the gulls are laughing at this landed man
believing he can make the trip unwinged

hesitation found a home inside my blood
made its plague so long that even ghosts forgot
the why of it befuddled and useless now

all the talking of this place confounds my purpose
it's an arbiter of no great power
i've been ready i've been ready i've been ready

dawdling over characters we have come to know and adore - we have today . . .

susie

susie sells her socks, but only after church, down by
charlie's gate, and only to the catholic boys, cause they
have dimes and pennies, pockets full, and blushes on

their cheeks, and when the moon has slipped away, the
doors have darked and shut to strangers, she skips across
the pastor's lawn, makes her prayers, sly with promise

sly with woman twists, sings her happy patter, and hides
her favorite monies, down in the deacon's garden, scented
with old granny's lilacs, scented with some magicks that

her daddy tossed aside, and susie weaves some charms
that would leave her momma danced in pride, wickeds
up the night time airs with fabulous concoctions. oh, yes

our susie, our heart's delight

this is a week to visit and revisit friends. old, new, imaginary, now ghosts. we'll leave some bravos, a few huzzahs, perhaps a razz or 2. life's not made of perfect things and we can cherish a flaw, or several. and since we must begin somewhere, how about here . . . .

good old 23rd

deborah Gomorrah plays a madcap tune
on her black and gold accordion
sidesteps mashers, accepting coins
a truly generous frivolity
down on 23rd

she's part of history, of verses sold
to support old habits diabolical
runners and pandlers,
abused or aroused
worshiped her of old

is there room still yet
for perversity gone gentle
hormones buckled under
some days grow short
some nights go on forever

save your nickels, perhaps
some dimes, if silver summons luck
support the arts and daffy minstrels
for a lady out in open air
making glamour and rare delight

she favors reds and tints of oranges
and if boas have some charm
she has a closet full of feathers
shoes that sparkle at her wit
she needs an audience to survive

there is a plaque to all her lovers
paid for by admirers
chiseled with some care
so let's all applaud dear deborah
somewhere on 23rd

haiku, schmaiku
no. indeterminate

if i'm a ghost
how can it be
that i still leave
bruises
?

forever no. 2: time

you have been sleeping, little wonder
but now you've gone awake
don't be mindful of this dark

come sit up in the window
let's take a listen to the fog
cause it's a voice i've never heard

don't be wary of that stranger
lying in your bed
it's a moment for small mystery

i've room right here beside me
watching shapes down on my lawn
what is that shimmer in your eye

you know i'm ever careful
hours take their bandit toll
but i can give this time together

are you so caught within our memories
so anxious for the day
i can carry your old troubles

those waters make a seashore
make sweet lines upon the sand
but a line we shouldn't pass

it rolls across with tripping tongue
sounds aplenty full of sense
when they wrap me as they should

tonight speaks softly to me
has come solemn in the air
i can sit here forever

my time runs in its backward steps
ever younger, rare and strong
leave the stranger in your bed

your life grows always shorter
though you never knew it would
you are still fair, the seconds long

questions linger undisturbed
settled in the corners
left scented on the sheets

surely there's some refuge
some shelter, some repair
or am i become your morning's breath

do you still listen, little wonder
to that ghostey song abroad
still wait to hear my call

do you run down to the kitchen
when your feet are cold and bare
when old summer starts to fall

to find my grand commotions
a cup of coffee on the stair
time has been no friend for you

can you hear the voices
calling me away
or i can stay forever

the jelly jar

morning, where is that cup of coffee, you've ever been
a friend, marching up and down with all your gentle noise
let me linger, foot up on a stool, smelling cinammon
and butter, and i've ashes in the jelly jar, labeled
just in case, some days i follow whispers, and they
lead me far astray, some days i sleep up in the dunes
gone flying with the gulls, but i thought the door was yellow
for i painted it myself, it was the day we planted peonies
right up to the gate, the windows need a washing,
how did i chip this plate?

did i see you only yester day, and didn't we once kiss?
but i've ashes in the jelly jar, and a path that i must take,
and have you seen that pup of mine, a terrier by mistake
i have his leash, awound up tight, and he's never missed
a walk. there are steps that have no counting, go back
and forth and on beyond, some endless sad parade.
there should be a jolly marching band, for the task that
binds this day, we'll visit favorite places, sing a maudlin
lover's tune, for i've ashes in the jelly jar

that i've labeled with some care

our door

think of ice cream, think of cookies, think
of cakes that soar with cremes, may be ices,
carved like angels, with the word of God engraved
speak of lollipops, and taffies, stretched
with laughter in the night, sing a jingle,
soft sweet ditty, and a winsome little tune

dream our cottage, white and yellow, with
a gated fence around, fields of daisies,
rings of poppies, climbing roses up and down
we'll have a fountain in the garden, and
a faun beside a spring, so sleep your sleep
let the day be on its way, it can not

help you now, for it holds shadows making
mysteries, it holds promise long unkept
there are no gifts within its hours, as
the clocks take time away, and i have no
strength to stay here, my path has made
a turn, i am bound by spells that know me

and they know me all too well, so i'll be
just a dream gone roaming, taken sudden
from your bed, sitting in your window
watching you with care, and if you must
remember, as lovers sometimes do, then
please remember that life is folly,

joy a passing turn of air, kisses bold
and pocked with passion find their ransom
with your tear, and if your heart can
find a holder, then you're lost forever more
so sleep your sleep, and let the day be
on its way, then you might feel my passing

whisper, and the closing of our door

the game

it's a dangerous day, as days that follow
days lend harm, lend streets gone broken
oh, it's a fretful day, i need to go from
here to there, but safety is a smattering
of jumps and turns, twists and clever steps

there is no certainty, beyond my very fine
enchanted door, oak and steel, locks
bars and barriers designed with long
consideration, against the spell, against
the hex, against the stranger and his ploys

i have my charms, but is there ever safety?
potions only go so far, of course the cremes
my own ablutions, give a comfort and disguise
there are scents aplenty from the gents
across the sea, sent to a man who's gone unwise

it is a day when dreams have gone out running
through the streets in light of day
gone out with careless and ill-considered
disregard, seem unaware that only dark
can keep the ravages at bay

i once used kisses with some little fame
knew the value of a whisper, correctly timed
sang little ditties with an italian air
and with my suppers a clever wine
a gentle man in every way

but the hours have given me an ill dessert
what powder covers every bruise?
and with the dusk i find my garden
shaped by walls long gone unscaled
a perfect stage for this poor drama

it is a dangerous day, every second
has its peril, every chime its ghost
there are faces at my window, longing
gone unfilled, so i can while away
the moonlight, pick my roses in the frost

this is a garden built for lovers
who have played the game, and lost