By the by, her prompt was summer, with several provocative, evocative poems by other authors.  I began this one in meeting, cuz I'd finished that first one and people were not done scribbling, nor had she called time yet, but as the sestet proves, I finished it an hour later, outside.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCIV)


Yes, summer.  Blue skies nary clouds 'non fence
While fragile boughs rock to rough winds' exhale,
Leaves whispring as these golden shafts detail
The colder silence we now scribble hence
Through, and it's not e'en eight, but nearly, whence
Ya, what?  A train's deep voice in passing'd hail,
And people shift within their seats t'avail:
It's...June, and Shakespeare said "hot," aye, that sense.
Tis early, but the fifth, and cooler fer
'Most nine, as gloaming culls a winking crew
Of robins and lo, who? to lilt in tour
While I wait on this bench, and fading blue
Skies yield to friends in passing, while tis your
Face, arms, I want sae badly, Adrian:  you.

05Jun17c

Some of my friends swear they are, but I'm not.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXL)


Rain.  Just a whisper as how twilight thence
Steals thinly 'cross the ist more fragile scale
Of wet?  I caught that note in sweet all hail
To say "it can't be--!" puddles' ghostly sense
Now winking lightly from the blacktop, whence
That subtler voice of traffic hissing, pale
In deeper shadows' lonely wake, t'avail
Was't true, and phone recharging, what from hence?
I'm sleepy.  Blackened silhouettes hulk fer
Good measure in the darkness, like a crew
Upon some ghastly mission as it were,
But I'm too tired for aught now, lying down to
Effect right in this stuffed chair.  Call it poor,
And one espresso long gone, kiss me too?

02Apr17c

Or is it?



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXIX)


Yes, anime as from a distance' frail
Note comes to hail me on my own phone hence--
Which brother's taste cavorting gaily thence
Like to a happy air I cherish? pale
As liking by mere halves what plays for bail
Now in the background.  Lo, and for intents
Sis can make calls, whilst oh! don't ask me whence,
But add the p'lice erm, scanner too, to scale.
If only oh, the LORD would e'er and fer
All time take care of little me.  I do
Not know how to whatever, though tis poor,
Ye say, to fess't?  My brother's old phone too,
They set it up for me, and how we tour
Their favrite stuff thereon.  Fun like few knew.

02Apr17b

i can't believe he didn't love me--

i spent so much time
dreaming of what we
could've been,,, and
what we never had, **

on
those days when sunlight
would pour through glass
like liquid ****** and drown my
mind as if
nothing else existed// i remember..:

how i still coughed and cried;
knowing he gave
me up, as though
the memory of us was just a
vignette...

stained,
fleeting.

i. smile, they’re watching
–lips part, pink toes curl
against flat carpet;
what a performance

ii. wipe the disgrace
from your brow,
flick it behind your
shoulder; let it follow
on the ground as a
groveling shadow

iii. you see your reflection;
just another ship in a bottle,
with brown eyes and a temper
to match the sea

iv. lights beat against
bruised eyelids,
no sleep, no sleep,
you hush to yourself,
fingers pressed against
the neck of a bottle

v. this is a nod to sycophants
stuck with broken ships,
who, at some point, unfurled
their sails and found no gale

I listened to promises from a drunk,
"Bourbon Talking," I should have thunk,
The day passed, the weeks concluded,
I tried to work out who was deluded,
Waiting for red herrings,
The months and years were ending,
Decades rolled by, one day,
I realised he should be at AA,
Not so comical,
The vocab. was lyrical,
Centuries passed, millennia concluded,
The world exploded, universe imploded,
Worked out who was deluded,
Now for tradies, through phone books, I go walking,
So, girls, never listen when it' s "bourbon talking!!!"

disclaimer Lune:

these are just studies
not real life
which is more complex

0
sitting on a bench
in the park
people are the show

1
beaten down by life
tired eyes
explain frustration

2
girl sings to herself
almost skips
her path seems so clear

3
headphones on
in another world
this ones fine

4
man who chose
to live his life such
as it is


5
slowly killing him
he continues
a bite at a time

I stand in a crowded parlor of stain-glass windows.
Surrounded by Rainbow Christs crowned in hemp.
In the corner sits Lao Tzu, in a tweed jacket that wreaks of mothballs,
Talking mildly of quarterly earnings reports with Buddha.
The former Joseph Smith Jr. just got new gauges.
She smiles, her braces flashing in the smoky room.
As I enter, a crumpled and toothless old man introduces himself as Muhammad
And politely inquires as to whether I want any cookies.
“They’re snicker doodles” he says, “I made them myself"
Meanwhile, Moses and Abraham hold hands preaching
“Down with God and Bill O’Reilly” over a game of pool.

All the while, as I stare up and think and attempt to make something of the thoughts swimming in my head like fish who cannot see, and the mouth of the everything full of so much nothing that surrounds me spews back not a single hint, you, the girl whose hair is licked a charred brown from the crackling fire of passion swirling from your inners, you, the love of my life, all that may have been past and all after ones too, you are the anchor of my imagination, the stone to hold down my wonder, and keep it from floating off into the vastness of the loneliness that consumes everything that is not here, in your arms, against the soft breeze of your touch, and then I know that everything is well, and all the unspoken beauties of the Universe only mean for me to wrap around you in way of mind and soul and body and laughs we share beside a city without lights, five stories above the world and soaring ever higher.