Too Late

do not throw water
upon emberless ashes-
the fire is out


Spring Vacancy

a haven for nests
tight twigs and dense foliage
lemons trees welcome


Cold Feet**

when will Summer come
mornings can be very cool
wooden floors like ice

Why do old men cry?
it's such an unmanly act
so we've all been told

"Boys don't cry", they say
"You're acting like a female"
"**** up", "Be a man"

boys do become men
they till good and evil soil
coping in the world

through all walks of life
anxiety sprouts like wheat
must prove their manhood

learn to make their way
to take care of their own selves
and share with others

they raise families
quality time, joy, heartache
see their children grow

just like all people
all men experience loss
life's equalizer

they face rejection
lose their jobs and livelihood
they go off to war

they watch loved ones die
parents, wives, children and friends
no one is immune

but real men don't cry
providers and protectors
with stiff upper lip

why do old men cry?
it took a lifetime to learn
they're only human

how is it Southerners can stand the heat
it hasn't been this hot all season long
this mugginess is robbing me of sleep
dog days are early for summer's swan song
my shirt is wet in the middle of night
knew enough to get up, drink some water
my brow is sweating even as I write
sit by the fan as I think I oughter
the fan is on "breeze" lulling me to sleep
seems to work as my body is cooling
back to bed now, resort to counting sheep
closing my eyes, enough with this fooling

the TV's volume is down to a drone
my body's easing into a dream zone

I think I saw her
strolling with her parasol
quiet contentment
expressed in a pleasant grin
she just seemed to love her job

I know I saw her
all made up in her doll face
dressed like yesteryear
bringing back the memories
lions, tigers, clowns, trapeze

she looked right at me
batting those long black lashes
I saw her today
just as pretty as ever
the circus fat lady smiled

rising above aeries
thermalizing warm updrafts
arms and fingers outstretched and lifting
holding his head up and following his nose
escaping the earth
basking in sweet respite from routine
a lightness of being
floating towards sky
enjoying the rush of new found freedom
feeling the wind beneath him
hearing no other sounds
as clouds sing cerulean blues
but even liberty has limitations
and nature has her secrets
feathers, string and wax are no match
his youthful exuberance flew too high
climbing too fast
reaching sun before understanding
accomplishment without comprehension
unearned knowledge
feathers fall out in bunches amidst frantic fluttering
dreams crash like Icarus wings
in pieces on the ground

hey little lady
the day is not over
there's plenty of fun to be had
we'll dance on the ceiling
with prancing pink ponies
we'll swaddle a saddle
and ride to the stars
we'll say, “pretty please”
to the man on the moon
and bounce in slow motion
upon his green cheese
then slide down a moonbeam
and glide on a breeze
we'll sail on the ocean
and listen to sea shells
a blanket of stars to keep warm
whenever you're ready
just give me the high sign
I'll rock you to sleep in my arms