Walking in a winter wonderland
It's cold outside
The chill has sealed the breeze in jars screwed tight
To the shadows the silhouettes doth abide
The lone palm tree is still on this night
And somewhere far away where wishes hide
Are the screaming ghosts of Christmas lights
It's cold outside
The devil chokes on heaven's sighs
he hates the joyful echos, cries of Christmas tide
And loves kids who cry on Santa's thighs
Somewhere far off where mangers reside
Are baby saviours on Godly highs
It's cold outside
Long lay the world in sin and error pinning
Then comes the wise men with gifts beside
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming
And somewhere far away did God decide
Forever will there be nights spent caroling.
There's something in the water calling my name,
So I wade deeper, and deeper into a world unknown.
a fin here,
Some scales here,
Then beauty emerges.
And Im falling,
falling in love.
Actions speak louder than words,
but her words are drowning me,
In deep blue water,
pulling me deeper,
pulling me closer,
My lover caresses my face, clawed fingers drawing blood,
But I don't mind.
Even with my blurry vision, I see a goddess.
I open my mouth to speak, to praise, to worship.
but in goes the icy water,
burning my throat,
not a cool refreshing drink.
My arms flailing around gracefully, hoping to grab onto something,
My eyes pleading for my lover to save me.
but all she does is twirl me around, smiling.
To others it would look like we were dancing.
having the time of our lives.
My lover called my name,
But my lover didn't save me.
I know she loved me.
I know she loved me to death.
Open, trying to
even near the end--
to transform, feel,
I Did It My Way?
I spent my youth railing, and defying, sometimes even inviting "that good-night," never believing that I would make it to old age, not really even wanting to make it, prefering the ideal of a "flame out," like my rock and roll heroes enjoyed. But here am I, not yet geriatric, but teetering on the cusp.
56 years old. It doesn't feel old, but had you asked me at 14 years if 56 was old, without a second thought I'd have said yes. But things are good with me, better than they have ever been. I am glad I have made it here, to the cusp, and am almost ready to tip over the edge, and into the chasm. Almost.
The truth is there is only one way to escape aging, and that option sucks.
You can Pelaton 'til you bust, eat Balance of Nature salads, bathe in tubs of anti-wrinkle cream, or inject collagen like it's the new Covid vaccine, but if you are going to live, things are going to happen. Unavoidable things. C'mon, I'll introduce you to the "real" me!
The baldness is obvious, but you'll have to take my word for the joint pains, skin cancers, gum disease, and periodical colonoscopies. I'll bet you didn't even notice the "readers?" That's because they look so natural on someone my age (I hear that a lot these days... "you look good for your age." I don't know what the hell that means, but I cling to it all the same ;). Or the tennis shoes where manly boots once roamed? Those you probably did not notice, but the dastardly, childish looking things are down there, or else I'd need a damned walker.
I can still get rid of that little pudge over my belt buckle, but like the dog in "The Incredible Journey" it finds it's way back. The skin on the back of my hands is loose, and spotted. They look like my dad's hands on the steering wheel, not mine. Mystery pains appear daily, and then disappear as quickly, but I worry that they won't. Every tingle in a knee, or numbness in a hip feels like an inevitable replacement surgery.
My brain is still good. Better than most, I would say, even though it is filled with outdated ideas, and ancient truths; truths that I never dreamed future generations would refute. I would call it sad, what they want to do to my country, but it will soon be theirs to ruin as they will, and no longer my concern. They can have what they get, but I will be able to go knowing that I, for one, helped carry her torch.
Doesn't sound great, old age, does it? Even still, with all of that, I am glad I am here. I am still living, still striving, and still doing. Many old friends are not. Every sunrise is beautiful. Every sunset is restful, every day precious. I wonder, and despair, that those days will continue on through time everlasting without me to be amazed by them?
So live! Do not worry about tomorrow! Do not fear the future! Take care of the little things today, and the little things will take care of the big things for you.
Be the best you can be today and tomorrow will be yours, even as it flies you away.
fun to write, but fun to read?
some people call her a wild rose,
she just has a red right hand,
she goes to the joker,
but he's no space cowboy.
what will i do if she goes off,
takes the 'A' train?
I'll drown in my solitude.
she used to say, live and let die,
but it's a view to a kill,
and you only live twice,
and i ain't got anything but love,
for your eyes only.
the music goes round 'n' round,
that ol' black magic, sung by,
that sad-eyed lady of the lowlands.
if I ever lose my faith in you,
she'll find out.
I'm a pretender, and she knows it,
she sees me; a fool on a hill,
singing the blues in the night.
my vertigo increases,
'cause Mr. Tambourine man,
mixed things up ,
sitting on the pavment
Be careful what you wish for...
His dream was to be a couch potato until he awoke as a double amputee.
I’m no good at poetry
I suck at writing verse
My sentences lack symmetry
And my stanzas? Even worse!
The words I choose don’t fit
And my vocabulary’s absurd
The rhythmic quality’s shit
And the meanings are all blurred
I wish that I could write
Something elegant and prosaic
Instead my poem’s a blight
Like a poorly done mosaic
Were I to channel the ghost
Of a Tennyson or Blake
My poetry would be host
To something spiritually awake
Alas! I have before me
Something bland, almost dead
Surely readers yearn to flee
Pull the covers up, hide in bed
I think that I shall put away
That awful prankster Muse
And from this point strive to allay
Her machinations to confuse
Rest assured, my dear reader
’Tis the last you’ll read from me…
Till that Muse (God, I need her!)
Whispers another monstrosity
Those Unsaid Words
An ethereal scene unfolds before me
As you slowly stroll in my direction.
Your delicate hands,
Brushing against the dusty wooden railing
As silence falls slowly around us,
Marred only by the splashing sound of the water beneath.
And as you stop before me,
The sun shines its vibrant hue
Onto that thick lustrous black hair
Making it look preternaturally glossy,
And highlights every nook and crevice
In that nonpareil countenance
That Nature had taken time and care
To mould from scratch.
I stare straight into your eyes,
Distracted only by the flecks of green
Swimming in those ocean-blue orbs;
And I wish
That I could penetrate deep into your soul
With my eyes alone,
So that I would be
So bare and vulnerable in front of you
That those unsaid words-
Unable to escape coherently from my mouth,
Would get deeply embedded into your core,
All on their own.
I long to sculpt these words,
Stringing them together slowly,
One by one,
Into a suitable
Declaration of my love for you.
But my fingers are so clumsy and clammy,
And they tremble so much
That the string loosens.
And the words -
They become too tangled
And get so misplaced
As they fall,
Piece by piece,
Separated from the link
That binds them together;
Distorting the feelings
That are stored
And pent up for long
In my heart.
And as you stare back at me,
With that unknown expression
I’ve come to think of, as hope,
I can do nothing but smile;
While the dusty wooden floor is littered,
With all the eloquent words
That slips from my grasp.
Q: Hey girl, want to play Carpenter? First we get hammered, then I nail you.
A: You don’t have enough wood.
She took me, all I was
Never have I looked back.
She knew me, through the buzz,
Of our hearts melding together.
She saw me in and out,
My anguish like a feather.
She lifted me higher,
I knew not what I would know.
I wish I could hold her like then,
So very long ago.
Six years have passed,
My arrow left it’s bow.