I met up with an old friend
Our paths in life were differently diverse,
And yet our personal sufferings
Were of a blessing and a curse,
We shared our life stories
Each was astonished by the other,
And when we said our goodbyes
I thought, “Safe journey my brother”.

The tenderest of moments
The tentative kiss,
The touch of a memory
Reminds me of this.

Where silence surrounds
And love burrows deep;
In visions of beauty
These things I will keep.

I sat upon the bluff last night
I looked across the canyon,
I deliberated destiny
I was my own companion,
The sunset spread across the sky
In a thousand colored tones,
Ancient voices echoed from the walls
The wisdom in the stones.

The evidence of centuries erosion
I have touched,
The absolute infinity of loving
I have clutched,
The tenderness of kindness
Presented by a friend,
These are things that have beginnings
But never have an end.

1994  (Paradise CA, Skyway Bluff)

I'm so close to you
It's causing me pain,
My heart wants to hold you
It's too much of a strain,
Though I currently stand
As your confidante and friend,
I might fall in love
With you in the end.

Too close for comfort
I’m vulnerable too;
Afraid that I'm falling
In love with you.

Emotional breakthrough
Strains at my insides,
Physical and mental fatigue
On a roller-coaster ride,
Lost, wandering souls
In a bookstore at night,
Rampage through the writings
Of love, death and fright,
Titles blend
They all become one,
The moon will give in
To the rising sun.

Mood altering chemicals
Endogenous dreams,
My heart cries in agony
A nightmare of screams,
Who would pursue
Such consummate pain,
It may appear washable
But always leaves a stain,
And after a while
The background just fades,
Personality tinted
By several gray shades.

Thank goodness the sun
Rises each day,
Because the night of the soul
Can hold the heart-song at bay,
Squelch the fires of love
And the passions of pleasure,
Effectively burying
The beauty you treasure.

My baby had a Tesla ride
This week,
She said it was oh-so comfortable
And suggested that I should take a peek.

I compare a luxury car like that
To the ownership of an iPhone,
Which I have never learned to operate
Even for hours alone.

She passengered in a Tesla
Saturday and Sunday,
From the gleam in her eye
It must have been a fun day.

And I'm hearing the story
As we're riding in the bumpy truck,
She has a habit of getting her own way
With a smile and a kiss and her own good luck.

My baby wants a Tesla
But I know it’s not for me,
It’s like buying a thoroughbred
And man, they’re not free.

I saw a lady
Hanging up a sign,
I thought maybe for a yard sale
Until I heard her whine,
She said her poodle got out
And she’s on the run,
Yes, her poodle got away
Probably having fun.

A photograph showed
On the front of that poster,
She said if you find my poodle
I will give you a toaster,
And I’ll cook you a meal
With seventeen courses,
Because my poodle escaped
Along with all of the horses.

She said the poodle got out
At half past eight,
When someone at home
Left open the gate,
I asked, what is the name
Of your runaway poodle?
She said my sweet puppy
Is called Snicker-Doodle,

I thought…………
Poodle has been gone about two hours,
Maybe she's down at the bar
Having whiskey-sours,
Celebrating herself
For finally getting away,
After being in the yard
For a year and a day.

Poodle got out
Because she wanted to play,
Without a chain around her neck
(That's the human way),
To manage one’s pet
When you live in the city,
Poodle got out
To get ***** and gritty.

Poodle Got Out signs
Everywhere I look,
Maybe that’s the advice
In the Lost Dog book,
Engage the neighborhood
With the core of your drama,
Snicker-Doodle on the run
If you see her; call Momma.

I was taught a new game
By a delightful creature,
She called it "Blend In"
It has an imaginary feature,
I was instructed to pretend
That my eyes couldn't see,
When this delightful little creature
Was right in front of me.

Could she be a Hummingbird
Or a magical fairy?
How she became invisible
Was a bit scary,
And as I looked around
Not seeing her at all,
I'm sure I heard giggling
Perhaps she makes herself small.

Goldie the cat
Played along with us too,
Goldie understood
Exactly what to do,
Take a nap in the grass
To be covered with leaves,
Goldie is magic
That's what everyone believes.

Oh, finally the fog
Was lifted from my eyes,
After searching high and low
And twenty-five tries,
Lifting rocks, moving branches
Checking closets, one, two, three,
I found Cee Cee the pixie
Right in front of me.

Blend In
Is a jolly good game,
You need magical thinking
So it's never the same,
Each time you go looking
For the enchanted creature,
But listen for giggling
It is a prominent feature.

There was a time I wished
That you would be,
The perfect valentine
For me,
In time I learned
It wasn’t so,
I asked you out
And you said no.

There was a time I dreamed
Of another life,
Where we lived together
As husband and wife,
But that was a period
Long ago,
Beyond the veil
Where memories grow.

There was a time
A fiction, a fantasy,
Where you would walk
Along side of me,
One day I awakened
To discover and learn,
You were somewhere else
And it wasn’t my turn.

His one way forever trip
Lasted five weeks,
When he exhausted his cash
And was bored up to his cheeks,
There were the usual excursions
To see cousins and monks,
But when all was said and done
He was just one of the punks.

They have little inspiration
And no imagination,
To do anything beyond
Their comfort zone,
This leads to lassitude and laziness
Goofing off and craziness,
Made worse without the
Latest mobile phone.

When your iPhone doesn’t function
At the Annapurna junction,
When the SIM card can not find
A local tower,
The entertainment cycle fades
Winding down the fool charades,
Time to hit the road back home
And toss some flour.

In one Asian culture, tossing flour in the air at New Years celebration is to bring good luck.

A pleasure pastry must have sweetness
As a qualifier of completeness.

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.

I wonder sometimes
What stories I'll tell,
On my way to Heaven
Not heading for Hell,
Some might think I'm crazy
The things that I'm saying,
But if you are religious
I know that you're praying.

At work the other night
I performed some good feat,
The nurse that I helped said
God bless you, Pete,
And it caused me to wonder
If she somehow had the power,
Bestowed on her by God
To bless me that hour.

I didn't notice any difference
That a blessing could have made,
Perhaps the blessing is in storage
To be sometime later played,
To my better advantage
In a time of greater need,
Like when I stick myself with a needle
Causing me to bleed.

What makes people think
They can randomly send a blessing,
As personal agents of God
It's almost depressing,
Because that's what the whackos say
Before they poison their flock,
It fills me with trepidation
As I prepare for the blessing shock.

Who knows what it means
When you're blessed for a sneeze,
Though I've always preferred
"Gesundheit", if you please,
That kind German wish
To offer me good health,
But I'd really prefer ten dollars
And wish me good wealth.

Most people declare
Some New Year's resolution,
But after just about five weeks
They experience New Year's dissolution,
Their resolve fizzles out
Their intentions migrate to another nation,
Let's rewind the narrative
I propose a New Year's recommendation.

Taking into account
The party excitement of January one,
You will promise yourself almost anything
To have a couple more hours of fun,
But with the hangover that comes next day
You may feel a sense of degradation,
So far your resolutions are in the trash can
What you need is a New Year's recommendation.

Recommendations allow for some wiggle room
Instead of being ****** for what you do or what you don't,
When choosing the lesser of two evils
You can opt for the lesser instead of the one that you won't,
In the world of N-Y resolutions
You may feel cursed when you blow it the first time,
Whereas with New Year's recommendations
You realize you haven't committed a crime,

I hope to start a new trend
Where we stop beating ourselves up,
When we make a couple of egregious mistakes
But that is just the half-filled cup,
Leaving room for the better intentions
That are bound to return sometime next week,
When your New Year’s Recommendations
Are discovered at that hot new boutique.

What is the thing
What bothers me the most?
Relentless streams of visitors
Or the ever-present ghost,
He rattles in the closet
And hides behind the curtain,
At times, I prefer the ghost
Over visitors, that's for certain.

I can talk to the ghost
He doesn't talk back,
He tries to throw ectoplasm
But his aim is out of whack,
Although he manages to frighten
The ones who see him not,
I guess I'm some kind of emissary
The only friend he's got.

Everywhere I've worked
There has always been a ghost,
I think he's a greeter for death
Like your friendly Walmart host,
Essentially, non-threatening
Offering his invisible, twisted smile,
A member of the welcome wagon
With his own peculiar style.

There have been she-ghosts
But they bear a different role,
As experts of duplicity
They come to recognize the soul,
Do an assessment of lifetime value
The good and bad and the duration,
Flip a coin and do the numbers
For the ultimate destination.

All in all, I count my blessings
For the role I chose to play,
There are wonderful people I work with
Each and every day,
And when unending streams of visitors
Fray my nerves like overcooked toast,
I can stick my head in the housekeeping closet
And talk to my friend the ghost.

Sparkle Girl visited for Christmas
She's 5-1/2 going on 13,
A mesmerizing bundle of energy
If you know what I mean,
She can demonstrate TikTok videos
Knows all the dance steps and ****** expressions,
She has no clue what the words mean
Nor their lasting impressions.

Dramatic distress
Some people display,
When they are trying
To have things their way

Dramatic impress
Is their method and plan,
Get everyone's attention
Like an earthquake in Japan.

Dramatic finesse
Self-trained, she's a master,
Oh, what would I give for
My Stokes-Adams blaster,
Holstered on my hip
For situations such as this,
A dramatic departure
With flame and a hiss.

I have never trusted
The testing of IQ,
Who is smarter
Me or you?
Yesterday, I scored one-forty
Last week an eighty,
After a night of boozing
'Twas my birthday, matey.

When I was a kid
I thought it meant, I’m cute testing,
I got really good scores
My destiny was manifesting,
But then I became awkward
When I hit thirteen,
My popularity plummeted
If you know what I mean.

IQ, I’m cute
Don’t go hand in hand,
Some of the smartest folks
Are dorky and bland,
And your **** stud boyfriend
Might be dumber than a post,
That’s why I don’t trust the testing
Nor do I ever boast.

At the river
I fantasized,
If you fell in
Your boat capsized,
As you swept away
I would leap or dive,
Doing what I could
To keep you alive.

But what if I pushed you
To create the disaster,
I would swim to your side
Swifter and faster,
Than the turbulent waters
To save you from harms,
Just a devious way
To get you into my arms.

I could say you weren't breathing
And place my mouth to your lips,
I could listen over your heart
And palpate your hips,
I could do all those things
With an innocent guile,
But would you knock me out cold
Or let me see your sweet smile?

At the river I dreamed
As the water streamed by,
No need for me to explain
Why I awoke with a sigh.

When I was single at forty
I was only eighteen,
If you knew what I implied
You would know what I mean.

I have always held the theory
Our age is frozen when we meet,
The one that we love
That one we hold so sweet;

And we move forward from that day
But chronologically, we don't change,
So really, I'm just forty-six now
Come now, this isn't so strange;

Because when I was forty-six
That sweet lady, she was ten years younger,
And just one look at her
Well, I was filled with a hunger

I didn't know that I was quite so famished
I guess my best friend, could have told me,
But at the time I was distracted
It didn't matter what she sold me.
Reality wasn't working for me
Too much makeup and perfume,
Enough scent in their detergent
To clear cockroaches from the room.

I was searching for a love
And the candidates were few,
I took so long to declare my interest
All they could say was, "who are you?",
So, why should I blame them
I needed something spontaneous,
Just seek an imaginary woman
And call it extemporaneous.

So now and forever
I'm only forty-six,
And the woman that I'm with?
She's prettier than pixy-sticks.

I have always allowed
Distractions to rule,
I'll blame it on teachers
In finishing school,
Apparently, they didn't bother
To finish me right,
So I'm easily distracted
Every day and all night.

My mind jumps around
Like a hare on the savanna,
Imagine monkey's in the jungle
Chasing a banana,
No better description
Comes to mind (because it's hopping),
If I was my daughter
I would solve this by shopping.

Maybe that's why
She has a closet full of clothes,
Her bank account is empty
After paying through her nose,
For her overpriced trinkets
And fashionable frillies,
Because her mind skips around
Like a lab-rat eating chillies.

Once again proving
How distractions are my actions,
My mind is an amusement park
With a zillion new attractions,
Like a traveling circus
With its rodeo clowns,
Entertaining all the rubes
In the sleepy border towns.

Keen observations
Of a restless mind,
Every day a possibility
What will I find?
Will I trigger imagination
And inspire another?
Oh, don't count on that
Were the words of my mother.

Omicron, Omicron
That name is a winner,
Everybody is talking about it
At breakfast, lunch and dinner,
We're not blaming it on China
No, Africa instead,
Still, we have already imported it
Along with wine, cheese and bread.

Merry Christmas North America
Let's party like 1969,
Back when we laughed about pandemics
And everything was fine,
And now we have a new guest
He is a party animal for sure,
Omicron is the name
And it's kind of catchy, that's for sure.

Your new baby, first baby
So special and unique,
Such delicate beauty
All wonder and mystique,
Truly a blessing
Incomparable to others,
Under the best of all circumstances
Two wonderful mothers.

Ivermectin
What's the deal?
I took the Pig dose
And now I squeal,
Every time
I smell leftover dinner,
And I'm fattening up
I used to be thinner.

Joe Bob Bulaski
He took the Cow dose,
Every time he sees a tree
He stands real close,
And just the other day
He yelled, "Moooooove over",
When I was approaching
His field of clover.

His twin sister Carla
Took the one for the sheep,
Now she wants to change her name
To Little Bo Peep,
And every time I talk to her
She says, "Stop Ba-a-a--a-thering me,
But she'll ask me to scratch her back;
She thinks she has fleas.

Now, let me tell you about
Old Uncle Morris,
He took three doses of the stuff
Along with Aunt Doris,
They picked the package
Labelled for Equine,
Now they're galloping in the pasture
And everything is fine.

This beautiful daughter
Now five and 30,
She hates to sweat
And doesn't like *****,
Her collection of clothing
Fills closets in our house,
And she will definitely scold me
If there is a rat or a mouse.

I didn’t plan
And I don’t regret it,
Some say, you should have
And I say, forget it,
It all turned out fine
The way it was done,
So I will continue
And it ought to be fun.

I didn't plan
Because of childhood drama,
The unexpected near death
Of my beloved Mama,
That's when I understood
That the future was uncertain,
That plans could be derailed
By what's behind the curtain.

Sometimes I plan
Regarding tomorrow,
That’s my limit on the future
That I’m willing to borrow,
Because two days from now
The completely unexpected,
Might force a new direction
That had not been projected.

When I do try to plan
I’m frozen in my tracks,
Uncertainty assails me
And gives me forty whacks,
I flounder in the maelstrom
Overwhelmed by specifics,
I’ve tried to work through it
But to me it’s hieroglyphics.

I didn’t plan
And it turned out alright,
I married a princess
And she’s with me every night,
But I was just mail-order
And now she’s stuck with me,
And other than that
Our lives flow happily.

Tumblr queries
"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.