...and then, snow.

I am cocooned in the warmth
of my bed, beneath the veil of
darkness that silences the day.

Winter has sheathed the windows,
the downspout, the mailbox now opened
by the quick hand of a wind bullying through.

I hear the 12:04 train along the tracks,
chanting like a monk, parting the
frigid air with a releasing, "Om."

There is a great storm predicted, and I am
aware of salt trucks, and the rush for bread
and milk. But the train decrees a feeling

My hands are old and worn
My knuckles ache each day,
With skin as thin as parchment,
My hands still have much to say.

These hands survived a childhood
Held a ball, and a fishing pole,
An accident or two with stitches
Broken bones took a painful toll.

One hand was raised to take an oath
To serve a nation then fight a war,
Raised once again, another oath,
Enforcing laws would be the chore.

…Late-summer-bride
A rare and cultured jewel

My body’s opposite
The perfect mirror
Of my flesh…

Sometimes I get angry at my heart
for all the foolishness it has gotten me into.
It seems to have never been afraid of folly.

It reminds me of meeting you at that café,
my silly gift in hand before you took mine in yours.

This Spring afternoon, many years later,
with a bright sun working hard, I watch you
attentively watering the plants in our yard,
indebted to foolishness and all it has given me

Around the time Cup Finals
were first shown live on TV
and towers were erected
overlooking our back garden
with the lawn striped and manicured
just like Wembley Stadium,
Alf Ramsey would be watching
from the 6th or 7th balcony
as I tried to keep the ball within
the central midfield area
away from the flower beds
my father set such store by.

His image
Is burned
In my mind.
The way
He spoke
To me,
The way
He listened
To me,
The way
He comforted me.
And it all worked
So well
For me.
I carry
His face
With me
At all times.
Without
Bruce's bridge
I would not be
Functioning
In the way
I am today.
He gave me
Support
He gave me
Strength
He gave me
Hope
All of the above.
My level
Of joy
And happiness
Is only
Due to

as jagged bolts of lightning
tore thru the the midnight clear
and figuratively ripped the sky to shreds
(analogous to jumping Jack flash),
and ear splitting thunder crackled
testing the threshold of tolerance
zombies of Sugar Hill came alive
and danced to the sound of music,
exhibiting spot on choreography
to the late Michael Jackson's thriller album,
whereat despite feigned affableness
of ineradicable purple creepy people eaters ,
the ghoulish fiendish beasts
wantonly ravaged entire hectares

Beware wall-ears, beware spy's eye;
Keep mum! Watch out what you've to say.
Don't spill your beans as fools pass by,
As many aim for words as prey.

Keep mum! Watch out what you've to say;
Let's see the man I'm proud to raise.
As many aim for words as prey,
Pursue the speech that God would praise.

Let's see the man I'm proud to raise;
Hold your horses! Stop, do not haste.
Pursue the speech that God would praise;
Don't rush a thing, but count to eight.

Place twelve dead roses upon my grave

One for each of my loves that walked away

Do not cry one tear upon my headstone

Please do not be sad for me now that I am gone

I lived my lonely life deep inside of a cold cave

To escape the darkness that came like waves

My heart is a heart that is made of stone

Made up of love that was never shown

I am resigned to the fact of who I was

Indentured to all the never-loved

Place twelve dead roses upon my grave

One for each of my loves I could not save

Goad me
Push me
Engage me
Encourage me
I'm here
Just waiting
For your advice.
Speak to me
Tell me
Sound me out
Whatever it takes
To improve
The way I write.
I'm all yours
For the taking.