how childishly we make
  mockery of time
how foolishly we fear
   its passing
the common cliché
  of turning twenty nine
    over and over
until we find ourselves
  making the same joke
   at thirty nine
     and forty nine
       and...
as if ever new decade
  every new day
     isn’t a privilege
        a blessing
something we are
  not guaranteed
    not owed
     not all given
there is nothing to fear
in accepting our mortality
in learning that death
will greet us warmly
in knowing that it is
  the same with
    our last breath
      as it is with
        our first breath
each one a gift
   that can only be given
     by the passing of time
why should we
  fear the unknown
    the unknowable
to such a degree
that we allow it
   to take away
     to distract us
from the gift of this moment
  the every present
    passing of time
it will all pass and be gone
   in less than
    the blink of an eye
an eternity come and gone
  in the breeze
no matter how long
or short our lives will be
   in the end
     it will always be
      too short
        end
          too soon
let us enjoy each breath
that time allows us
gives us
as children do
gratefully unaware
of how childishly
we will grow

They don't sell second chances at the last gasp cafe
only coffee and stale croissants with sugar in a sachet
and you pay,
how you pay every day that you go
because there is no place that feels
quite like home
than the last gasp cafe when you're all
on your own

And the jukebox plays the top ten from
before you were born, there's
oilcloth on the tables, stained and badly worn,

Marvin who's been there since before there was even there swears it gets quite crowded, but when I go there's no one there,

it's Mandy's life, she's Marvin's wife of forty years and more
and not once in all that time has she ventured through the door that leads down to the sea,
I guess she's scared
might be she's heard
that
they don't sell second chances at the last gasp cafe.

Jacques de Rouge

The wandering pilgrim

Of poetic seekings

Drifted away once again

Oppose the Homeland Paris

And into the Heart of Italy

Known for many feats

Though,

One was in particular

Unmistakable

It is the City of Dante



Firenze, in a frenzy

Have manifested itself

In the Golden Light

Of heavenly stars to be

Alive with all characters

Past and passed.

Opening wide behind

Lorenzo Ghiberti’s

The Gates of Paradise

Dante himself emerged

From the centre

Of the Florence Baptistery

And ascended toward the light

The opening of Hope and Stars

Among the rings of Heaven

Jacques de Rouge followed,

In pursuit.

And kneeled before him,

As Dante stopped and stood

With the Eagle!

In Piazza di Santa Croce.



When Jacques de Rouge stood

In a shadow at Palazzo Vecchio

The shadow revolved like

Da Vinci’s Helicopter

With what seemed like

A bulging knot at the end.

Barely missed his head

Jacques de Rouge

Realized the swings

Were from the slingshot

Of none other than

That of the one masculinity

Of all masculinity

Michelangelo's David.



His marble complexion transformed

Almost ever so light and faintly

Into a smooth and pale flesh.

Jacques cast his eyes down

In an unavoidable instinct of shame.

When he looked up, the flesh

Is now a single dangling foot

Seconds from stepping into

The Niche of Orsanmichele

And approaching his beloved Christ.

Amen, and he proceeded.

Discreetly into the Secrets of Sandro Botticelli,

That which is secured marvelously

As the Standing Monument of

Giotto’s Bell Tower

And

Brunelleschi's Dome.



The Three Graces danced

The Venus stood in the classical position.

And one woman looked wearily at Jacques

Staring into his eyes.

And yes, Heaven it was.

As Jacques stood in the illusion of the weightless contrapposto.

got to eat them as they darken
reddened ruby to black constant opal
berries will rot quickly if you don’t
or they’ll taste real gooey and wierdy
if you let the drupelets’ colors get
unsynchronized like summer and fall

...why am i telling you this?
because i learned that the hard way
and the days go away in the gleam
heavy showers and peak-a-boo sun
the east barely bracing for the storm
and the sweetness decaying like the leaves

It's when she doesn't have a clue
that you've fallen in love with her
and what should you do?

when conversations are sonnets
and looks sting like hornets,
but her words drop like honey on
your ears and it's funny how you feel.

Restless and aching
hot, almost baking,
taking cold showers
sometimes helps.

Some people start at the beginning
and some only start half way through
but
it's not when that you count
or even what you amount to,

in my humble opinion
it's
who you love and who loves you
what you do and how it's done,

some never see it,
but all deserve some of it
and
it's never too late.

There are infinite numbers of me

Running, existing, dreaming

Upon the predestined fabric of time

Yet there is only one of you

Of which

I seem to be fated

To gaze upon

Love helplessly

Never possess

And eventually

Lose completely


And lose you I did

What I never had


Yet the love itself

Was never lost


It was just always

There


Faithful as a child

Running wild and free


A distant

And endless green

Pasture


Praising

Chasing

Flower after flower


Without ever so much

As a touch


For fear of its withering


But mostly

Because it ever

Eludes me


Yet

How can I be

Forever everywhere


Except

Where you are to be?


There are infinite numbers of you

Running, existing, dreaming

Upon the everlasting Pasture

Of Love


Yet

There is only one of me


In time and in space

I might have passed you

Regretfully


But in Love

I believe

We're still destined

To meet

And

To be

Bing **** and the game's on.

Not even there yet and I'm getting ready to come back.

Summer, but
i smell wintergeen.