Kitbag of Words

Aug 2014

Third Mate Third

you take a chance
and you say man
here my digits,
now shared,
here is my Rx,
call me as needed

weeks months later
a phone rings
at 2:30am

and one poet says it's me,
I am the living soul
of words you have appreciated

and the other says,
I'm glad you called brother,
how did you know I'd be awake?

and he laughs and says
I read your stuff,
you write best tween
midnite and dawn,
so the probabilities were favorable
that I would find you awake and capable

and you walk and talk and roam
roads and oaths that black and write
screen letters
can't full convey,
till one says **** man look at the time
and both laugh,
knowing a poem
had just been writ in
true voices
shared

and that kids,
is the chance some make,
when first your words you take
and the poetry you proffer
is product of genuine flesh,
beyond mere in vitro digitally fertilized

A true story

Note! I am not encouraging you to give out personal information, telephone numbers to anyone, especially young people! This is a social networking site and clearly open to abuse...so be very careful...because I can share with other adults I trust after many communications, my contact info does not mean you should do so without the greatest of care...

Aug 2014

Left Foot Poet

ever since you checked out (so short, so long)

they came around
this early morn,
asking for you
they always do,
check in regular,
especial in the now
disharmonious waking times,
ever since you checked out

a different path,
your own,
wanted a kitchen
with no His aprons,
where you were
chief chef,
braising simmering, shucking
of your own choosing,
and the cooking accessories
were yours, initialed,
so you stated

in your
'so short, so long' note,^
a trifling amuse-bouche,
for me to consume,
for you,
to be amused by...

so long,
now soloing,
duo thing wasn't working,
two sopranos,
in one kitchen
trying to out
high note each other,
a creatively strange way to say
I love you but,
I am Top Chef

thus is the human way,
to err for what we want,
to err for what we had,
err for what we now need
and the long and the short of it,
long for...

the smell of your voice,
the song of thy fresh creations,
wafting, enticing and now
in hind-sighting,
mesmerizing me awake from
loving bed to contested kitchen

now I only sing and cook professionally

which is another word for mechanically

the voice,
thine cooking smells,
cinnamon and cardamon
that resided in our skins,
check in,
looking for refreshment,
have none to offer....
ever since,
we were
so short, so long...

I loved you, I sang for you,
I cooked us into everything,
but it was not never enough.

A short note, to say so long....
8:06am Sunday

Jul 2014

Third Mate Third

This odd fellow

This odd fellow took
a long drink at night,
rock n' roll long forgot,
hard driving,
reacquainting unused,
years ago seeded,
elements of a
young man's remembering soul,
Hotel California living life,
live before his eyes,
demonstrated, recalled and
well-played
on a double slide guitar,
so each note of distinction
new and familiar,
au courant from decades
then, now and when-forever

the odd fellow
listens happy high,
drinking the music's
rich woven countenance
to the thrumming bouquet
of a pale white coloration
a Sauvignon Blanc
newly arrived from New Zealand,
just because,
this odd fellow
liked the name,
Supernatural

just like the music

and the
odd fellow is
young and old
at the same time,
tipsy and sober,
fresh and forlorn,
days wasted past,
days made for memories to last,
feet move timed
to the beat,
his heart resonance timed
to the beat,
the odd fellow is thinking
nothing could be more natural
to recall the supernatural past
and the future natural best to come,

with wine, his woman and
those rock n' roll songs

Written after listening to Don Felder this week at the City Winery, who opened with a Hotel California....and drinking Supernatural....

Kitbag of Words Jul 2014

Sticky

I am sticky

in places where I should be unglued

I am crafty

in places I should be crafting

I am all wet

in a dry hole of nada inspirata

I am search dog

in a maze garden of amazement

I am history

yet being ancient means I am no wiser

I am arrogant

in a world of one

I am pus

in a war wound that refuses to heal
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
all of these I am, but none of these are who I am
the stuff of me, my constitution, has yet to be
conceived

Jun 2014

abecedarian

she has great shoulders

But I always forget to tell her

and I tell her that too

and she asks why I forget

reply comes easy

it just a wayfaring, stepping stone

on the way to my

kissing your neck,

and thus overlooked,

but always the first thing I see...

#great #shoulders #abecedarian

Jun 2014

Third Mate Third

There is no correct way

for Maria

you want to ask,
knowing in advance,
the answer is a scream
even if it is silent traveling,
on a frequency transversing,
that humans cannot discern

so strange is it,
that the imposition
of the interrogatory
is the almost harder part
of the two dance partners,
question and answer

a simple
"how are you"
is simply inadequate
in every respect,
it is almost,
disrespectful

for there is no how or are
and for sure, there is no
you anymore

how could there be,
when pieces of your flesh
by hot combs inquisitioner pierced,
levying cuts impervious to
medicinal magic

asking
how was your weekend,
beyond absurd,
what matters the day of the week,
when the unrepairable ailment of thy soul
has a permanence that makes
calendars superfluous

but on certain days,
certain worse than others,
because they freshly dress
the still red scars,
fresh bright pained painted with
unrepressable, unsurpassable memory agonistes
of seeds and wine

so you ask dumb,
you ask blind,
waiting for a
shotgun blast reply,
hoping you will be
the forgiving kind,
but prefacing the inanity with
a forgiveness plea confession,
"I don't know how to ask"

and you reply
"there is no correct way,
and
there is no correct answer"

and neither the interrogator
or the interrogee is content,
the Yankee boy and the Southern gal,
unless it is to scream,
till the air in the lungs depleted,
and when replenished,
having screamed to the heart's content,
the heart impaired,
cannot ever be contented

your own insane humanity prompts
to ask again, no matter,
for the only correct thing
is the asking~caring,
even though advance notice
has been given,

**there is no correct answer