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"Where have you been",
I live an uninvolved life
Absent of sin,
Each every day
Is peacefully sublime,
Don't ask me to plan
I just don't have the time.

My little poems
Are short stories,
Most of them fictional
Few personal glories.

Something in everyday life
Flashes a spark,
But I’m not Superman
More likely I’m Clark,
My enhanced power
Is a quick imagination,
Much to my mate’s consternation.

She listens quietly
And doesn’t interject,
She probably ignores me
Out of self respect,
Not to be tainted
By my wild accusations,
Crazy word salad
From mental gyrations.

Rhyming is an easy way
To express what is in my brain,
Puns, jokes and associations
Seized before they go down the drain,
Best written pretty soon
Before I forget the theme,
And sometimes the best ideas
Are from a lucid dream.

Short little stories
With an eight line meter,
Less than a kilogram
About a half liter.

Amazed I have a niece
So beautiful and bold,
She married her twin
Before getting too old,
Not afraid to be out
In the world with her best sister,
Mrs. & Mrs.
Each knew when they kissed her.

I'd rather have a ****
Than a shart,
I'd rather have a bed ache
Than a headache,
I would prefer a scratch
Rather than an itch,
And I'd rather be filthy rich.

But instead I understand
It may be better,
To be satisfied
With a consonant letter,
It's more common
Than a vowel, my friend,
Than an x-y-z perfect
At the end.

I won’t argue with the
Ideal of perfection,
Because it’s more than just
Natural selection,
Hard work and ambition
Rule endeavor,
You may be short
With the largest pure lever,
Balanced on the fulcrum
Of perseverance,
Expect excellence
But settle for clearance,
Otherwise disappointment
Makes failure too easy,
And if you give up now
Your efforts look cheesy.

“Portland Police Draw Weapons”
It must be an artistic police station,
They need something to do with their hands
So they don’t suffer stagnation,
Maybe they draw weapons
When confronted with unarmed men,
To de-escalate the situation
They grab charcoal, paper and pen.

A stash of ten thousand rounds
Was found in a square house,
Luckily the rounds had no bullets
They couldn’t harm a mouse,
Armed perpetrators
Brandished pistols and guns,
But their rounds were effectively neutered
Like ten thousand nuns.

Out of an abundance of caution
We shelter in place,
And if you try to leave your house
You get sprayed with mace.

Active shooter situations
Only to discover that  nobody is home,
Locking down an entire neighborhood
Now that’s some crazy foam.

A lot of terms of our times
Are all about control,
Contain the population and the narrative
Then hide it in a hole.

We’re all in this together
If we each play our part,
That rarely works out……...
Because one bad apple
Can upset the apple cart.

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel
Yes, things are on the mend,
The narrative is under control
Until the last page; “The End”.

I would rant and I’d rave
I’d bargain and scold,
Till I was blue in the face
And feeling quite old,
Just to get the girl reading
Something more than Teen People,
I’d gladly climb Everest
Or leap from a steeple.

I burned 17 packages
Of incense and sage,
I scouted the bookstores
For tomes for her age,
But what good would it do
If she never opened the book,
She would tell me, dear Father
I don’t like the look.

I loped to the library
And toddled to Tower,
I dashed down to Dalton's
Scanning books by the hour,
All with a longing
And a keen aspiration,
This daughter would read
For a minute's duration.

Alas and alack
All my efforts were nil,
Not a Shakespeare or Keats
Nay, a Jack or a Jill,
Until I admitted
My failure as Father,
All my running amuck
Was an embarrassing bother.

I was forced to succumb
To the wiles of her ways,
She could read fashion mags
To the end of her days,
If only this Father
Would pay the subscription,
Or this daughter would connive
A catatonic conniption.

This tale has an ending
And it came down to loyalty,
I pay her to read
So she's feeling like royalty,
I had to demonstrate
That I was loving, not mean,
I said, "Read in the car"
She replied, "Limousine".

How often it's told
In stories and lore,
That raising one's children
Is often a chore,
But the right application
Of smiles and charm,
Will insure that the Father
Will avoid lasting harm.

Down at Mary Lou's,
There's a Venezuelan *****,
I'd have married her at 16
If we were south of Mason Dixon,
She's as sweet as cotton candy
She's a Venezuelan fox,
She has all the right ingredients
To be unorthodox.

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan momma,
She looks hotter than Hell
And knows nothing of Obama,
She has a way with coffee beans
A special way to grind,
The brew so stimulating
Oh baby; What a find!

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan beauty,
She blends outstanding coffee
And she really is a cutie,
Whenever I stop by
I feel her Venezuelan heat,
I get an overwhelming urge
Just to have a bite to eat.

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan girl,
She makes the finest Latte'
With a little mocha curl,
Her steam is hyper-pressured
Milk frothing to a frenzy,
I think I'll wait outside for her
To perform an apprehenzie.

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan dame,
She prepares an awesome beverage
While I play a little game,
It’s called watch the Coffee Maid
Tamp the grounds and make some steam,
Oh, this Venezuelan Coffee chick
Is an old man’s sweetest dream.

There's a Venezuelan princess
Down at Mary Lou's,
If I had done the hiring
She's the one I'd choose,
Her charisma is intoxicating
Her aromas even more so,
And when she wears that skimpy T - shirt
I'm just nuts about her torso.

Down at Mary Lou's
Things are heating up,
I keep dropping in for coffee
At three bucks a cup,
And while I'm on the subject
Regarding a Venezuelan Barista,
If she isn't available.........
Might she have a sista'?

A vacation too short
But the views were **** good,
Thanks to a Venezuelan beauty
Preparing coffee as one should,
I'll return again a year from now
And stop at Mary Lou's,
Will the Coffee chick come back again?
If not I'll sing the blues.

An anonymous name
On a platform of minions,
I like it that way
I care not about opinions,
I'm not socially adept
I don't seek your approval,
I think that I'm harmless
So I don't need removal.

I can't paint pretty pictures
Make gifs or do coding,
I can operate the mouse
And occasional downloading,
But I know how to type
And run a good rhyme,
So I can spout my opinions
Any old time.

I went to the bank
To deposit some money,
And fell head over heels
With that bank teller honey,
With long auburn hair
And a fabulous smile,
I didn't want to leave.....
I wanted to stand there a while,
I was just another customer
Of one hundred that day,
But this one is different
I wanted to stay,
I've got the bank teller blues
I have to save some more dough,
So I can go to the bank
And bask in her glow.

I went to the bank
To get some more cash,
I broke the speed limit
And the hundred yard dash,
But I wasn’t prepared
To see her again,
I was a ten watt bulb
And she was halogen,
Her brilliance, her beauty
I was thunderstruck in awe,
My legs felt like lead
My brain made of straw,
I’ve got the bank teller blues
Yes, my interest is high,
I need to deposit some love
Before I break down and cry.
 
I went to the bank
For another transaction,
I’m under a spell
A magnetic attraction,
Every night when I sleep
It’s a repetitive theme,
There’s a bank teller beauty
Inside of my dream,
I wake up light headed
Wondering what it is I drank,
And an overpowering urge
To get down to the bank,
I’ve got the bank teller blues
On my mind all the time,
With monetary issues
Getting harder to rhyme.
 
I went to the bank
I had to talk to the boss,
He’s making a profit
Now it’s time for a loss,
Because I’m going to withdraw
His bank teller today,
My compound interest
Is starting to pay,
No longer will I need
To hide my love in the closet,
My bank teller beauty
Will take my deposit,
I studied the art
Of managing money;
No more bank teller blues
Because now she’s my  honey.

Loss and recovery
A process lined with pain,
It may be quite depressing
As emotions wax and wane.

If you don't resolve the issues
You'll suffer endless grief,
If allowed to pass the course
The results produce relief.

I got a shot of hope
And man, did it hurt!
I bled so much
It soaked my shirt,
They told me, sonny
You should be so glad,
Back in the day
It killed your dad.

There's a light at the end
Of the tunnel, they say,
A lot of groovy metaphors
Are thrown our way,
And plenty of guilt
To help us cope,
Now, please take a number
To get your shot of hope.

I wished for a lady
How far did I look?
Why, right here beside me
She was coloring her book,
My eight year old daughter
With her stencils and chalk,
Her imaginary world
And make believe talk,
Such a wonderful sight
As I watched her at play,
A woman tomorrow
A child today.

She sits there by the window
Her coffee keeps her warm,
With her books and study papers
Sheltered from the storm.

Dressed in winter colors
Sweatshirt dark and denim jeans,
Comfort found in simple threads
Where complexity convenes.

Steam rising from her coffee cup
Casts a shadow on the glass,
It shades the pure reflection
Of such a pretty lass.

She sits there by the window
Gazing out beyond the storm,
Her coffee cup is empty now
Her body finally warm.

I finally achieved heard immunity
I stopped listening to all the voices in my community,
I deny social media and don’t read the papers
I don’t even listen to the movers and shapers.

Heard immunity
Felt so good to achieve,
Whatever you have to say
I won’t listen and I’ll leave,
To allow you some space
To spout your opinions,
You have the right to do that
With your adorable minions.

The original dream
Shared a vision of happiness,
Harmonious circumstances
Character witnesses to a life,
That flowed unerringly
Across a landscape
Of perfection.

Then came the descendants;
Other dreams,
Where illusions were introduced
And the landscape underwent
Subtle changes,
Twists and turns
Seemingly random, chaotic eddies
Fractal logic prevailing;
The dream deviated
Always pushing and swelling
At the edge of
Its ever-expanding territory.

Standing anywhere along that edge
One can see a little more or less
Of the horizon
Than at any other position,
Equilateral sight
Into the possibilities
Of the future,
And looking back
A seemingly random path,
And though chaotic
It clearly made sense,
At each individual instant.

We are so close,
As close as two lovers can be
Who no longer meet each other
On the terms that their affair demanded
And yet they separated without animosity,
Without hatred.

We are so close,
We think alike in many ways
We have a mutual respect
We care about each other
We are friends,
In Love.

I think about you every day
And though we're far apart,
I talk to you this silent way
The whispers from my heart.

I was recently hired
In the Eye Tea division,
After an Earl Gray interview
It was an easy decision.

If Mika is just like her mother
The world is a better place,
If Mika looks like her mother
Then surely, she has a beautiful face;
And if Mika learns from her mother
Perhaps she'll live in a state of grace.

She's a cutie, yessiree
If I was single
And she was free,
I might propose
A rendezvous,
I'm sure there's something
We could do.

But then I left
Before we could,
Was that bad or
Was that good?,
I don't know
But it was fun,
To imagine things
We never done.

In the future
I might repeat,
This kind of thing
Is simple and neat,
Flirt a little
And laugh a lot,
‘Tis an exercise
That ends with naught.

Genius that I am
At nonsense creation,
I've had a hundred business ideas
Without organization,
I proposed making dog jewelry
But we never got to it,
We tried hot spicy dog bones
But they wouldn't chew it,
Let's make puppy clothing
But I don't know how to sew,
I'm just a creator of ideas
And that's all I know.

I have a new concept
But I can't share it with you,
You might figure out the process
Then I wouldn't get my due,
So my clever ideas
Are kept hidden in a box,
And eventually they are gone
Like the keys for the locks.

I thought that I might sometime see
A dog betrothed unto the flea,
A married match that some might think
Was consummated in a blink.

Alas, alack it didn't last
That marriage ended really fast,
The flea took blood, the dog did itch
And so he scratched away that *****,
That had the gall to bite the groom
Before they left the marriage room,
The dog said, Pastor, ditch this deal
I do not like this itchy feel,
I was better off when I was single
Before the flea and I did mingle;
A moral of this tale takes flight
Don't marry, should your girlfriend bite.

What started as something
Resulted in naught,
Like making a purchase
Then regretting what was bought.

Preemptive expectations
Often overly excite,
What started as a kiss
Turned into a bite.

If I could take away your pain
I would do it in a hurry,
I'd place it in a *** of
Sautéed porcupine and curry,
Then I'd feed it to the scavengers
The beggars and the thieves,
Whatever the outcome of my efforts
I assure you, no one grieves.

If I found a box of answers
I would give the best to you,
For all your loving care and kindness
You most definitely are due,
Rewards for all the suffering
You took from those who crossed your path,
A box of answers, for your troubles
And the most soothing bubble-bath.

Stop drinking alcohol
And see what transpires,
Use it instead
For the leaf burning piles,
In the middle of the driveway
In those yesterday years,
Back then we used kerosene
And still the smoke produced tears.

Stop eating chocolate?
Not if I have a choice,
I have it every day
And feel like a Rolls Royce,
Luxuriously comfortable
And with power to spare,
I'd rather give up water
Or purified air.

Moderation is key
You know we've all heard that,
Whoever said it first
Deserves a thump with a bat,
An instructional proverb
Across centuries and cultures,
If you paid for that therapy?
Well, thou hast met vultures.