Powers of side-ways laughs...
Kick of light into a searched for kiss
Make and meant, are we a hopeful hath?
Sure, the toil of adding ourselves, to a heart to miss?

Suddenness
And the game of can't and won't
Wished for a friend in hollow limelight, a ridiculing guest?
The taken hiss, for a wishful smile; arduous but don't...

How, or wisdom?
Or, the tale of significance
With a moment to share even kind, to these we dumb?
But a shadow of history is a muse to the light, we sense...

Any and all, to a thing of since, we are to be...
In the hands of deference, where one more step is a being
Hour, to which selfish is a range of voice, in all anarchy
We save a friends time with sour regrets, in the name of simply seeing

Martyrs of deliberate quote and silence from a boat...
Together they make a notion, to tell the truth...
West with a capable soul, the tale has become a superior love...
Argued by you and me, see the head for simplicity, that is youth...

His whistling rises with the moon;
softened trills and murmurings
grow louder in the dusking sky,

drift across my ceiling, down
into my waiting ears.

A halo of satisfaction rings his face,
sweat drying on his chest
as he leans back upon my balcony.

I gather his things
and place them by the door.
I know this tune is not meant for me.

But I listen to it, still,
and dream of my hands
tangled in his soft feathers.

Who will sing me to sleep
when the nightingale is paired?

Never noticed Time fly
Beautiful springs and autumns passed me by,
Fooling and goofing around with naive eyes
I didn't know how to whistle at twenty-five.

Life greeted me in a suit and a tie
And introduced you with a hue and a cry.
As lightning struck my heart, I swear I died.
And you were me and I was you till thirty-five.

You used to be beautiful as the sky.
Your fount of allure has run dry.
Your nagging has sapped my strength to be nigh.
You smothered my song at forty-five.

To mourn your demise I did try.
To be happy, I learned to live and let die.
Not giving a **** about wives and wifis,
I started whistling at fifty-five.

we all have words
our hearts they speak
they whisper and scream
quiet themselves at times

my heart needs complexity
it needs simplicity
singing and whistling

this heart gasps for air
tasting profoundness

my heart desires

I'm tempted to yell
Beneath the waxing moon,
Call to the hood whistler
To whistle a tune I knew.
Just one I could recognize,
One to identify;
But it's well above zero
On this shortest day of the year.
My compassion over-rides
The duality in the airs.
Still there's no inkling
Of whatever he's whistling;
I can't locate
Where it originates.
He'll be inside soon,
As we move to hibernate;
I sincerely hope he's there,
Whatever tune he airs,
Come Spring.

I want to learn to whistle
Like my daddy did.
I wanted to learn it since
I was a little kid
You know, you put *******
Just inside your lips.
No, not the whole fingers
Just the very tips.

With that kind of whistle
I could stop a fight
Or call a taxi to me
On a rainy night.
I could whistle while applauding
Let performers know
Whatever they were doing
I enjoyed it so.

It works well during sports
Like a referee’s call.
The way I whistle nobody
Would hear it at all.
If I had a doggie I could call him
Then I whistle really loud
And he would come running
I would be so proud.

And of course I could tell
Somebody walking by
That they were pretty hot and
They had caught my eye.
But if I try to do that now,
They have to be
Not further than a couple
Of feet from me.

You’ve heard that kind of whistle
In shows on your TV.
I wish that kind of whistle
Could come from me.
So, I wish I could whistle
Like my daddy could.
Maybe someday I will learn.
Knock on wood.

I walked in our house
And for the first time
In my entire life
Did I hear her whistle.

I stood there.
Listening.
And pictures of my boyhood
Reminisced in my head.
And I heard myself whistling.
I heard my 9 year old self
Whistling his way
To silence.

I remember the rain
And the door slightly open
Inviting me in
Leading my childhood
To its verge.

I remember them.
A Man and a Woman.
His flesh on her flesh.
Her lips on his neck.
His fingers on her thigh.
Her leg around his waist.

And I remember my mouth
Rounded with silence
As if they stole my whistle
To make out of it
Their melody.

And I never whistled again.

And she stood there
Smiling
Silent
As if my childhood memory
Had silenced her too.
She was beautiful
In her light yellow sundress
Barefoot
She looked even more beautiful
When she approached me
And touched my neck
To move my shirt aside.

She started to whistle again
Leaving little kisses
On my neck
Like little birds
Not caught but visiting - me
And bringing me back
The 9 year old boy
That I was.




-LynnAA