He thumb is green
He grows a lot.
Wether it's in age or flowers
Or weeding pots.
His dog is about as as gray as he
And they shuffle around outside
Shuffling.
He keeps his time well to himself.
No use for material wealth.
Keeps up his ride
Each Saturday at noon
Goes to church every Sunday with his wife
How cute.
Picks out the litter outside my porch
With his quiet little stroll and cane
While I smoke and watch.
We had a conversation about music once
About Simon and Garfunkel, Skeeter Davis, and the Beatles.
He has some ink on his arms from youth
Back when he was fighting wars too.
Military vet
I know cause his wife likes to brag.
He's always asking how my day was met.
And I asking to help
To carry his bags back to his house.
No thanks, I'm fine.
You're so kind to ask.
You don't hear those kind of words from my generation class.
I saw his kids visit only once.
Like gran Torino, he just tolerates the bunch.
Get off my lawn!
With a shotgun in hand.
He'd be so badass had he done that, man.
Always first with his helping hands
Trying to spruce up the surrounding land.
Maybe I would too if he
Showed me how to plant some seed.
My garden is imaginary
But real flowers grow on his side of the street.
The elderly gent in 608
Is someone I look for on a daily rate.
I wrote of him because he's entitled to
Being heard of and remembered too.
But don't tell him you heard it from the chick who lives in 702.

608

Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
Not Death—for who is He?
The Porter of my Father’s Lodge
As much abasheth me!

Of Life? ’Twere odd I fear [a] thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or two existences—
As Deity decree—

Of Resurrection? Is the East
Afraid to trust the Morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my Crown!

VI of Cups
Connection to the past

There is a generosity in your eyes
You give what can't be given
To heal the past, to heal your friends
A childlike innocence keeps you driven

Before it heals, it haunts you
Your life is stiff and without play
To forget you must forgive
I feel nostalgia for today

I want to be a
Hunter
Looking for
The evil
And to capture it
And lock it
In the darkness
Where no man can go
And release it

Daniel, you are
My perfect boyfriend.
You listen well
And play guitar
You let me rant
And never ignore me
You talk to me
Before anyone else
You laugh at
My dumb jokes
You tell me my poetry
Is the best in the world
You make me feel
Beautiful
You come back to me
Even though I was the one
Who got you in trouble
And forced you to leave
You never forget
A special event
Or anniversary.
You give me
The most thoughtful gifts
You love me
And even though we're
1,608 miles apart
You fell in love
With me.

Love,
           does never die
But,
           like the setting sun
It,
           slowly sets and fades
Then,
            it just moves on

WIZDUMBs BY JA 608                 06-08-2015

He was old when I was young.
Now I’m old, and he’s long gone.

Owner of a small-town store.
Plier of all those knick knacks
and delicious snacks that
a young boy desires and adores,
tiny fifty cent to a dollar toys,
a handful of penny tootsie rolls
and five cent laffy taffy,
with silly jokes on the wrapper
that brought a little lighthearted laughter.

Small brick building
and in the back was
his home.

Now the burnt red bricks
have lightened and cracked a bit,
like the memories of him,
fuzzing up while slowly fading,

till he is the foggiest of impressions.

I try to recapture any ****** expressions
but only recall vagaries.

The building falls behind the sun,
but his family has not yet moved on.

Soon the night will descend
consuming me as it has devoured
my memories of him.