She

I'm waiting for the man I hope to wed.
I've never seen him - that's the funny part.
I promised I would wear a rose of red,
Pinned on my coat above my fluttered heart,
So that he'd know me - a precaution wise,
Because I wrote him I was twenty-three,
And Oh such heaps and heaps of silly lies. . .
So when we meet what will he think of me?

It's funny, but it has its sorry side;
I put an advert. in the evening Press:
"A lonely maiden fain would be a bride."
Oh it was shameless of me, I confess.
But I am thirty-nine and in despair,
Wanting a home and children ere too late,
And I forget I'm no more young and fair -
I'll hide my rose and run...No, no, I'll wait.

An hour has passed and I am waiting still.
I ought to feel relieved, but I'm so sad.
I would have liked to see him, just to thrill,
And sigh and say: "There goes my lovely lad!
My one romance!" Ah, Life's malign mishap!
"Garcon, a cafè creme." I'll stay till nine. . .
The cafè's empty, just an oldish chap
Who's sitting at the table next to mine. . .

He

I'm waiting for the girl I mean to wed.
She was to come at eight and now it's nine.
She'd pin upon her coat a rose of red,
And I would wear a marguerite in mine.
No sign of her I see...It's true my eyes
Need stronger glasses than the ones I wear,
But Oh I feel my heart would recognize
Her face without the rose - she is so fair.

Ah! what deceivers are we aging men!
What vanity keeps youthful hope aglow!
Poor girl! I sent a photo taken when
I was a student, twenty years ago.
(Hers is so Springlike, Oh so blossom sweet!)
How she will shudder when she sees me now!
I think I'd better hide that marguerite -
How can I age and ugliness avow?

She does not come. It's after nine o'clock.
What fools we fogeys are! I'll try to laugh;
(Garcon, you might bring me another bock)
Falling in love, just from a photograph.
Well, that's the end. I'll go home and forget,
Then realizing I am over ripe
I'll throw away this silly cigarette
And philosophically light my pipe.

* * * * *

The waiter brought the coffee and the beer,
And there they sat, so woe-begone a pair,
And seemed to think: "Why do we linger here?"
When suddenly they turned, to start and stare.
She spied a marguerite, he glimpsed a rose;
Their eyes were joined and in a flash they knew. . .
The sleepy waiter saw, when time to close,
The sweet romance of those deceiving two,
Whose lips were joined, their hearts, their future too.

I don't write erotica
not because
I am Chinese
or
on account of
my being prudish
oldish
pedantic
sanctimonious
fearful of public condemnation
nothing as such

it's just that the subject-matter
doesn't fit my poetical scheme of things
and I must give way
to others who have such forte
the poetic stage is theirs
and I wish but to be among the audience
to witness their play
and listen to what they have to say

I look at the universal
(this covers more themes than I could ever imagine)
not the microscopic individual
(should *** be brandished as a product
for public consumption?
why do  bed-rooms have doors?
entry VORBOTEN -
private property--no intruders
no voyeurs,  no spectators-
as simple as that)

what is art
and what is vulgarity and obscenity?
who is the definitive authority?

after all
writing is democracy
every writer is free
to choose their subject-matter
no author should have the audacity
to condemn another
it's effrontery
otherwise--
as all right-thinking people would readily
agree

yet
****** poetry
is quite easy
to write
the images , the metaphors
the nuances,  the allusions
the rhythm, the plot,
the vocabulary
are within the reach
of most poets
(only if their interest lies
in this field)

****** poetry
revolves around physicality
the anatomy
of the human body
two bodies-
or one body plus another-
in secluded conversation
of skin-touches-skin motion
positional modality
the heavy sighs
the heart racing
the fluidity of the lovers
as they seek to drown
in the sea of ecstasy
where the dying is
stronger than death itself
the unity
that sets the lovers free
(haven't I over-spoken?)

I don't write ****** poetry
because that's not my poetic territory
and it could spell the death
of my creativity!

The moon reveals herself effortlessly like a switchblade
And I’m at the bottom of this rose-coloured fishbowl city
That reeks of stale roses
I dodge the shadows and the light at the same time
And walk among them in the alley, my feet a compromise
I resist the temptation to be lured and then interrogated
By overhead bulbs
And out of the shadows, out of the Marianas Trench a cat calls
Ironically speaking an actual cat calls to me,
Desperate but cautious and controlled all the same
Hesitant like an oldish child asking for gifts from their “Santa”
The callous guttural sound draws me like a mockingbird draws birds of every kind
She’s stuck (but not lodged) in someone’s yard behind a chain link fence
Elevated on a wooden palette, a splinter sewing machine
So all I can do is kind of pat her head and stroke it with some fingers
And try to “pet” the lady
A woman with black and white spots and no tail, I’ve seen her before
She strides in under the magenta lamplight and enters the yard
I don’t
It’s the yard of some poor soul who thinks it belongs to them
They might yell at me if they see me
The frail one, she’s quiet now
But she won’t purr, we both know that
I, uh, say, “Look, your friend’s here,” or something, and point to the woman
And I turn around
She’s still quiet and peaceful as I leave the alley
I shut her up for the owner.

I have been a child and a teenager,
I have been a young desirable women.
**I have been married, and divorced,
I have had children! and I have lost children.
I have grandchildren, and more...
but now I am a grown up oldish women
and I still have no idea what life is all about.
Please help me to understand,
What dose life want?
Sheila.
08/11/2014.

dear lover boy,
        hello there. i hope you know how very much i love you. with all of my heart actually. you are wonderful and magical and mysterious. you make me smile every single day. and i just want you to know that you are very amazing, and that i love you.
                                                   - the girl who stole your heart

dear interesting man,
     hey. i have known you for a very long time. and you are closer to me than lots of other people in my life. i tell you just about everything that happens daily and i learn so much from your stories and your life. thank you, for being here in my life. i hope you never have to go away.
                                                              - the girl who is grateful for you

dear mad boy,
       umm, hello, i guess. things are weird, and not really fun. i made a big mistake, and showed you my feelings. my life. showed you myself... now you use it against me and i honestly hate that... please forget about me, to the best of your ability. i don't want to be important. i don't want to be anything more than an unfamiliar face.
                                                      - anonymous

dear working man,
      hello. you are so important in my life and as much as you may be away and work for me to be happy, i really just need you to smile. to stop by a game of mine, and wink as i finish. i really just need a tight hug from you maybe once a day, not even. but you are one of the reasons for all my growth and success. you help me so much, and you have helped me become who i am today. thank you, i love you very very much.
                                                         - the girl who grows from your existence

dear finally happy boy,
       hi. we haven't talked in ages, and i miss it a little. (even though i know you don't) i am glad to see you are happy. that's all i ever wanted for you. and i never meant to hurt you in any way. i'm sorry if i did. i'm happy to see you happy. i don't feel as guilty anymore, when i look into your eyes...
                                                         ­     - your friend (i hope)

dear old boy,
      hey. i miss you so so very much. i miss the late night conversations. long paragraphs. people's mistakes of what we are. i miss our jokes, our bond, our closeness. in the end i really just miss the silly person i am when i am with you. i can't tell if you miss me, but i hope you still remember what we used to be. because you will always be the bestest friend i ever had...
                                                          ­- the girl who misses you very much

dear smart man,
      hello. you are very intelligent and inspiring. i look up to you and wish to be like you one day. your brain has no limits and you are just amazingly calm. you are a huge part of my growing life right now, and i will remember you forever.
                                                  - the girl whom you affect greatly

dear sad boy,
       hi. you are broken. and i tried to fix you because i care about you very much. i tried to help you. i poured out my heart, and wiped away your tears, and made your long nights okay. but, boy, you no longer need me. and now you are just sad. and i never fixed you. this makes me very sad. i failed to fix you. so now, you are just sad.
                                                           - best friend (maybe...)

dear sweet boy,
      hello, darling. i love you. i just need you to know that. you are still small, and you are still learning so much everyday. as much as you try to understand me, i can guarantee you, you never will. i may not tell you i love you daily, or hug you close to me, or compliment your progress on your little life, but man do i love you, my sweet boy.
                                                                ­- the girl who will always love you

dear oldish man,
     hello. as much as i may grow, change, and drive away, i will always be that little girl you have always known. the one that used to sit upon your lap while learning to read, the one that soaked up all your endless information you read about our world, the one whose curls were just as crazy as her imagination. i will always be the little girl you have always known. and i love you so very much. so as you grow older, and i do too, i want you to remember that little girl and know that she is always inside of me.
                                               - the little girl at heart

Let us put the seconds to sleep, for a timeless time
And sit together and whisper in eachother's ears, about the dreams we never saw
And drink tea and talk about our childish desires and oldish regrets
Let us put the seconds to sleep so that we would not hear the time passing
And so that our spirits could dance freely in the infinites of love and existence, with no fear
Let us put the seconds to sleep and then stay up forever
Hush! Don't wake them up

Mild dystopian cracks open
cobwebbed laden figurative door
to my super charged
subconscious shrouded self -
portal carelessly left ajar
steeped in dark shadows,

wherein spooky monsters creep
along edge of night,
outer limits of twilight zone
serve as makeshift restraining: bar
21st century alchemist busily massages
a fictional holographic projection
to contemplate car

re: ying the terrestrial firmament
into spasms of expiration, which whim far
fetched since the following conjecture
contrived within overactive imagination
of yours truly - such peculiar notions par
for the course sans striving

to become adroit
teasing out ethereal material
analogous to embrace
plasma up holding star
reed cosmic funereal invocation
loosing prognostication silencing war.

So without further ado
I offer to continue
embellishing literary above
iterated missive anew
for ye to ponder and brew
from a mister wordsmith
comprising wife as counterpart
complimenting beastie boy
aptly named duo motley crue,

whereat dwells within complex edifice
housing he who begat
offspring numbered uno and deux,
whereby this husbandly spouse i.e me
resembles a cross eyed
cryptogram solver
geeky long haired pencil necked geek
artificially inseminated yik yak
with fertilized egg of emu

unbeknownst to many edified readers
might consider myself brain cells few
explainable from being
chomped on by a carnivorous oldish gnu,
nevertheless unaffecting ability
to sire female progeny
re: guarding biological process
concerning human reproduction
viz ova linkedin with seminal glue

swimming swiftly via viscous hue
biological processes extant
from equator far north
to Inuit housed in igloo
nonetheless, genetic heritage
comprised predominantly of Jew
genealogy heritage indeed
Ask Jeeves, cuz he knew
with one very late Uncle Lou

who suffered mad cow disease,
and considered hims
a milch cow and frequently did moo
calf full when bovine brand new
which found me to rue
what comprises reality to be true
that all humans originated
from the primate zoo.