http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1296049/the-last-thing-on-earth/

~~~

a passerby, common exclamation,
to which no workmanlike thought
ever sufficient given...

the idea of it though burns,
throat choking noises fill the brain,
all course unexpected through hot bloodless veins,
more a questioning proclamation,
a shoutout to my unknowing,
not a declaration of certain positivity,
a positive certitude of only
which questions
bear asking...

what is the last on earth that:

*I wish to kiss,
forgive and forget,
curse, demanding it soon-to-be-follow-on demise,
what image desired to happy scar my retina's retention,
the taste that will always bud
but n'ere bloom for a thousand millenniums uncountable
which poem mine will I clutch as I am laid-me-down,
the one that will read over and over again
always in grace and with tears of only sad joy,
always satisfying...

what flower will last  burnish my declining senses,
which friend, will I two-handed grasp,
saying for you,
should have been so much more...

which sea, waters, needs be my final resting place,
will I will it salty or sweet, me to keep,
what face to savor~gaze for all eternity,
whose forehead to graze goodbye,
what future to pray for my descendants,
and all those that gather to bury me...

whose breast to hopeless last clutch,
as if they could deny, stay my sentence...
or I,
theirs...

whose heart to keep close as my last companion,
from whom to beg, remember be as I remember you,
faithful and true,
whose light will I require,
whose light will I provide,
when it is the last thing I contemplate...

whose touch, whose skin will I best remember,
will be the last one, or the first,
what question will I need answering,
what solutions will I at last,
be able to provide...*


so much more to muse upon,
as I gaze upon this poem's sad refrain,
and in desperation contemplate,
what will be my last thought embraced
when I leave this commissary,
that purveys so many answers...

indeed, answers aplenty, like shiny new pennies,
all begging to be found sufficient,
many claiming audacious necessity,
but I know better than that,
the answers will provide themselves
when marked finally
"due immediately..."
~~~

July 28 ~ August 8, 2015
Shelter Island

"For Patty and Joey: Refractions of Vivid Emotions"
Started April 2nd 2015,
Finished June 27, 2015
~~~
How it all began.

On May 12, 2014,
I wrote:

Patty M (Read the new poets here)


I have never been published
or won a prize,
except, yeah, yeah,
the one in the
Crackerjack box

but from that cheap plastic surprise,
much was learned even as a young boy

cull the chaff of life
from amidst the wheat

plant it well and deep,
then forget all about it,
except where,
t'was seeded

when eyes yellowed,
hair turned a color Disney repackaged as
frozen
white,
normally a gift of a hairdresser,
called mother time,
and your pink skin scaled smooth
now kin and kith of the kitchen grater,

then time is in,
cull your plantings

go back into that yards,
pull out the weeds,
uncovering what only time
can provide -

poetry planted and born from
the summary addition of thousands
of days of life,
well felt,
well received,
well recorded,
drawn from earth and water,
well lived

sometimes my nyc sidewalks uneven,
cause a toe snagging tripping,
this loss of balance,
adrenalin hot flashing,
similar to tripping upon a new poet

every time I say no mas,
I must choose tween
left or right,
one can
read or one can write,
but not
both

a voice on I stumble,
making me ever so foolish,
ever so humble,
ever so confused

so at 12:31am
at it again,
reaping what others have sowed

this woman by her own confess,
Trouble with a capital everything
T.R.O.U.B.L.E

only a grownup chile
writs me a poem
re crackers in her vegetable soup,
a naval battle akin to that of Midway,
that makes me crackers with delight!

saucy, that poetess
you better love her well,
she tells you outright
or she'll sell you, the reader out,
for the next one cruising along,
hence this poem, her good graces sought!

but to get certain memories I want,
but can't recall for I never had them,
she, for me doth record:

*Imaginary space within a dream
floats in a subconscious sea.
Our affection grows from
tremulous beginnings
its dramatic unfolding
vestige of the soul whispers
and lingers in twilight and ice

Shared breath,
in time our leisured rhythms
savored sweetly match kiss for kiss.

Words in parody drop,
one by one.
enmeshing me in rippling sorrow,
once again you've moved
just beyond my reach.*

curse the teachers and the genes
and my plain vanilla simp vocabulary,
that don't let me write like this,
but to my backyard I go,
where I cull what other's have planted better,
and harvest the new fruits of
crackerjack superior poets