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g clair Oct 2015
God has numbered every strand
upon your head and knows your name
designed you well, by His own hand
and put you in, to play the game.

Synthetic grass needs lots of care
out in left field, looking down
just like the stuff they weave in hair
and then that old familiar sound.

the ball's been hit, straight down left field
reality and daydream blurred
the guy on second tries to steal
but can't outrun your throw to third.

He's out but then that guy on first
has stolen base and now on second,
thoughts on grass are in your face
because your left field mind has beckoned.

Vision sharp, and body strong
and under cap, your brain recalled
the numbers given to each strand
upon your head shaved mostly bald.

and then another sudden crack
awakens player from the norm
the far left fielder plays it out
and crowds applause while you perform.
g clair Oct 2015
o'er the air from bachelor pad
without a doubt, some magic passed
reminding me of all I've had
the sweet familiar spell was cast

never to be and never it was
though I allowed that thing to form
a snug cocoon of fizzy fuzz
and I within, kept safe and warm

from that which dwells at closer range
the butterflies, the nervous twitch
the scary stuff, the dreaded mange
the things which make my eyeballs itch.

the older men are lonely now
you look at me with eyes renewed
you had your day, yet when somehow
you glance my way, I come unglued.

for where were you when I was young
and less afraid and less undone?
and where was I when you were young
and most of all far less undone?

for those divorced, I'll say again
are hitched to freedom, n'er to stray
those my age, the married men
and never marrieds, keep away!

so here am I, he was so good
the only one my eyes could see
the only one who understood
and not an itch but pleasantry.

i guess he heard too much one day
and knew the thing which held my hope
he'd heard my heart and ran away
no diamond ring  nor to elope

and so, the ugly facts remain
I know them well, it makes me sad
not into me, his loss, my gain
and all my life, that's all I've had.
g clair Oct 2015
What do you get when you cross a rose with your wife?
A kiss.
g clair Oct 2015
in the filtered blue glow
of your favorite
late show
with the light
from the bathroom
left on

I can make out
your face
and it's hard
to erase
from my memory
although
you are gone.

In our silence
a sweetness
a comfort
it's true
needing less
to be said
meant much more

we lived well
in our day
and had so much
to say
but your smile
it just cut to
my core.

As we sat
side by side
on the sofa
'twas your hand
on my ankle
which said
I am here
you are there
theres no distance
I swear
you still whisper
sweet nothings
in bed.

So forgive me
for getting
all sappy
but the late show is on
and you're there
in the blue
of the den
I can't hear
Letterman
he's been muted
so music
can blare
g clair Oct 2015
She reaches out for love but it eludes her
He spits her out but not before he chews her
she blames herself for his mistake,
for giving him a belly ache
no wonder why she's feeling like a loser.

and then one day she noticed she was slipping
the mirror never lies, she wasn't tripping
within her empty eyes she saw
the wear and tear had worn her raw
and tears behind the veil of shame were dripping.

Standing in the dim light of the morning
In want of something more of an adorning
she's lifting up her golden hair,
and smiles though no one else is there
and wonders why she never got the warning.

Though the boys around her said she was a cutie
No one ever spoke of inner beauty
Daddy always wore the pants
but never asked his girl to dance
she learned her moves from guys who loved her *****.

Light music broke though silence of dead winter
Warm rays of sunshine thawed the ice within her
the local farmer loved his Lord
would never take, but could afford
and in his eyes, a pearl, and not a sinner.

She stands with him before the mirror now
her heart refreshed, she's seeing more somehow
the rounded apple of his eye
and no one else should wonder why
he bought the milk... because he loved the cow!
g clair Oct 2015
bookends are better than none
everything falls when we add something in
better we find, familiar in kind
than everything falling on end.

Everything falling on end
that's how it goes when we think that we share
something it's not, and all of that rot
better to stack 'em up there.

Better to stack them up there
don't need the floor space and don't even care
from where I am perched, less often besmirched
but I'd rather a bookshelf to share.

I'd rather a bookshelf to share
got plenty of wall space and welcome one there
you can have your own shelves and just keep to ourselves
or mix 'em all in if we dare!
g clair Oct 2015
Replacement. That's what it said on the inside of the card.

Not a nice thing to wish on someone, and yet an awesome thing if you need one and get one and after rehab it works out better than the one you were born with. No more pain. Mobility is great.

Happy Hip Replacement. IF you need one.
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