straining

May 20, 2020

For fun I could fund you

Another check to ease things

And then I would send you

Good vibrations/ Just the thing.

.

But accent that  this one time

With springflowers (Is it spring?)

Actually, because you can’t do chocolate

(I just still disbelieve this thing)

Sweet peas still sweet to look at.

.

I’d compose a poem

I’d shout your cherished charms

From far away to your home

I can only strain

To stretch my open arms

Night Before Hearts

February 13, 2020

 

 

 

baritone sax=Pepper Adams         piano=Bill Evans

H E A R T S A P A R T

February 10, 2020

 

You’re the only one I call Honey, I’ve ever called.

.

Now,  it’s too quiet.

I fear  our embers  quiet

From the fiery glow

To firefly intermittent.

.

Again, I can imagine and wish

When  we  can restart

Our  hearts  that

They will be re-nourished.

 

A barge I bet  can float through our wait.

Hundreds of roads apart, while  hearts,

Skin-wall near,  forever here,  & there with you   wait.

.

.

.

J U S T M I S S

November 22, 2019

 

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of what might

just happen in late night

screwball comedies,

A black & white

Cakewalk

Where he keeps

Just  missing her,

& unknown to her, her one & only is  so near,

& you watch & wait for them to wise up,

For when their timing improves.

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of just sitting tight,

& trusting the plot twists,

& trusting our protagonists,

& holding still for all that insignificant subterfuge

Until it all plays out that

They can finally take cuts in the

Everything’s-Fine waiting line/

Instead of that

He keeps just missing her.

.

.

.

.

SCREWBALL

from “BRINGING UP BABY”

MY FARAWAY STEADY(R)

October 25, 2019

 

 

It wouldn’t, understandably,

Be unwise,

Not imprudent, Though circumspect to

Look directly into the seeing eyes

Of an astute, & ably Miss

And ask her, the tallest florist,

“What’s the apt blossom symbolism

Best for telling my faraway steady(r)

‘You know already. This Pair  of us,
We know already. Our hearts,
They pound same messages, jungle drums.
We tend to our tender children, we calm
The fires near each of us, We brighten the burdens,
We ache the hours late late night.'”

 

.

“Those, that nosegay  near the ceiling”

 

 

 

 

 

 

L I L T

September 6, 2019

               L I L T

Sweeter than the precious tiny

Melodic Asian lilt,

That child-waitress,

Specific question still

Asked periodically at our table,

(she has

cool bangs & horn-rimmed glasses)

& ”Hot tea?”

She surely should be in school

But she’s all the family business has

To talk to the customers

In their native language.

“Hot tea?” Forever memorable.

Sweeter than that

When you thankfully then

Lean closer again

In yr. achingly fetching

Nightgown

(yr. bangs cooler)

I watch yr. lips & hear

“Tea, Dear?”

.

.

 

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

 

 

 

All my thanx to sunni for forever encouraging me to dream/ i LOVE YOU

A Fond, Old Faraway Room

October 7, 2018

“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lovers. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of. One you haven’t seen in a long time…”
“.. A fond, old, faraway room?”
“Exactly.”
-from “Kafka On The Shore”, Hanuki Murakami
.
.
.
We mind that there mustn’t be dust
On those closed blinds.
Behind those blinds,
We find us.
We find ourselves salving
Our sore selves,
Saving us so
Fleetingly. So Pretend-Completely.
And after each chapter,
Which does us delirious,
It can be meant as some payment,
It can serve to defray cost
It can’t save us, when in a night and a day,
without fail, We will derail.
Alone, All memories lost

.

.

.

“I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair”
-Leonard Cohen,RIP,/ from “Tonight Will be Fine”
.
.                                                              Old_Room___7_by_namelessneed
.

(from a hundred years back)

FIERCE PHALANXES

May 17, 2018

Her heartbreaking fuses

Popped one by one   useless

His hearing distant thunders

Scared him, scarred him

far ago

A  steady  rough  ruckus

The  steeds’  hooves  deep in dust

For  needs for tender mercies 

Form  now  in firm phalanxes

not far ago   at all

gloomy guess

May 16, 2018

I   stood

Outside   her

I   stare

Yet  don’t  see  her

She   understood

Our   plight   here

Aware

But

won’t   Be   there

 

.

 

.

 

.

(found on a phone notebook, from a coupla weeks back)

 

ADVENTUALLY

February 8, 2018

 

“..the inevitability of/heart death and heart soar and heart sick and heart ache..”     -EvelynAdams/

https://tenaciousiceberg.wordpress.com/2015/12/04/writers-wall-as-tall-as-the-sky/

.

.

.

It could be worst

When I would hear

It from good sources,

Maybe a back-alley liar.

His last words.

.

Not a sliver as clever as Wilde,

But ever so slightly, absolutely abstract & absurd

His last words

Might all have been,  “I’ve waited.  Awhile.

All night. Save dawn. I’ve waited.  Until

Watching was silly.

No cues came. No signs sang.

No news hit the front porch.

I waited & watched.

I still wait for bell rang.

I still hold a torch.”