Are you my penguin?
Yes. . . this may surely sound odd
But, the beauty of the basis of this question
Is true

You see, these simple little lovely tuxedos
They waddle around the forever winter
All by there lonesome
Until they spot another little tuxedo
Roaming the winter flakes

They fall in love
Rub their icy beaks
Together they are one

They waddle together now
Have little tuxedos of their own
Raise them, then grow old together

Never leaving one another's side

That is the love I feel
That is the curious little emotion I carry for you
I have penguin love for you my dear
I've known it a very long time now

So I ask you, my sweetheart
Are you my forevermore?
Here to stay until we are old and crazy?
Are you my true love?

Are you my penguin love?

This one's for me
and I'm gonna watch it burn.
Watch it flicker and pop and crackle and spit.
Gonna take lessons on how to dance with the draft,
also hoping she doesn't ******* out.
I'll make poems out of smoke and shadows
and fading, lonesome, sepia-tone summer photographs.
I want to make dusty picture frames feel like well-loved tuxedos.
I'm gonna see if candlelight can be all the company I need to keep.
Gonna sweep this floor clean,
like it's not what we say, it's what we mean
between the lines of
one too-polished table setting:
one knife,
one spoon,
but two forks for wishful thinking.
I'm gonna eat my fill
and fill my cup again and again,
to the point that I begin to make conversation
with my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I'll tell that *******, "My friend, you are drunk."
and he'll tell me, "Kid, look who's talking."
Then it'll be back to a glass
that treats its brim like a suggestion.
Gonna have whisky and black lager and champagne
'til my toes and thumbs tingle.
Thin blooded and numbed;
Steeled by my father's novocain.
Come morning, this house couldn't get more hollow.

In these hallowed halls where I wallow in the way that
I only seem to appreciate the preciousness of days
Once they've passed,
here's what I'm gonna do:
I'm gonna write questions on one side of the wooden window blinds,
and write punchlines to completely unrelated jokes on the other.
I don't know why. Maybe just to **** with people.

I'm gonna reminisce with full streets of ghosts
That glow like kerosene lamp posts
all the while, stomping my feet, just to prove that I can.
Gonna make toasts to the isolated;
to the quarantined and the misanthropes.
I'll boast that lovers are not unlike poachers,
but I'm not gonna mention that in every other under-cover dream
I seem to swoon like ivory elephant tusks.
I'm gonna gamble on Dusk
because I think it's got a little less honesty,
but a little more promise than its
attention-*******, good-for-nothing, go-getter big sister Dawn does.
That flirtations *****.
Gonna give Christian names to half drawn caricatures
of people who only ever existed when the lights died out
and the snow fell heavy.

I'm gonna let the levies break.
I'll go insane, just ******* lose it--
do the Boot-Scoot-'n'-Boogie in a onesie
with the hind flap flying free and the Greek Theatre masks of
Comedy and Tragedy painted on my *** cheeks,
(because no one should ever take their art too seriously)
And I'm even not gonna even care who sees,
partially because there's no one around to watch anyway,
but mostly because I want,
more than anything, to just be me.
Or at least I want to want that.
See, I read somewhere that,
"You should always be yourself…
unless you can be a unicorn,
then always be a unicorn."
And that really struck home for me because,
even though I've never really ached to be
the ******* love child of a Narwhal and Zebra
(In my imagination, unicorns are
striped and impecable swimmers)
I truly believe that Men will always dream of being Titans
and Titans will always dream of being Gods
and Gods want nothing more than to be Wind--
to twist with lit candle sticks
and teach the lonesome how to dance.

A one-step waltz tip-toed to distract.

But the fact is, I'm bound to take a few back steps.
I'm gonna think about her.
Gonna harbor hard feelings towards back bedroom dealings
that I have no right knowing about.
Gonna pray like a desperate atheist
that they keep their knees locked in a one night stand.
I might break down.
Only once, just long enough to regain my strength.
Then I'll tame the earthquakes in my hands, like I always do.
Gonna find what it takes to move on.
Not just regenerate, but to grow stronger than I ever was before.
So I'm gonna meticulously straighten these place settings:
One knife.
One spoon.
A healthy dose of wishful thinking.
Gonna try my hand again at dancing with the back draft;
I heard she's been aching for a duet,
and with all the life of candlelight
I'm gonna ignite the coal shafts beneath my eyes.
Gonna finally see me as the man I am,
not the titan I wish to be,
because I heard somewhere that,
"You should always be yourself…
Especially when all you've known
all you've ever shown
is some mythology."
So raise your glass because this one?
This one's for me.

I walked into the ballroom - surrounded by tuxedos and long revealing gowns. An orchestra was playing a song from Our Town. People stood together, as if protected from their fate. I looked towards the door, but I knew it was too late.
Too late to leave, too early to stay.

Play me that sad song the one we used to play.
Song called, "Evergreen" from another lifetime ago. Do you remember the way I held you as we danced so slow.

Where are you - is it too late for you to get here?
Is it too soon for you to believe?
I can see you standing against the wall - would you like to dance with me?

A piano is playing, an older man tickling the keys. playing a song for dancing, playing a song for you and me.

"Touch me in the morning..." We stood close together, through the window we can see the stormin'.
"Then just walk away..." Your arms around my neck, my arms around your waist.
"We don't have tomorrow..." I kiss your lips, I feel your tongue...
"But we had yesterday..." The piano stops and the orchestra is silenced.

The doors open and we walk our as one - tuxedos and long revealing dresses, piano man and the storm.

I put my arm 'neath yours - you place your head on my shoulder. The orchestra begins to play a song as we walk through the doors. The music fades as we walk in the rain - we walk towards a tree and we stand beneath it. The roots of our love keeping us warm - keeping us close.

Lightening and then Thunder - striking 100 times for you and me. While the old man sits by the piano - playing that old song for you and me.

Together through life - each other's stories run together like the days and nights of our time...our tree has blossomed and its growing so fast - if we don't have tomorrow our yesterday will keep our memory alive forever.

I remember his smile
His embrace
His touch on my fingers
As he played beside me
We made such beautiful music
Why did you have to go?
I loved watching you
Prepare for concerts
The calone you always wore
Always making sure
The tuxedos were fitted right
You would play the melodies
Of your life for all that would hear
Just as suddenly it was over
The music lost its magic
I played one last time
As I closed my eyes
I began to cry
I felt you next to me again
As I finished the song and quietly stood for the final bow
I saw you
In white
In front of you crystal piano
Smiling at me as you played
The same melody
Now it lives on on me.

In comes one every week,
tracking into my home the filth of the streets:
some are patterned like cows,
some wear tuxedos,
some have turtle shells on their backs.  
One looks like a whole spice rack spilled out on him.
Barn cats, alley cats, stray cats, exotic cats—
she says no to none of them.

This home is wild and foolish like her mind.
That compassion pours out like acid on my bones.
Then I’m forced to shoot her down  
with words that fly out like bullets,
and more mouthfuls
and more mouthfuls of bullets
that all but ricochet off her iron clad will.

You turn so perfectly
down your roads of passion.
Creep on through the stop signs I put up
and mount on my head the horns,
the ones we pretend we can’t see,
the ones that let the bullets soar,
bullets to **** you again,
horns to undress your sister.

A big transition happened one night that made the old man tear to pieces…

“Well, you’ve done it again Harry, except you’ve shocked both of us. Why do you do these things Harry? I assume you like to embarrass me a whole lot!” said Susan (wife of old man Harry)

“My dear Susan, please don’t get frustrated with me, for I have done no such crime to deserve this,” replied Harry.

Susan pauses for a second to calculate what her husband, Harry, had just said. When she does, she narrows her eyes and points her finger at him.

“You are a fool of a husband, wearing suits and tuxedos out to libraries, animal shelters, parks. What a coward you are! Just because money is our main priority in this household, doesn’t mean you should go around bragging about how wealthy we are!” yelled Susan.

“But getting dressed up is what I love to do. It’s not as exciting to wear just a plain sweater with a pair of jeans Susan,” said Harry trying to make a point.

“If that’s the way you would like to be, then I’m not a part of it anymore Harry… Goodbye Harry,” said Susan.

The foolish man’s sixty-year-old mouth dropped as the love of his life, Susan, slammed the front door and wasn’t coming back.

… The minutes later, the old man’s son walks into the house. He looks very bubbly and eager to say something. However, before the son could say a word, the old man talks right away.

“She’s gone Tom; your mother has moved out for good,” said Harry.

“Oh, no dad. You two got into another argument again?” said the son (Tom).

“Yes my son. Your mother always… seems to start bickering with me about something, and this time, it was based on my dressing in public,” said Harry.

“I can’t take this anymore dad! I’m not married, don’t even have a girlfriend, and now don’t even have a mother to live with,” said Tom.

The poor, lonely son starts looking very upset and begins to cry. The foolish man begins to tear a little as well.

“If mom really loved and supported us, she wouldn’t have left,” said the son.

“That’s enough Tom! You’re thirty-two years old now; that doesn’t give you the right to cry like a baby! It’s over son; life moves on,” said Harry

All of a sudden, the depressed son ran out of the house as fast as he could, being only in his shirt, pants and dress shoes. He was already on the third block when Harry called him.

“Get back here young man! Please Tom, please!” cried the poor man.

The sixty-year-old man ran as fast as he could to his son. He kept running for as long as he could, and when he reached his son, he followed him up to the nearest train station. The foolish man had no clue of where son might be headed to on a train.

“Don’t you use your head boy? Where are you headed to?” said Harry.

“I don’t know father; I just needed to get out of the house to be alone. I don’t need you in my life anymore dad,” said the son.

“Tom; Tom look at me! I don’t want to lose my son, for I’ve already lost my wife. I love you very much Tom, just remember that please.

“I love you too dad and I’ll try to show it much more often,” said the son.

Harry puts his arm around his sons shoulder and smiles warmly to him with tears of happiness in his eyes.

“Lets get off this train Tom; what do you say? Asked Harry

“Alright dad,” said Tom.

At that very moment, the train began to move; move rather quickly.

“Tom, you’re in big trouble… Nah, just joking. Would you like to tell me of where you are planning to go to though?” said Harry

“Manhattan,” said the son.

Tom smiled and his dad looked a little baffled.

“Tom, why don’t you tell me about the good news you had before,” said Harry, suddenly changing the topic.

“Sure. I got a new job working at the docks and am actually making higher profits now,” said Tom.

“I’m very proud of you son. How are the docks treating you?” asked Harry.

“I love the docks. I enjoy working on the docks and appreciate what God has to offer for me,” replied Tom.

“And what is the quantity of hours you’ll be working for?” asked Harry.

“Forty hours a week dad,” said Tom.

“Phenomenal,” said Harry. “That’ll keep you occupied.”

When the train moves around the waiting area outside a little bit, the prettiest girl walks on the train. She looks as if she’s in her late twenties with dark-brown curly hair and brown eyes to match. She takes a seat two rows in front of Harry and Tom.

“Dad, did you see that girl?” asked Tom.

“Yeah boy, she looks single to me,” said Harry.

Harry giggles and Tom elbows him right in the gut.

“Owww!” Harry managed to say through his non- stop laughing.

The girl was reading the newspaper from today while Tom tried to occupy himself by spinning a quarter several times.

The next hour had passed on the train and they had a long way to go until their stop. Tom looks at his watch as he sees that it is exactly five in the morning.

“Harry. Harry,” Tom whispers. “Harry,” he said a little bit louder.

Tom began to get a little frustrated that Harry wasn’t waking up. Mostly everyone was fast asleep on the train except for Tom.

“HARRY!” Tom yelled as loud as he could.

All of a sudden, all of the passengers on the train woke up startled and baffled.

“Tom, what the hell was that?” said Harry.

“I have a problem,” said Tom

“Tom, this is pure abuse that you’re giving me. Firstly, you knock the guts right out of my stomach, and then you yell as loud as a trumpet blown right in someone’s ear! Was it necessary to wake up the whole train?” said Harry.

“Yes because I really like this girl, you know the one you called single. What should I do?” asked Tom.

“Can you lower the volume a little? Okay; here’s my advice… propose to her,” said Harry as he went back to sleep.

“Great advice; I’ll take it,” said Tom sarcastically.

Before Harry and Tom got a chance to walk off the train, Tom stopped to introduce himself to the beautiful girl. As he was talking, she thought of him as rather funny than cool, but offered her cell phone number to him.

“What’s your name?” asked Tom.

“Victoria,” replied the girl.

The foolish man felt so insane as if to go on a train unexpectedly.  

“Well, here we are dad,” said Tom.

“Now we’re going to have to check into a hotel for three days; for that’s how long we have to stay here until the next train home.” Said Harry

When they arrived at the hotel, both Harry and Tom rented a small room that cost fifty dollars a night.

“This is a really old room, but it’ll have to do,” said Harry.

“There are cobwebs over here in the bedroom beside the lamp,” said Tom.

“Since we’re staying here for three nights Tom, we’re going to have to go shopping at some point, so why now?” said the foolish man.

“Father, why would you go and buy some more fancy clothes, when Susan already told you that you looked foolish in it?” said the son.

“I hate to break it to you son, but the coward is gone, and the new ***** has arrived!” said Harry.

Tom could not believe what his dad had just said. He formed the biggest smile on his face.

“That’s very impressive dad; I’m sure mom would really appreciate that,” said Tom.

“I bet she would’ve,” said Harry giving a small frown.

Harry and his son, Tom were out of the hotel within ten minutes. The store in which they were headed to was only a few blocks from where they were. The store in the mall in which Harry and Tom were walking to was called, “Sarah’s Sweaters.”

Harry was not at all tempted to walk in the store, but with the help of his son making him go in, he had no choice.

“What a grotesque place Tom,” said Harry

“Relax and try on something that suits you best here,” said Tom

“I don’t like anything here. Sorry, but I loathe these kinds of stores,” replied the foolish man.

Tom rolled his eyes and began trying on jeans and a couple of sweaters to wear over polo shirts.

Harry stared at Tom speechless as he came out of the fitting room. Tom brought the clothes up to the woman at the cash register while Harry started looking at clothes for himself.

“Your total is $62.49 sir,” said the woman.

“Thank you,” said Tom as he walked away with his clothes.

The foolish man went to go try on two pairs on jeans with two sweatshirts and three polo shirts. He opens the curtain.

“It fits you well,” said Tom.

“I’ll do whatever makes my wife happy,” said Harry.

“Oh, c’mon; change is good too.”

They walked out of the clothing store carrying two large white bags filled with casual clothes. As they were walking in the mall, Harry notices a Calvin Klein store with all different styles of ties, shirts, suits, and dress shoes through the glass window.

“Tom, I’ll just be a minute,” said Harry.

“You said that you weren’t going to buy anything fancy while we’re here dad,” said Tom.

“I’ll just get a suit; I’ll be in and out within five minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting on the bench outside the store,” said Tom”

“Okay Tom.”

An hour and a half later, Harry comes out of the store with a tired, yet warm smile on his face.

“You’re back so soon,” said Tom sarcastically.

“There was a long line Tom. Hey, I went in your store.” said Harry

“For a half hour.”

“Oh, well then I apologize,” said Harry.

“It’s fine.”

“Here, I’ll make it up to you; we’ll go pick up something to eat for dinner,” said Harry.

“Okay, thanks dad.”

We both smile simultaneously.

Harry and Tom exit the mall to go and walk to the deli to get some sandwiches, a snack and a drink. When they arrive home, they turn on the T.V. to watch some comedy shows while eating their sandwiches. Tim lies down and kicks his shoes off. The foolish man was sitting at the edge of the couch now with his son’s ***** feet on him. While Tom looked very relaxed and comfortable eating his chicken sandwich, Harry looked very tense as he was giving his son a cold look.

“Get your gigantic, filthy feet off of my upper thigh,” said Harry annoyed.

“Oh, sorry dad,” said Tom surprised.

Harry looked at the T.V. eating his sandwich while Tom smiled a little from his comment before.

Harry and Tom didn’t do much for the next two days. They walked around a little and saw many people walking their dogs. Both Harry and Tom ate two meals a day in their hotel and slept on the uncomfortable couch. Harry figured he’d wear his sweater and jeans with sneakers on the third day of his stay. He was going to the park this morning and he certainly didn’t want to look foolish.

“What a nice day out today Tom. Not too hot, not too cold, but perfect weather,” said Harry.

“Yes, I agree,” said Tom.

The man and his son walked along the walkway in the park, leading to a playground filled with little kids, elders and parents sitting on benches or walking around. As Harry and Tom sat down on a bench next to a water fountain, Harry couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Susan, is that you? Asked Harry shocked.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said without looking up.

“Nice seeing you here Susan,” said Harry.

Susan looked up from reading her enormous book and saw something unexpected about the foolish man.

“Oh, Harry, you’ve changed; changed for me. You are the sweetest husband and you’re not at all foolish,” said Susan full of excitement.

Harry smiled and gave Susan a big hug.

“Tom, love you son,” said Susan.

“I love you very much as well mom,” replied Tom.

After Harry checked out of their room, they all were headed to the next train home.

As Harry, Susan and Tom walked into their mansion in Michigan, Susan asked what Harry was holding.

Harry blushed and said, “Just clothes.”

“Can I see them Harry? asked Susan.

“They’re not that clean.”

Susan took the bag from him and looked inside.

“Not again,” said Tom.

Susan laughed on account of her already knowing that her husband couldn’t keep his eyes off of nice and fancy clothes for a minute.

“Harry…you’re one fastidious gentleman.”

summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
child.
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
accidents, humanity.
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
convertible.
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
fly aways.
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.


his room was the only one i could sink in.
legos scattered
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.

The Night hosts her socials for the monsters inside and out
In the moonlight we come dancing, clinking bottles, wandering about
We are goblins, ghouls, mummies, witches, zombies and misfits alike
Dressed up in our finest tuxedos, pearls, lace, bloodstains and the like

The Daylight wont have us, but the Night plays hostess to our monster bones
She slips into her midnight blue party dress and she puts on the Ramones
And we dance
we dance
we dance

O, we are the dark psychopaths, the feared, the soulless creatures
We companions by the moonlight are shaking, stammering vultures
We are friends in wayward trudges, we are spitting, foaming vermin
We are in love       We are the World's rejected kin

The ghouls and the witches and our old zombie friends,
The World's most dark and repulsive in clear-cut diamonds,
We monsters aren't alone in the night, drunken, broke and hideous,
Charming and disgusting, we are the Night's beloved insidious

In the night, we are happy, giddy, wasted children
We are the Fiend Club, we are the monster brethren
Until we are caught, disfigured, drunk and red-handed        by the Daylight
And we make our way home, to crawl under the floorboards        and sleep until twilight
Until the Night's long fingers slip an invitation under the door
And we will put our party dresses and our tuxedos on once more

*O, the moon is out and the Fiend Club has woken
The Night is young and we are broken

For the first time on campus, Sisters on the Runway will strut and pose for domestic violence awareness.

Sisters on the Runway will be hosting its first annual fashion show from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. tonight in the Business Building. All proceeds will be donated to the Centre County Women's Resource Center, Layla Taremi president of the organization, said.

Sisters on the Runway is a national student-run organization that raises awareness about women and children who reside in domestic violence shelters. There are over five chapters throughout the nation, each supporting the same cause to local shelters. It was founded in 2009 and has grown since then, Taremi (sophomore-marketing) said.

Aside from the fashion show, which is the biggest fundraising event that the organization hosts, Sisters on the Runway is also responsible for other events. The organization hosts a chalking event where they write facts about domestic violence on sidewalks using chalk. This is a way for them to raise domestic violence awareness, Taremi said. It also hosts a walk where all participants walk a mile in heels for awareness.

The show will consist of eleven female models and three male models, Edie Alexander, the event planner, said.

Alexander said the show is expected to showcase clothing from Connections, Dwellings, Diamonds and Lace Bridal and Harper's, who are also their sponsors. Looks Hair Salon will be responsible for hair and makeup for the models in show, Taremi said.

"There is no theme for the show,” Taremi said. “It will be a wide spectrum of clothing."

The male models are expected to walk the runway showcasing suits and tuxedos, Taremi said. Originally the show was not going to include male models. It wasn't until the owners of Harper's decided to contribute to the show by donating some men's apparel for the fashion show.

All the models participating have been building up their confidence for the runway, Alexander (sophomore-recreation park and tourism management) said.

"I'm excited for our first annual fashion show, I hope this brings more awareness to the Penn State community," Vice President Lauren Shearer (sophomore-supply chain management) said.

The organization’s goal is to get a lot of people involved through different events to help raise awareness of domestic violence, Shearer said.

"We’re trying to push people to come, not just Penn State students, because it's not an issue that doesn't only affects college students,” Alexander said. “It affects everyone as well."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

Tonight, on Park Avenue
There are mosquitoes
Mosquitoes and tuxedos
Making the same noises
Fluttering about
On a lovely breeze
Going here and there
Crossing the street
And back again
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing
Looking for blood

For gory guys and glamour ghouls

The Night hosts her socials for the monsters inside and out
In the moonlight we come dancing, clinking bottles, wandering about
We are goblins, ghouls, mummies, witches, zombies and misfits alike
Dressed up in our finest tuxedos, pearls, lace, bloodstains and the like

The Daylight wont have us, but the Night plays hostess to our monster bones
She slips into her midnight blue party dress and she puts on the Ramones
And we dance
we dance
we dance

O, we are the dark psychopaths, the feared, the soulless creatures
We companions by the moonlight are shaking, stammering vultures
We are friends in wayward trudges, we are spitting, foaming vermin
We are in love       We are the World's rejected kin

The ghouls and the witches and our old zombie friends,
The World's most dark and repulsive in clear-cut diamonds,
We monsters aren't alone in the night, drunken, broke and hideous,
Charming and disgusting, we are the Night's beloved insidious

In the night, we are happy, giddy, wasted children
We are the Fiend Club, we are the monster brethren
Until we are caught, disfigured, drunken, red-handed        by the Daylight
And we make our way home, to crawl under the floorboards        and sleep until twilight
Until the Night's long fingers slip an invitation under the door
And we will put our party dresses and our tuxedos on once more

*O, the moon is out and the Fiend Club has woken
The Night is young and we are broken

In the forever winter landscape
Live gentle waddling penguins
While fierce forces conspire
All life brushed away
By unforgiving weather
But with an icy resolve
They all push back
Not with a Roar
But a little pitta patta
Of jolly dancing feet
As they happily bubble along  
With defiant hearts whispering
To the weather
With a nonchalance  
Disarming the Gods
   "we don't care"
With a silky soft defiant Roar
They potter on with their day
In a light hearted way  

Traveling through their life
They feel bound by limitation
Limbs retreating,, wings shrinking
Escaping from the weather
As the world places them
In a straight jacket
But they fluff out their
Love filled chests
A dash of yellow
On their cheek
Proclaiming I love who I am
As they slowly press into snow
Heart blazing with white fires
Busily they chatter
Nodding and bowing
To each other

Life pushes newly weds apart
As her ladyship is forced to abandon
Her man to the long winter's night
Left holding the egg
She looks back with a longing glance
Her heart torn
But in the blistering chill winds
And freezing cold air
A cool clarity is born
Where all passions are left
Under sheets of steely ice
And soft blankets of snow
Her task very clear
She pushes on

A trust between partners feels itself called on
Now fierce winds blow through
And into her face
As they now feel so far apart
She stops to take one last look back
And feels an impenetrable bond
Forged in their hearts
As her beak circles the sky
It is as though an arc
Of light is made
A silver connection
Binding them together
As they feel somewhere
In the eternal they remain holding hands

The aspiring father left
Holding precious egg tenderly
Left standing on cold ice
In blistering winds
Four months there left balancing
Treasure softly on his feet
Through the winter's night
Angry winds betrayed by the sun
Sting with a viper's vengeance
As temperatures plummet
-70 and dropping  
Cooperating together they huddle
For their very survival
Perfectly dressed in Tuxedos
Black like death standing on their back
White in front for the devotion
They show us in life
Reliant on each other
They spiral around together
And say
   "together, together we can do it"
As they silently sit through
The long winter's night
Letting go of their resistance
They release a godlike persistence

Over the horizon mothers appear bobbing
Like bubbles of thought bursting
From the flat transcendence
Fulfilled wishes appearing
New mothers pulled forward
By tickles of joy in their hearts
Leaping forward on their bellies
As they collapse in
Boundless devotion
Their hearts drawn forward
Skating along on their Love
They glide.................................
           and slides..................................
On their own pouring devotion...................
Effortless devotion..................................................
They almost fly on their
Unlimited Love

Effortless embracing tasks
Supporting new life
They are filled with the
Ecstasy of fruitful service
Later adults return to water
Float with a grace
Of a dancing ballerina  
As though fuelled by rocket fuel
They leave bubbles like smoke

As we delve into these
Vast fields of devotion
And see these jolly beings
Successfully spilling through
The dark winter's night
As they spread new life
I feel like the great God above
Totally humbled And can only
Kneel and Bow
To the beautiful penguin

A big transition happened one night that made the old man tear to pieces…

“Well, you’ve done it again Harry, except you’ve shocked both of us. Why do you do these things Harry? I assume you like to embarrass me a whole lot!” said Susan (wife of old man Harry)

“My dear Susan, please don’t get frustrated with me, for I have done no such crime to deserve this,” replied Harry.

Susan pauses for a second to calculate what her husband, Harry, had just said. When she does, she narrows her eyes and points her finger at him.

“You are a fool of a husband, wearing suits and tuxedos out to libraries, animal shelters, parks. What a coward you are! Just because money is our main priority in this household, doesn’t mean you should go around bragging about how wealthy we are!” yelled Susan.

“But getting dressed up is what I love to do. It’s not as exciting to wear just a plain sweater with a pair of jeans Susan,” said Harry trying to make a point.

“If that’s the way you would like to be, then I’m not a part of it anymore Harry… Goodbye Harry,” said Susan.

The foolish man’s sixty-year-old mouth dropped as the love of his life, Susan, slammed the front door and wasn’t coming back.

… The minutes later, the old man’s son walks into the house. He looks very bubbly and eager to say something. However, before the son could say a word, the old man talks right away.

“She’s gone Tom; your mother has moved out for good,” said Harry.

“Oh, no dad. You two got into another argument again?” said the son (Tom).

“Yes my son. Your mother always… seems to start bickering with me about something, and this time, it was based on my dressing in public,” said Harry.

“I can’t take this anymore dad! I’m not married, don’t even have a girlfriend, and now don’t even have a mother to live with,” said Tom.

The poor, lonely son starts looking very upset and begins to cry. The foolish man begins to tear a little as well.

“If mom really loved and supported us, she wouldn’t have left,” said the son.

“That’s enough Tom! You’re thirty-two years old now; that doesn’t give you the right to cry like a baby! It’s over son; life moves on,” said Harry

All of a sudden, the depressed son ran out of the house as fast as he could, being only in his shirt, pants and dress shoes. He was already on the third block when Harry called him.

“Get back here young man! Please Tom, please!” cried the poor man.

The sixty-year-old man ran as fast as he could to his son. He kept running for as long as he could, and when he reached his son, he followed him up to the nearest train station. The foolish man had no clue of where son might be headed to on a train.

“Don’t you use your head boy? Where are you headed to?” said Harry.

“I don’t know father; I just needed to get out of the house to be alone. I don’t need you in my life anymore dad,” said the son.

“Tom; Tom look at me! I don’t want to lose my son, for I’ve already lost my wife. I love you very much Tom, just remember that please.

“I love you too dad and I’ll try to show it much more often,” said the son.

Harry puts his arm around his sons shoulder and smiles warmly to him with tears of happiness in his eyes.

“Lets get off this train Tom; what do you say? Asked Harry

“Alright dad,” said Tom.

At that very moment, the train began to move; move rather quickly.

“Tom, you’re in big trouble… Nah, just joking. Would you like to tell me of where you are planning to go to though?” said Harry

“Manhattan,” said the son.

Tom smiled and his dad looked a little baffled.

“Tom, why don’t you tell me about the good news you had before,” said Harry, suddenly changing the topic.

“Sure. I got a new job working at the docks and am actually making higher profits now,” said Tom.

“I’m very proud of you son. How are the docks treating you?” asked Harry.

“I love the docks. I enjoy working on the docks and appreciate what God has to offer for me,” replied Tom.

“And what is the quantity of hours you’ll be working for?” asked Harry.

“Forty hours a week dad,” said Tom.

“Phenomenal,” said Harry. “That’ll keep you occupied.”

When the train moves around the waiting area outside a little bit, the prettiest girl walks on the train. She looks as if she’s in her late twenties with dark-brown curly hair and brown eyes to match. She takes a seat two rows in front of Harry and Tom.

“Dad, did you see that girl?” asked Tom.

“Yeah boy, she looks single to me,” said Harry.

Harry giggles and Tom elbows him right in the gut.

“Owww!” Harry managed to say through his non- stop laughing.

The girl was reading the newspaper from today while Tom tried to occupy himself by spinning a quarter several times.

The next hour had passed on the train and they had a long way to go until their stop. Tom looks at his watch as he sees that it is exactly five in the morning.

“Harry. Harry,” Tom whispers. “Harry,” he said a little bit louder.

Tom began to get a little frustrated that Harry wasn’t waking up. Mostly everyone was fast asleep on the train except for Tom.

“HARRY!” Tom yelled as loud as he could.

All of a sudden, all of the passengers on the train woke up startled and baffled.

“Tom, what the hell was that?” said Harry.

“I have a problem,” said Tom

“Tom, this is pure abuse that you’re giving me. Firstly, you knock the guts right out of my stomach, and then you yell as loud as a trumpet blown right in someone’s ear! Was it necessary to wake up the whole train?” said Harry.

“Yes because I really like this girl, you know the one you called single. What should I do?” asked Tom.

“Can you lower the volume a little? Okay; here’s my advice… propose to her,” said Harry as he went back to sleep.

“Great advice; I’ll take it,” said Tom sarcastically.

Before Harry and Tom got a chance to walk off the train, Tom stopped to introduce himself to the beautiful girl. As he was talking, she thought of him as rather funny than cool, but offered her cell phone number to him.

“What’s your name?” asked Tom.

“Victoria,” replied the girl.

The foolish man felt so insane as if to go on a train unexpectedly.  

“Well, here we are dad,” said Tom.

“Now we’re going to have to check into a hotel for three days; for that’s how long we have to stay here until the next train home.” Said Harry

When they arrived at the hotel, both Harry and Tom rented a small room that cost fifty dollars a night.

“This is a really old room, but it’ll have to do,” said Harry.

“There are cobwebs over here in the bedroom beside the lamp,” said Tom.

“Since we’re staying here for three nights Tom, we’re going to have to go shopping at some point, so why now?” said the foolish man.

“Father, why would you go and buy some more fancy clothes, when Susan already told you that you looked foolish in it?” said the son.

“I hate to break it to you son, but the coward is gone, and the new ***** has arrived!” said Harry.

Tom could not believe what his dad had just said. He formed the biggest smile on his face.

“That’s very impressive dad; I’m sure mom would really appreciate that,” said Tom.

“I bet she would’ve,” said Harry giving a small frown.

Harry and his son, Tom were out of the hotel within ten minutes. The store in which they were headed to was only a few blocks from where they were. The store in the mall in which Harry and Tom were walking to was called, “Sarah’s Sweaters.”

Harry was not at all tempted to walk in the store, but with the help of his son making him go in, he had no choice.

“What a grotesque place Tom,” said Harry

“Relax and try on something that suits you best here,” said Tom

“I don’t like anything here. Sorry, but I loathe these kinds of stores,” replied the foolish man.

Tom rolled his eyes and began trying on jeans and a couple of sweaters to wear over polo shirts.

Harry stared at Tom speechless as he came out of the fitting room. Tom brought the clothes up to the woman at the cash register while Harry started looking at clothes for himself.

“Your total is $62.49 sir,” said the woman.

“Thank you,” said Tom as he walked away with his clothes.

The foolish man went to go try on two pairs on jeans with two sweatshirts and three polo shirts. He opens the curtain.

“It fits you well,” said Tom.

“I’ll do whatever makes my wife happy,” said Harry.

“Oh, c’mon; change is good too.”

They walked out of the clothing store carrying two large white bags filled with casual clothes. As they were walking in the mall, Harry notices a Calvin Klein store with all different styles of ties, shirts, suits, and dress shoes through the glass window.

“Tom, I’ll just be a minute,” said Harry.

“You said that you weren’t going to buy anything fancy while we’re here dad,” said Tom.

“I’ll just get a suit; I’ll be in and out within five minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting on the bench outside the store,” said Tom”

“Okay Tom.”

An hour and a half later, Harry comes out of the store with a tired, yet warm smile on his face.

“You’re back so soon,” said Tom sarcastically.

“There was a long line Tom. Hey, I went in your store.” said Harry

“For a half hour.”

“Oh, well then I apologize,” said Harry.

“It’s fine.”

“Here, I’ll make it up to you; we’ll go pick up something to eat for dinner,” said Harry.

“Okay, thanks dad.”

We both smile simultaneously.

Harry and Tom exit the mall to go and walk to the deli to get some sandwiches, a snack and a drink. When they arrive home, they turn on the T.V. to watch some comedy shows while eating their sandwiches. Tim lies down and kicks his shoes off. The foolish man was sitting at the edge of the couch now with his son’s ***** feet on him. While Tom looked very relaxed and comfortable eating his chicken sandwich, Harry looked very tense as he was giving his son a cold look.

“Get your gigantic, filthy feet off of my upper thigh,” said Harry annoyed.

“Oh, sorry dad,” said Tom surprised.

Harry looked at the T.V. eating his sandwich while Tom smiled a little from his comment before.

Harry and Tom didn’t do much for the next two days. They walked around a little and saw many people walking their dogs. Both Harry and Tom ate two meals a day in their hotel and slept on the uncomfortable couch. Harry figured he’d wear his sweater and jeans with sneakers on the third day of his stay. He was going to the park this morning and he certainly didn’t want to look foolish.

“What a nice day out today Tom. Not too hot, not too cold, but perfect weather,” said Harry.

“Yes, I agree,” said Tom.

The man and his son walked along the walkway in the park, leading to a playground filled with little kids, elders and parents sitting on benches or walking around. As Harry and Tom sat down on a bench next to a water fountain, Harry couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Susan, is that you? Asked Harry shocked.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said without looking up.

“Nice seeing you here Susan,” said Harry.

Susan looked up from reading her enormous book and saw something unexpected about the foolish man.

“Oh, Harry, you’ve changed; changed for me. You are the sweetest husband and you’re not at all foolish,” said Susan full of excitement.

Harry smiled and gave Susan a big hug.

“Tom, love you son,” said Susan.

“I love you very much as well mom,” replied Tom.

After Harry checked out of their room, they all were headed to the next train home.

As Harry, Susan and Tom walked into their mansion in Michigan, Susan asked what Harry was holding.

Harry blushed and said, “Just clothes.”

“Can I see them Harry? asked Susan.

“They’re not that clean.”

Susan took the bag from him and looked inside.

“Not again,” said Tom.

Susan laughed on account of her already knowing that her husband couldn’t keep his eyes off of nice and fancy clothes for a minute.

“Harry…you’re one fastidious gentleman.”

Local designer Vanessa Froehling has denim on the brain. Stonewashed, herringbone print, chambray, stretch and black denim, to be sure.

In her home studio, Froehling flips through hangers of designs, including sailor-style high-waisted women’s shorts, a men’s blazer and a women’s jumpsuit.

“It’s something that’s in everyone’s closet and it will never go out of style,” says Froehling of the French-born fabric (denim’s etymology comes from “de Nîmes,” the French town where Levis Strauss first procured the tough cotton twill for your 501s). But, she adds, “people are stuck on what denim can do.”

The line is called Carpe Denim and it’s Froehling’s entry into FashioNXT (self-described as “Portland’s Official Fashion Week”) — not to be confused with Portland Fashion Week — three days and nights of runway shows in early October. She will present Carpe Denim in the UpNXT competition, the “emerging designers accelerator,” alongside four other Pacific Northwest designers the evening of Oct. 5.

The fashion week has a cozy relationship with Project Runway, the fashion-designer reality show running since 2004, and, in fact, two of the judges assessing the competition are Seth Aaron (winner of Project Runway season 7) and Michelle Lesniak (winner of season 11).

In 2015, Froehling applied to both Portland Fashion Week and FashioNXT, but was only accepted by the former that time. She says auditioning in front of the FashioNXT judges was intimidating.

“My nerves were like, ‘What do I do with my hands?’” Froehling says, shaking her hands by her sides and laughing. The judges were tough, she recalls, and they recommended that she develop the marketability and cohesion of her line.

Over the past year, she took their advice to heart and decided she would try out again, this time with a denim ready-to-wear line, a departure from the couture gowns that have distinguished her style. She took inspiration from the city — recalling watching the denizens of Portland walk by, falling in love with their street-wear style — and the layers of people, buildings and traffic.

Eight jean looks — five for women and three for men — will walk the runway, but rest assured, this will be no **** of Canadian tuxedos. Although denim is the common thread, the designs feature smart juxtapositions against black leather and a colorful textile that looks like a cross between gas puddles and graffiti.

The self-taught designer has also developed several innovative details: a woman’s denim peplum jacket that unzips at the waist, transforming it into a more casual cropped jacket; women’s stretch leather pants that zip open at the knee, a nod to ripped jeans; and a men’s chambray shirt with the illusion of a double collar creating a fresh origami effect.

This summer, the judges welcomed Froehling on the FashioNXT train.

Froehling says one judge told her that she’s the first designer to return the following year to try out again after being rejected.

“It’s the highest fashion production in Oregon,” she says.

The winner will be announced at the after-party Oct. 5, and the prize package secures a spot for the designer in the main runway show in 2017 and includes business mentorships, feature stories inPortland Monthly and Portland Mercury, and a strategic marketing course at Portland Fashion Institute.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Vibrations coursing through ones body
Crazed mazes and uncontrollable sensations.
Weird feelings in the air and strange tuxedos that don't even fit them.
But who cares, the vibes are sent by what you feel reflecting upon what you see.
You make them.

Take my hand - you've got to
feel fun time's heading
closer
Futuristic daydreams
are at hand -handy!
microchipped wild
boys and girls
on rent - hardly paid off -
dance! Roll the dice!
Flicker eyes!
Adrift on the dimlit
flourescent
effervescent
reflector rays°°°°you're
never lost or at loss;
Coloured circles glide
across the dancefloor__
bouncy boots swoon, high heels
crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~
Enjoys momentary revelations!
Latino lovers attracting
honey dew magnetic more-s
rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~
those cunning shenanigan freckles
pressed redhair beauties against
needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets  
electrified silhouettes stunning
like elves un-fading beauty  
transforming tuxedos
of a tight
night; a jingle of
Prague crystals into
one dancing wave submerged
by the vicinity of hissing tongues  
-been- beaten by fierce kissing
in a stronghold ballroom
frenzy - polarized
beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a
stroboscopic syncopation
ecstatic hips,  
space shuttle
trips

your "friends" that we meet,
i forget their names,
my calloused palms are greased,
by their  squeezing hands

i remember one's a banker,
or he could have said a thief,
his ******* words were flanked,
by my misbelief

i was held hostage,
you were a smiling drone,
i remember when i lost
to Stockholm Syndrome

their Heirloom Suffix changes,
on tuxedos and trust funds,
my rental wears just fine,
i'm not the danger

shorting stocks on tuesday,
while playing ball in hand,
what a shame to lose me,
busted seams this man

I am not a banker,
I am not a saint,
I cannot to be trusted,
I won't place the blame.
I am not a proxy,
I am an astronaut,
But this distant world you live on,
Is far from my plot

Shaquille O'Neal
Wears tuxedos
Just a couple of thoughts
Is there a market for gigantic tuxedos?
There must be,
because they are being made
And worn
Which means somebody had to pay for it
But more to the point
If there is a market for such a thing
Who decides that's what they needed to do?
Make tuxedos for seven footers
What is that guy like?

And what kind of kid was he?

I want him to have a beard.
I want him to read.
I want him to feel the weight of words on his chest.
I want him to always feel his heart skip a beat when I tell him I love him.
I want him to know the value of ‘I love you’.
I want him to be educated.
I want him to look through things.
I want him to overlook superficials.
I want him to be tall.
I want him to be sportive.
I want him to be well built.
I want him to take care of himself,
I want him to take care of me too.
I want him to worthy his family.
I want him to put God first.
I want him to have ambitions.
I want him to feel comfortable with me through silences.
I want him to be home, my home.
I want him to have black hair.
I want him to be social.
I want him to be proud of me.
I want him to have brown eyes.
I want him to make me believe in forever.
I want him to appreciate the little stuff.
I want him to make me feel safe.
I want him to give up his soul to singers singing their sorrow.
I want him to value the little things.
I want him to wear tuxedos.
I want him to wear dress shirts and ties.
I want him to find comfort in pain.
I want him to despise smoking.
I want him to see that enjoying your life is beyond partying and getting drunk.
I want him to keep his promises.
I want him to see women as equal to men as 1 is equal to 1.
I want him to like kids.
I want him to be committed.
I want him to understand the emptiness I feel inside,
I want him to fill it.
I want him to be brave.
I want him to be protective.
I want him to not be ashamed to cry.
I want him to support me.
I want him to get along with the people I love.
I want him to be the missing piece that completes my puzzle.
I want him to be my source of peace.
I want him to hug me tight, and never let go.
I want him to want me.

Or maybe I don’t want any of those things, maybe I just want him to fall for me and catch me as I fall for him too.

I'm thinking of how I return to the spot in the disco ball moonlight
and I'm catching my breath.
I always noticed people who are uptight
using humor as a mask.
This masquerade is filled with gowns of glitter
and tuxedos of black and white.
We dance, we chat, we drink our beloved manhattan and gin.
I'm more than excited to be at the masquerade,
Though I'm hit by past behavior of craziness and belting profanity.
I didn't mean it.
Just want everyone focused on my glitter so I now still wear a mask.
Can we still dance?
Can I have one more drink?
Can they learn to move forward?
Behavior is like a masquerade.
Dress to perfection, and don't drink too much or you'll end the night with humiliation and grief.
Play with your boa but don't chase if it doesn't catch his eye.
Don't lay a hand on her if she refuses a dance with you.
Be kind to the others at the ball.
Smile and whatever is hurting inside,
put a mask on it.
We don't need to ruin everyone's time at the wonderful masquerade.
Some may or may not
Forget.

four feeble pairs of wings
flapping, beaks preening
                                           imaginary things.

mom bird looking old
pop bird real bold
their four offspring
                                are being told

"avoid the black birds
the biggest and the blackest"

they perch on the rooftop
near the gutter, cheeping
                                          loudly all a flutter

even in the bird world
the squeakiest young'un
                                         gets the greasiest grub

diving, landing, more
feeding on demanding,
mom and pop bird are
in charge, "beware of wings
                                               size, LARGE"

finding a wet garden bed,
beaking the broken ground till
tiny pebbles and tiny insects
                                                feed the hunger digest the rest.

Young wings no longer frail,
flight and landings
                               dive and lift, glide
and swoop, and land alight
                                              on the edge of a solo flight
until the three birdboys and one birdgirl
                                                        ­            find a mate, each

(And give mombird and popbird a wel-deserved rest)

                                                          ­                             oh and as for the three bad birds
                                                           ­                            in all black tuxedos, they were chased
                                                          ­                             and they raced away from six fast
                                                            ­                           fearless finches

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 3

Jon had fallen in love with Bian the instant he saw her. Staring at the Hudson River in early evening through his living room window, Jon wondered how it could have happened. Then he thought he could wonder forever, but it would never matter:  Jon knew he was in love, completely in love.

Jon was not only extremely bright, he was also extremely handsome. Beginning in junior high and then at Andover, he had had a number of girlfriends, which was also the case when he was a Columbia undergraduate.

But Bian was magically different from all his former girlfriends, ineffably so. As a poet, he had come to realize one should never force any creation. By extrapolation, he now realized the same was true about being swept away by Bian. It had happened. Rather than try to understand the miraculous, Jon now should just feel blessed and let himself be awash with joy. Let things naturally unfold, Jon concluded.


“Bian?” said Jon.

“Yes, this is she.”

“This is Jon. Do you have a moment to chat?” asked Jon.

“Yes, I do, Jon,” said Bian.

“How are you? How’s your week going?” asked Jon.

“It’s been busy, but that’s the way it usually is. How are you doing?”, asked Bian.

“The same. I have a question. This Saturday night, the New York Philharmonic is performing Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto. Would you like to go hear it with me?” asked Jon.

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“Wonderful!” replied Jon. “The performance begins at 8. If we take a cab, we should leave about 7:30, so I’ll pick you up about 7:15 at Hartley. How does that sound?” said Jon.

“It sounds great,” said Bian.

“Good. I’ll see you then,” said Jon.

Jon sat in the Hartley lobby waiting for Bian. He had gotten there a bit early. He began to reminisce about how Chad enjoyed playing classical music in their dorm room. Jon’s favorite was Beethoven. Over the years, Jon had listened to about every piece Beethoven had composed:  all of his nine symphonies, all of his piano concertos, all the sonatas, and his “Cycle,” all of his chamber-music pieces. Jon had even seen and heard Beethoven’s opera, FIDELIO. Though Beethoven became deaf, he never lost his “passion,” a quality Jon modestly thought he shared with Beethoven.

“Good evening, Jon,” said Bian as she entered the lobby.

“Good evening, Bian. You look lovely,” said Jon. “Shall we head out?”

Bian nodded.

The two walked to Broadway and caught a cab. They arrived at Lincoln Center in minutes. Attending a performance by the New York Philharmonic at Lincoln Center was quintessential New York City. Hundreds of music lovers–some in tuxedos and gowns, other in blue jeans–flooded into David Geffen Hall. After the audience quieted down, Jaap van Sweden, the conductor, strolled to the podium accompanied by generous applause. Then the orchestra began to play.

For Jon, listening to any live concerto by Beethoven put him into a dreamlike trance. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The glorious music wafted over him. In one sense, the performance lasted but seconds; in another, it never ended.

When the performance concluded, Jon asked Bian, “I’d like to take you to Terra Blue, a nightspot in Greenwich Village. Do you think you’d enjoy that?

“Sure. Sounds like fun,” said Bian.

As the two sat at a table in Terra Blue, Bian said, “You know, Jon, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund state that on average 10,000 children around the world die of starvation every day. These global agencies, to my mind and heart, care more about statistics than the well-being of children on Earth. This is unconscionable, and it’s only one of hundreds of injustices perpetrated on the poor throughout the world.”

Jon sat in silence for several moments assimilating both the statistics Bian had just shared, as well as the deep, emotional effect they were having on him.

“I remember too well the stories my father told me about the war as I was growing up–not just the killing, the endless brutality on both sides, the utter destruction not only of human lives, but also of entire villages and the human lives that were ended by both bullets and ******, and the world is continuing to commit atrocities on every continent, in every nation, in countless cities, in small towns–everywhere. Humanity now faces the existential threats of climate change and nuclear holocaust.”

“You’re right, Bian. You’re absolutely right,” said Jon.

The two continued talking about these and other related issues, and Jon realized anew how much he loved her, and now, how much he respected her as a human being.

(a poem I wrote for Auntie Annie’s funeral).

Well you’ve all taken your time… while I’ve been waiting here.
I’m about to trip the light fantastic in all this sparkly gear.
And, because the aches and pains have gone, I’m about to strut my stuff.
I’m dressed in Rose Organza with feathers and pink fluff.

I’m surprised at how well I feel settling into this ‘other’ side.
I’m sure I’ll calm down after some frivolity, then take things in my stride.
For now though the spirit is upbeat testing my wings; making appearances near & far.
First though, a dance contest, tonight at Bridlington Spa!

Yes, I’ll be tripping the light fantastic… I’ve two partners in the wings.
Both husbands in smart tuxedos, brushing up their moves and things.
And I’m hoping we’ll cut a dash on that shimmering stairway to heaven…
Well, Wally was probably a six point five. And *** (my first love)… A SEVEN!

But seriously…my body had reached the bitter end and my memory was little better.
Who was who  - and what was what - was touch and go, and… let a
ninety two year old tell you with chair, zimmer frame or stick…
that the thought of stepping comfortably - toward that light… FANTASTIC!

… and even more seriously…

I’ll look out for all you kids… with a word or voice on the wind as it whistles through the trees.
Catch a glimpse in a crowd… “Was that?” NEVER?!. But It might be just my scent on the breeze.
But for us to be in touch again, however brief, we must be ready and enthusiastic.
I’ll prompt you to think of me as I trip toward that light… FANTASTIC!

Reckoning gaze, learning ropes, knotty pine encasement, knowing what the box looks like from inside is preeminent inimitable. I was so certain last year would be it. Likely even, I thought the same the year before and years before that, all whilst whittling away, planks of this coffin, scratching to get out. Sealed in a fate, this vampiric rising, doomed to eternity of night crawling. Yet, by no means has glamour of Hollywood realm flickered any sheen, this direction. Not all vampires can afford tuxedos. Grosgrain lapels, and red satin lined capes do do wonders for former stars of silver screen, but this succubus prefers his naked lot. Apparently, malignant rogues who lie amongst worms don't always have the wardrobe to go with it. New Year's resolution: a tuxedo, perhaps some tails, and somewhere to wear them.

Everyone,
take up your pencils and paper,
guitar strings and shoelaces,
bow-ties and tuxedos,
your make-up and plastic,
and ready yourselves for the hardest fight yet.
Everyone,
paint on your smiles,
spray your last drops of perfume,
eat a hearty breakfast,
be sure to grab your briefcase,
and ready yourselves for the final battle.
Today,
we fight.
We fight for the rich and the poor,
we fight for the victims of natural disaster,
we fight for your low grades,
your six-figure incomes,
we fight for ourselves,
for a brighter future,
we fight for genocide,
we fight for holocaust,
we fight for disease and famine,
and for religion.
Everyone,
take up your weapons of choice,
cry out your war cries,
dig deep down inside yourselves to summon the rage.
Fight for me,
fight for yourselves,
for everything you believe in.
Fight for love,
fight for war,
fight for peace,
for hatred.
Everyone,
whatever you do,
fight for something.
Because,
I tell you now,
I have lost my vision,
I have lost my purpose,
I have stopped believing.
Fight for me,
fore I have been taken captive by this game we call life.

Thank you for coming along for the ride,
Take your seat sir or madame,
Ride in style,
Take a seat,
it's guaranteed to be worthwhile.

Just stay sitting
enjoy the feast
of ravishing delight
feast your eyes
upon the merriment
simply gaze upon this sight:

The coyotes
they bring the howling
catcalls and beer nonetheless
Simply dashing in tuxedos,
Simply smashing up the guests

Tumble over chairs to see
the magical attraction
of the heat between your knees
that fantastical reaction

Simply dripping with disease
that undeniable distraction,
With the sparkling eyes
and wandering hands
she slips her fingers
in
to a come hither gesture
what lies in store
what lies in wait is in the measure.

Follow her to the depths
assuring your destruction,
instead to find
you find the light,
dysangelion satisfaction.

Walk lines of vapor
And dust.
Thinning thoughts; the sound of rainbow-colored
Pebble stones.

Dive years of light
And crystal *****.
Dying fortunes
Of dead cowboys.

Cringe the skin
Of delicious
Pearls.
Soft flesh;
Blood and nicotine.

Pseudo-faces in tuxedos
And jeans.

Melting numbers,
And frowning echoes
Of frozen suns.

Behold the deceased
Rubble.

The falling lives,
Of drunken mice –
Across the globe.

Lord knows I knew this day would come
Thinking it wouldn’t would make me dumb
What’s left behind is just mere crumbs
And I sit here feeling fully numb

Burned words written on paper
Getting rid of your name on my skin with a scraper
I’m still waiting for these feeling to taper

Can it be you think of me as often as I think of you?
Please tell me what it is I need to do
Because I want to be free of us too

Wedding dresses and white linens
I need to remind myself that this isn’t fiction
But I’m tired of using the proper diction under these conditions

Tuxedos and ties
You’re going to look so handsome I won’t lie
As she walks down the aisle to you
and all your friends and families are in the pews
I’ll be the farthest thing from your mind, I know that’s true

Center pieces and best man speeches
I can’t forget how sweet you were at times, sweeter than peaches
I can’t forget the flames of the summer fires, or how our friends helped you change your flat tire.
I can’t forget how at night when we’d finally retire you’d hold me tighter and tighter.
I can’t forget what it was like to feel chosen by you and maybe my memories are skewed but I swear at one time you loved me too

My heart is broken you’re taking this next step together, I really can’t lie
And I knew it from the moment I saw you with her that she was the real love of your life
And baby that cut me like a knife
Knowing… she’s going to be your wife

You once spoke of being my husband
And darling I got accustomed
To the idea of living forever with you
I got accustomed to the idea you’d help me make the bed in the house we own too
I got accustomed to the idea of your hand being a cooling compress on my forehead as we welcomed a child into this world, I bet their eyes would’ve been blue.

I’ve loved you for so long and what I fear is
that I’ll continuously bring you up year after year. I fear that every time I drink a beer I’ll feel like curling up into a sphere because the taste on my tongue makes me want you near, but honey that’s impossible to do because we aren’t even peers.

I‘ve often wondered what it would take for me to forget how we’d dance with me on your feet or how many nights we spent together in the summer heat. I’ve often wondered just how much you loved me and if you ever forgot what we did in your backseat.

Does she kiss your cigarette burns?
are there parts of my body or heart for which you still yearn? I think you’ve learned to keep the thought of me and our ashes in an urn, and I know I need to accept it’s no longer my turn.

The thought of you is like a drug
I’m drinking up memories of you like beer in a frosted mug
All I can think of is our last hug
And how we swayed along with the sound of the party and how I felt electric like a fully charged battery pulled from a plug

How can I get over this addiction?
The sorrow I feel and all this conviction,
They say all I need are some restrictions.
But how can I forget the way you flashed a smile at me and I’d just spill,  how can I forget the way you said “this is my girl” the night you took that pill and we stayed up all night for the thrill.

How can I forget the way you’d say my name or call me your pastry
You said it was because I was so sweet,
just one kind word from you would make me shaky and now these memories leave me feeling achy.

I wish so much that it would be me, that one day you’d get on one knee and tell all the other girls to leave you be. I thought I was the one that held your heart’s key, but now I know it was never me.

I thought we’d raise children together, I thought we could withstand any stormy weather. But since you’re without me, you’ve been doing so much better. I’d like to think you reminisce when you pull on your sweater, the one I walked in the rain to buy, don’t you remember?

A part of me feels like just laying here and accepting my fate, that your name will forever be tattooed on my tongue and that I’ll never be able to see straight. A part of me feels like accepting my eyes will forever scan the crowds of people walking downtown trying to find your face.

Forgetting your first love shouldn’t take eight years, it shouldn’t take all these tears, and it shouldn’t make my heart feel like it’s being stabbed with a spear. These are the reasons I’ve felt like our love can’t just disappear. It gone somewhere, where I’m not sure, that part is unclear.

Maybe our love has stayed in the woods, and in the sunsets. Maybe our love is in the pool of regrets, or maybe just maybe it’s in its own maisonette. Furnished with all the memories of your once favorite and special brunette.

Maybe our soul tie was never torn, maybe there are parts of you that still mourn the times I made you feel warm. Maybe there are parts of me you absolutely abhor. And yet I feel like I’ll forever be waiting for you by the back door.

I’m praying once you say “I do” I’ll finally be rid of you and I’ll see just how much I grew. I’ll slip on my dancing shoes and sway to the truth of how I was one of the lucky few. I won’t message you out of the blue, I know you and her are together like paper and glue and she’ll be the one to give you your morning brew.

I won’t be the one who washes your clothes, I won’t be the one to comfort you when you’re feeling low. I won’t even be the one to hear you say hello, you’ll forever ***** my heart like a thorn on a rose.

Now that you are affianced there’s no room for me in this newly made alliance. I’m sure as wedding presents you’ll get many a kitchen appliance. You were good at math and I science, it’s been years since I’ve felt the vapors of our dalliance.

You, my love, are filling the role of a spouse, and yet I still remember the feeling of you taking off my blouse. When we met it felt like my first time stepping into a greenhouse, leaves of green and flowers so vibrant, everything so peaceful and silent. You were special like purple violets.

I can’t believe I have to let you go. It’s been so **** long and although my body and heart are screaming no, I must say goodbye to you this I know. You’re the river that flowed  and it’s been years since you’ve run cold.

I’ll work on forgetting you, and how for my seventeenth birthday you bought me flowers that were orange and blue. I’ll work on forgetting all the times you made me feel good, I’ll work on forgetting sitting on your lap and how tall you stood. I’ll work on forgetting associating you with the smell of burnt firewood. And I’ll work on forgetting how much I loved you in my late childhood.

Somewhere in time there is a song playing, a well dressed man and a lady in a gown are dancing slowly in rhythm to the music. There is a live band playing that song - all of the members are dressed in a tuxedo and the piano player is singing. Somewhere in time.

Somewhere there are horns honking, sirens blaring in the distance and a couple in a taxi in the city, heading uptown. New York City - as if there is any other place in the world that can call itself "The City." Outside there is snow softly floating, the temperature is falling and the night is coming on way too soon. On the radio is a memory disguised as a song. He takes her hand and holds it tight. A tear falls from her eyes and he catches it with his kiss.

In another place - somewhere in time - there are children playing in a park, on a spring day, dogs and baseball catches, the sound of a lone performer singing a James Taylor song as lovers walk hand in hand. A central park unlike any other - Can you hear the music?

Somewhere in tune with time, where sweet memories are made, there is a child who is now an elderly man. He is struggling to remember just who he is, once was and if there will ever be a moment in time when he remembers clearly...

But there was a moment in time when he would walk straight, with inner music leading the way - music of love, joy and faith. There was a moment in this vast universe when he changed the course of the stars, made the sun shine even brighter and made the world a better place to be. Cooled the summer and warmed the winter - soft hugs and kisses and music all around. He made the choruses sing and the children laugh...Can you hear the music?

There was a moment in time when he would stand by a window, sweating, accomplished as his children each sang their own songs, moved to their own rhythm, each one leading their own way - yet always united as one.

There was a moment in time when he felt as if he was 'the man.' Just a moment when he felt a happiness, though fleeting it was felt and that moment he replays each time he lays in bed to sleep. Music and rhythm of love.

Autumn - leaves have completely left their trees, the branches are bare and the sun goes down way too soon. Cool evenings, a glow from the TV and shadows on the wall of someone walking - not sure if its past, present or future.

In the valley by the riverbed there is a sole soul sitting on a rock. He looks around him and the hills are filled with people, family, friends and strangers...the sun has just risen and a new day is beginning.

In another room there is a lady shedding tears surrounded by the love they created. She remembers the taxi ride and the way he kissed her tears away...the songs they danced to and the songs they sang out loud - somewhere in time they will be dancing again.

If you listen closely, put down all distractions - you can feel the rhythm. Close your eyes, let go and listen. Can you hear the music playing?

Lone pianist, playing softly and slowly. He's playing a song he once played, long ago...or was just yesterday? He plays the song and is back in time - slow dancing, tuxedos and laughter.

Listen for the music and you will find your way.

Praying for the day where
It's ok to pull people apart from one another.
Hoping that they go out for the last time
and holding hands is out of the question.
We ask why the said their vows at the altar.
Did they have to?
Who was it who really wanted to?
White gown, flowers held by every girl, and ties and tuxedos on every man.
This won't be the only night we have this feeling.
The wedding ends and these two are a mess.
One is gone and devastated the other is gone and with another "mine".
Today, we spoke the truth after every raging phone call knowing there were tears as they were explaining another fight over everything.
The questions turned to much more realistic views.
The sugar coated topping has been melted and barely helped.
We ask,
will they be ok?
Did we do the right thing by supporting them being together?
Why did we wait till now to realize it really
was never meant to be?
We're we right?
They were wrong.
Family gatherings are so different than what we adapted to when we were young.
Now there is extra food
for the new significant other.
Some are afraid to come knowing there will be a fight over everything.
Amiable as we needed to be.
Optimism was how we mended what we would see.
How we noticed as the use the time they are not looking to roll their eyes, complain to another member, or bury their head in their hands over what they did.
Feel not ashamed, but be honest with yourself.
This family supports and is there for all whether married or single, divorced or dating, gay or straight.
We have our tree.
It is short but staying strong and no broken heart or promise breaks the branch anyone has grown on.
We may have our separate ways but we will always have each other.
It's ok.
We know what happened.
Just climb back up on the tree,
because no mater what this is where you will always belong.
Sit on your branch. When you leave take some leaves and bark with you so you know we're always here for you.
We love you.