You remind me of wet socks
and November mornings.
A bitter sensation
that leaves me begging
to peel you off my soaked feet.
You overwhelm me.

I think I will die
in the eye of a hurricane
I previously have died there
a time ago
dying bothers me not
been there done that as the man said
I will die on a Sunday
they will be singing hymnals
of my departure
though they no nothing of it as yet
still . . .
a hymn is a hymn is a . . .
as I write these lines
I see the face
waiting for me on the other side
never before have I seen
my exit so crisp and inviting
it is because of her
and her wonderful waiting arms

not content
to wander down to the park
with other old men
sit on the invariably gnarled benches
swap stories
from whatever past
they think they can remember
mostly all fabrications
and of course
they talk about me
shaking their heads and whisper
he thinks he’s a poet
they all have a subdued hearty laugh
because a real laugh
might cause some to choke up
it’s the emphysema
don’t you know
the thing is
old men’s gossip turns me off
while they think
I sit in The Hovel
and brood
I am constantly busy
writing
I have my poems
they help to sustain me
I just finished co-authoring a novel
"Magical"
I live in worlds they have
no notion of
true, they get to see more nature
than do I
but I get to see the world
through my dreams
I turn into the written word

©January 20, 2015 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Elin Saari has lived with terror no woman should ever have to endure. Devlin Grimm, the man she fell hard for turned out to be so cruel to her she began to silently call him Satan. The years spent with Satan were so severe she truly felt she had no mind of her own. Still, something inside of her made her make the break and she filed for divorce. Satan upped the ante and she had to run to get away from him. Wherever she went he would find her and harass her. She was at her wits end when something profound happened. Through the magic of a strange necklace she began to receive messages, until desperately she tried to summon whoever was trying to contact her. Touch Starlin' walked into her life and explained who he was and how closely connected they were. Touch took charge of trying to rid Satan – the name she had started calling him was closer to the truth that she could have ever known. Satan follows them wherever they go and Elin begins to doubt Touch's Powers.

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when we met
    something in the
        cosmos turned on
            the fire in my heart
                and I exploded within

walking slow, oh it could be called dancing
crowded with Bourbon Street night people
music filling the air, we stop every so often
wrapped arms around each other and swayed

firing up to the already hot-blood New Orleans
seems to affect all the out-of-town tourists and
the nights are specially made for physical reaction
big easy, sin city, whatever, a city of cool coitus

her willowy body pressed so close to mine
her face in my neck nuzzling and groping
I feel her eyelashes teasing, pleasing, my neck
we're fused together with lover's super glue

she broke away, her café au lait eyes dancing
as she tiptoed up to speak softly in my ear
in her intense and absolute Cajun accent
sha, we gon stay out heah on da street all night

lovely Denise didn't need to say anymore
I danced her back to her pad above Galatoire's
and it wasn't just to get the grime off when
we showered with plenty of soap and water

she came toward me
smiling
I had called for her
she had come
covering her naked *******
by crossing her arms
o’er them

"those beauties"
I said

her smile grew wider
as she uncrossed her arms
allowing them to fall
limpid at her sides

I know of a spot where time has forgot,
Boulevards are airy, taken with Chablis,
Lawns are like meadows, spongy like dough,
The sun burns mushrooms into candy plums,
Gives way to the moon, tonight so maroon,
A gentle wind puffs, and thinks its hot stuff

This place that I know, everyone's called Joe,
Streets are full of gin and we are all twins,
Its a magic place, where clocks have no face,
Here everything's free; just ask the fir tree,
Where there are no fights, for everyone's right,
I can have winter, you can have summer.

We have no homes, we have whispering domes,
Everywhere we go, Angels are our beaux's,
They are serene and their names are Jean,
And we play hopscotch as the pixie's watch,
A cheerful place, full of charm and grace,
We're not Camelot, gone with a head shot.