Who is that on yonder trellis
Oh my gosh it's Little Ellis,
Climbing higher, hand over hand
Chasing something? nothing planned.

Perhaps he saw a shooting star
Or a will'-o-the wisp somewhere afar,
Regardless, Mother where were you?
When Ellis decided what to do.

When Ellis reached the top of the trellis
I think he said, “Hey, look at me fellas”,
And then he waited till his Momma could see
Knowing she will be proud of me

Momma came looking for Little Ellis
At first relaxed and then over zealous,
Running in circles, bordering on frantic
As her worries and fears became gigantic.

Then she heard a giggle, a **** and a burp
Over her head like a little bird chirp,
Raising her eyes upwards toward the skies
Little Ellis on the Trellis
Yelling, “Momma, surprise!”

I used to fall in love
(Infatuation) with all kinds of birds,
There was an early Robin
Long before the one with the ring.........no words,
Robin #1 had a single-mother
Kept a keen eye on us,
This girl was totally cute
But they left on a bus,
At least I think so
When their apartment was vacated,
I was broken hearted
And that is understated.

Before that there was Lynn
I carried her school books on my bicycle,
An eighth-grade romance
I wasn’t yet an icicle,
No major touching
Just a casual knowing,
That she was nice and I was attracted
Gentle winds were blowing.

Then there was Vicky
I didn't treat her well,
I was beginning to get anxious
In my own private hell,
Now I know why
I had a hard time making decisions,
Others had always chosen for me
With strict conditions.

Jeanie changed all that
We were fun on the run,
Things got hot and heavy
And we almost shot the gun,
We played around for a while
Even after we went our ways,
Friday night rendezvous’
Bored teenagers practicing plays.

Cindy was a drop-in
Restrictive Catholic parents on tap,
But she was a hottie
Sitting on my lap,
Man, things were hot and juicy
But we weren’t really rolling in the same crew,
It was a short run romance
I should not have stirred the stew.

After that I fell in love once more
With a younger girl again,
Marcia was her name
But I was a mess by then,
I could not express my feelings
And hardly talk on the telephone,
I took her to the Prom
I was like a stupid stone.

It was hard being me
Those “incel” guys, I completely understand,
There was no internet groove at the time
A support group for the not in demand,
But, I wasn’t angry at women
I was quite aware of my limitations,
Which didn’t make it easier
Just a lot of hopeless never-invitations.

Don’t even imagine
That my story ever improved,
I got to age forty-five
And my world had not moved,
Now, something did happen
But it was not of my creation,
I guess that was the final answer
Step aside and just take dictation.

Just do what someone else suggested
To see what might occur,
I tried it and God Dang!
I met HER.

I sat upon an anthill
The ants were not amused,
They called me inconsiderate
I was threatened and accused,
When I discovered my grievous error
I leaped up to apologize,
Brushing my clothing vigorously
Much to their surprise.

I discovered sometime later
Ants are very clever,
They will sneak inside one's clothing
Like a military endeavor,
A nibble here, a nibble there
A crawling sensation in my hair,
Getting their revenge
For disturbing their home and lair.

Ants are devious
That's for sure,
Tea tree oil was
The cure,
A lesson was learned
For future use,
Be more careful where I sit
To avoid ant abuse.

Here's a funny story
What a five year old knows,
A lot more than just
Fingers and toes,
She can't read very well
But she knows about Love,
And when you read through this story
You'll say, "Good heavens above!:"

She visited today and
We went to the playground,
Red Magnolia flowers
Were just lying around,
They were so pretty
She brought a few to the car,
To give some to her Grandma
Now, that's raising the bar.

A couple hours later
She was talking about a date,
Flower petals on the stairway
Leading up to bedroom eight,
And I began to get suspicious
Wondering, what is she talking about?
Her home does not have a stairway
And her parents are more roundabout.

Google-search is my friend
“Rose petals on stairway leading to bedroom”,
Instantly 25 photos of Valentine ideas
Adult themes pushing bing-badda-boom,
From a five year old child
Where do these images arise?
YouTube, Roblox and you name it
They consume this stuff all day; no surprise!

A first generation immigrant family
There is hardly a reading book found in the house,
Brother and sister age five and seven
**** on their iPads like a scurrying mouse,
No limits are set, no blocking of content
The parents are clueless while the kids are engaged,
With TikTok videos of gyrating and gesturing
A five year old groomed to be teenaged.

The end of the story: this is how it went
Grandma and Grandpa were guided up the stairs,
To stand at the edge of the bed
She told us to kiss while she hid behind the chairs,
I made a loud lip noise but she wasn’t fooled
She shouted, “No, you really have to kiss”,
Remember what I said at the start of this poem?
Good Heavens above, what her parents do miss!

She’s got a leash on her boy
And she’s carrying her dog,
She has her face in her phone
And her brain is in a fog.

That’s what we call consciousness
In the world today,
Social media drives everything
Around work and play,
Well, my standard statement is
I just can't figure out this phone,
It’s so much smarter than me
I’d rather leave it alone.

Don’t hand me any device
With a name that begins with an I,
For twenty years now
I’ve given them a try,
But none of those i-devices
Make any sense to me,
I have an Android brain
That’s how it was meant to be.

Sure, money is a factor
I don’t like to spend it very much,
But I’m instantly frustrated
With any iPhone or iTouch,
Even if I win the lottery
I won’t be buying Apple devices,
Heck, I’m a millionaire now
And I still fixate on prices.

I only use about five applications
And I rarely take pictures,
All those pixels and adjustments
Just give me strictures,
I don’t use Facebook
Twitter, Instagram or TikTok,
I bought a smartphone
To process credit cards
Down on the auction block.

Her boy is off the leash now
And he’s chasing a ball,
While Momma and her Pomeranian
Are on a Whatsapp conference call.

People read my poetry
But I rarely see a 'Like",
Would it be better
If I had a Harley Davison bike?
If I talked the language
Of "Born To Be Wild",
And I wrote some poems
About a love child.

Well honestly
My life was a little bit like that,
One marriage after
I hooked up with
An overseas bobcat,
Younger by ten years
She looked like she was eighteen,
My oh my, she was cute
Better than anything I had ever seen.

We met and talked
Three days later we were married,
It grooved with my profile
Crazy desires partially buried,
I didn’t know her
She didn’t know me,
Heck, we didn’t speak the same language
But it was fine with what I did see.

Fast-forward
Now it’s twenty-three years later,
You might ask if I had been twenty-eight
Would I have considered a date with her?
Oh my god, she was just as cute
Back when she was a teenager,
But I couldn’t know her then
Nor was it time to make a wager.

Flavors and odors of themselves
Can prompt a recall of events long passed,
I'm tasting a Port wine tonight
And a memory of you came up fast,
Was it the excitement of the moment
Or the smooth taste of the wine?
Or was it the memory of much more
Sending tingles down my spine.

A little bit of both working together
A technicolor recollection, I can say,
The combination of good times
Were enough to cause the memory to stay,
Lodged in my brain fibers
Inspired by a simple twist of the cap,
Remembrance of the sweet kiss of Port
And you were sitting on my lap.

Yes, memories can tell stories
That might never have been,
In the hands of a writer of fiction
At the behest of my imaginary twin.

You try it sometime
Cream Sherry or sweet Port,
A best friend at your side
Keep your secrets and never report,
What transpired that day
Those few months in that year,
And when you're three decades older
You will hold those memories dear.