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Perhaps the words weren't meant to be,
Touched, soft, by serendipity?
Perhaps enough's enough, my friend,
Where excess risked a blemished end?
Take solace in your secret smile
Knowing it's all been reconciled...
Like ripples on a calming sea,
What's meant to be...is meant to be.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Taking the alternate point of view in support of Melancholy of Innocence's lovely work "Whispering to the Vanished"
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                         Short Flippy Skirts


                       Yes, autumn is really the best of seasons…

                                -Lewis, Letters of C. S. Lewis


Given my age I should not be given to notice
Short flippy skirts and Bambi-deer long legs
That flutter by like summer butterflies
Joyful in the innocence of youth

Then sighs, custody of the eyes, look up
Look back to our summers long ago
When we were the coolest of the cool
Bell-bottoms against the Establishment

Ever-young and maxing out Peter Max
We owned beauty and truth (and those are the facts!)
the slight movement of a Santa doll
in the corner of my eye
flickering light as I begin to doze
then a whisper or a sigh

a kitchen ceiling bulb cover
seven years without a peep
decides to loosen and shatter
as I lay fast asleep

heard the voice of a young man....Arthur
when I botched the last name at his stone
'my name is not Stickler, it's Strickler!'
he said in a mild mannered tone

He spoke a second time one year later
during a recording session in my den
clearly said my name...'Thomas'
as he flew left to right
and back again

I notice them when they visit
there-in lay the key
they notice when I notice them
the grateful dead
and me
true
Our burdens are lifted—it’s spring break, after all.

Though ocean breezes, surf sounds, the smell of sunblock,
fresh tans and bottomless margaritas at the beach can be healing,
we decided to vacation on campus and find joy in small, everyday things.

Yesterday, we went to the farmer’s market, where one coffee vendor was making real cappuccinos and another was baking fresh breakfast pizzas. The combination reminded me of the 'Antico Forno Roscioli' caffe, near Campo de' Fiori, in Rome.

Then we hit the gym pool, climbed a rock wall (slowly) and played racquetball (rather poorly). We tried a dance & fitness class too—I thought I was in shape but ugg, it was hard to keep up. Peter (my 27-year-old bf) practically collapsed, but maybe he was angling for mouth-2-mouth.

Straight brag: Peter and I are getting new laptops today—MacBook Air M4s—mine’s baby blue, his is silver. So today seems like Christmas.
I don’t know if you people have computers, or use the Internet, but if you do, you’ll get it. I don’t know exactly when it’ll arrive, of course, so I’m pacing our suite.

I’ve always loved tech. My brother started teaching me about computers when I was 10—you know—hard drives, logic boards, power supplies, all of it. I remember it taking about two days to set one up and move all of the data. Today all I’ll have to do is set the new computer next to the old one and click migrate.

You gotta doff your hat to the tech wizards that came up with that, but the hours spent doing it the old way were fun.
Something’s lost yet something's gained” - I think Joni Mitchell sang that.
.
.
Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
Mountain or a Molehill by Kris Berry
.
.
our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list:

Peter, (My bf), is a bearded, 27-year-old from the sage hills of Malibu, California. He’s 6’1, too thin, his jet-black hair is perpetually uncombed and his skin is pale from over exposure to fluorescent lighting. He earned his PhD in Applied Physics last year and now he works for CERN in Geneva. He’s smart, quiet, awkward and he can be too serious. I’m unreasonably cRaZy about this guy.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/27/25:
Doff = to tip your hat in salute or to take it off.
MARS:

the shrieking horse
pale as death

in flames,
madness and anguish.

soldiers ride the mare on fire
across dark lakes,
down vast caverns into the fire

flesh and fire tumbling slowly
thundering
thundering
tumbling slowly
spectral light emanating from
wide open eyes, anguish and madness.

then shattered glass, enduring night, and war.
the sea gulls chanting,
the sun rising

shooting fields of fire
dancing across
the rise and fall of the sea.

she is standing by the shore.

the beautiful loser
floating lonely
like a storm cloud
ripped from the night sky.

she smiles the sorrow away
with a beauty so hidden and delicate,
distant eyes as grey as the sea at dawn.

she robs my head
sending my heart

floating
like a feather lifted
by a wayward wind.

she does her sky dance
on the sea shore
jumping
here and there
like sand fleas
across the beach
and wants for nothing more.

beautiful loser,

I see she is crazy.

and I want some of her madness.

her blessed madness.
the song of birds measures the air
the buds of the future are fragile
what a fate - not a rhyme:
the eyelids are filled with light
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