Once knew a guy who liked moonshine
not the shine of the orb in the sky
No, not that one
though he could be quite a loon

over the lake you could hear
the loons' high-pitched quiver

but he had no quiver to carry
his bow or his arrows

so he climbed into his boat
turning the bow from the shore

heading for the other side
hoping to shore up his soul

he skimmed the water's surface
with soles of bare feet

praying not to find
in the distant woods
a bear, rather a still
with fresh moonshine

while the moon still
shone down on
the lake
No moonshine...just lunacy!
Better to tell ordinary things
in stunning, unexpected ways
than tell the extraordinary
in the usual ways, the everyday

Better to weave a story,
paint a picture in their minds
than to make a vapid statement,
to simply write some lines

It's not happening here
just an exercise in rhyme
not creating any images but
will work on it, I promise,
at another time.
"I am older than I once was
and younger than I'll be"*
-from The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel

Destiny was set
directive given me
voyage plotted out
on life's tempestuous sea

I couldn't get around it
even if I wanted to
the path is formed
bearings set
it's what I have to do

conceived and born
an "old soul"
for years I didn't know
my goal

was to seek the laughter
light and play
to grow younger
day by day

since I learned to take things lightly
to be a bit more carefree

I've become younger than I once was
but older than I'll be
There was an old guy from UK
his hair was balding and grey
he loved to waffle
it isn't unlawful
but he just couldn't get it to pay

There was a poet named Gregory
he had a really good memory
words were his game
but oh what a shame
it sent him straight into beggary

There was a poet named Mary
like the rhyme she was contrary
she liked to write poems
drinking from jeroboams
what she wrote came out rather scary
Waffle - a word game
Just having some fun!
This is a story from long ago
in the third month of the year
when on a clear and sunny day
a mighty ship set sail, crew without a fear.

They sailed along for days
on tranquil quiet seas,
clear skies, no clouds in sight
just a hushed but working breeze.

The sails were set to catch the wind
though it wasn't much.
The crew enjoyed the journey;
the captain had never seen it such.

The voyage was calm and glassy smooth;
the ship sailed along with ease.
They made great time toward their goal.
Captain Caesar was quite pleased.

On day fifteen things seemed to change;
the ship rocked a bit and swayed.
The "breeze" began to come in gusts;
still crew and captain neither were afraid.

They'd been in storms on land.
They'd been in storms at sea.
So they battened down the hatches
and turned the ship to lee.

The wind grew and swelled,
got stronger.
It moaned and caterwauled.
"SOS! All hands on deck!"
Captain Caesar called.

Black clouds grew as the storm brewed,
the sailors nervous now.
Huge waves crashed and splashed
like foamy giants pounding
on the stern and on the bow.

The ship was rocked about.
The crew began to pray.
It brought them to their knees.
As they slipped and slid
they wailed "Save us, save us, please!"

The mainsail split, the lines came loose
flapping wildly all around.
The big ship creaked and groaned.
It made a deathly sound.

Now the ship was going down.
"Deliver us from this fate.
Don't let us sink, don't let us drown!"
pleaded first and second mate.

The ship continued to descend
into the briny depths.
No help appeared, no ship came near.
These would be their final breaths.

The ship was nearly gone.
The sails had lost all starch.
As the crows' nest sank from sight,
Captain Caesar yelled,
"Beware the Tides of March!"
Nonsense and rhyme
down the dark streets of time

a pagan moon overhead

shedding patterns of gloom
in an empty room

dusky shadows on
the unmade bed

a train whistle blows
rattling steel slows

hissing sounds mark
the end of the ride
last stop is called out
as doors open up wide

out drain the crowds
the moon lost in the clouds

dingy globes by the rails
point out the trails

shuffling into the station

cattle brought in for the night
moving in resignation

nobody speaks
no one looks up
as they head for the turning stile

no rush to get home

he'll stop for a while

bight garish lights
shriek into the night
he turns in response
to their call

dark booth at far end
he slumps there alone
hugging his golden potion

biting and warm
whiskey goes down
empties the glass in one motion

nods to the bartend
his one constant friend

friend or foe
he can't know
but tomorrow he'll do it again

in that nonsense and rhyme
along the dark streets of time
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