I will be like a tree to you
neath whose shade you lie
as the days pull you down
and my branches long for
the pull of your weight-
the only kind I will allow
to pull me down.

Painless is the way
I shed my leaves for you,
die a slow death
all for your love for a golden autumn,
and again I come back to life for you,
because winter is a lonely business.

Your faith in my hold
is strengthened over these glad years,
unbreakable perhaps,
like how my roots are interwoven
into your ribs.

My poetry is eternal for you,
growing each day
and when you cut me open,
the rings will tell you of the years
I bled for you.

I will be a tree to you,
your very own Eden,
and the day I die,
I hope my roots reach out to you
when the time comes for you to
marry into the earth.

Only a vehement storm
can put me down.

Hello ****, some water?
You're looking well for
Such an old stone.
Wish I could say the same
For Keith, but then, he's
Aging real, isn't he? :)
He ain't fading away too soon.
Well, I'd like to say that time is on my side
But I'm all out of time and I have
Yesterday's papers to read before
Dinner at Ruby Tuesdays. Let's spend
The night together and paint it black next time.


Ah, John John. There you are.
Why, you don't look any older
Than the day you metamorphosed.
Pardon me while I flick that lady bug
Off your back. Always were popular with the gals, weren't you. Speaking of, Eleanor Rigby stopped by yesterday to help me with some chores and offered to take you to her strawberry fields forever if I would give you up. I told her that she was in line behind Abbey up the road and Penny down the lane. You hound dog, you.

Eric, you old derrick. Seen a domino
'Round here. I seem to have misplaced one.
Watch it, I see some snake eyes in those
Weeds. Need to get that old *** Layla out.
What, lazy?  Your faith in me is blind, old son.
You are in the presence of the lord of the stones.

Mr Fogerty, how ya been?  Nice day today, eh?  
Have you ever seen the rain like last week?  Coming down like water out of Niagara. I was beginning to wonder who'll stop the rain. We were fortunate, son. Coulda flooded.

There you are, big as a dirigible and heavy as lead. Large enough to be a cornerstone to that stairway to heaven.  Ought to have named
You Zeppelin.  We could use you to build a dam for when the levee breaks. By the way, seen a black dog around here lately?  Neighbor Bill's been going through some good times and bad times. He's feeling dazed and confused since his old lady said babe, I'm leavin' you and now his dog has run off. Man sure could use a whole lotta love. Well, best be movin' on.

There he is!  My main man, Neil. Bud, you are showing your age, but still rockin' in the free world, I see. I remember the day I found you down by the river some time back after the gold rush. I was feeling helpless till that pretty cowgirl in the sand with a heart of gold took pity on this old man and gave me a hand loading you up into the back of my VW.  It was like threading a needle, and the damage done to my back without her help would have been something awful. She was a real cinnamon, that girl. From Ohio, if I recall. Well, I see the sky about to rain, looks like a hurricane may be coming. Could be a real thrasher. Tonight's the night that we shoulda been having a harvest moon. Well hey hey my my old friend. Time for this southern man to head on in. You hang loose, and I'll be seeing you in the by and by.

r ~ 14Mar14.

Gray permeates day\
   Bluebirds dancing in puddles
   with raindrops splashing.

r ~ 16Mar14

The poorest juggler ever seen
Was clumsy Clara cleech,
Who juggled a bean, a nectarine,
A pumpkin, and a peach.

She juggled a stone , a slide trombone,
A celery stalk, a stick,
A seeded roll, a salad bowl,
A bagel, a boot, a brick.

With relative ease she juggled a cheese ,
She juggled a lock,  lime,
Yes, clara juggled all of these
. . . But just one at a time

I had a
good day
today

i used to cradle her bleach-cracked hands in mine
and decode the stardust resting within her fingerprints
     up until the day that i lost touch with the art of reading braille
     and she stopped slinging tall-tales for me to fetch
and rest the plot-twist at her feet

often in the post-script
i'd find my train of thought highjacked by the sunlight illuminating the rainbow of earth-tones ablaze
in her frizz-ridden curls
as if she'd been washing her hair with the damaged case of beer
she'd gotten for half-price at liqour depot
     she never did quit drinking
          but neither did i

at least we tried

though sometimes
in the middle of the night when nothing was alright
and we'd barely survived another fight
her face would catch my glance
cast aglow by a flood of lava-lamp light
    
     the sea of freckles resting at the crest of her cheeks
     rose lips perma-pursed in half tilt
     her resting heart-rate so high that i could almost see it
          pirouetting within her chest

it was then that i'd love her best
     amidst the ruins of who we were
     just moments before