I’m older if not wiser
Can’t *** like a geyser
And I think I can hear the bells toll.

They’re a little less distant
And a bit more insistent
And no longer seem quite as droll.

Out the corner of my eye
I think to espy
A dark figure with malevolent intent.

A voice with a tone
Like the scraping of bone
that leaves me whining and spent.

Is it getting closer?
Is it there in the toaster?
I worry perhaps more than I should.

But I’d be lying
There is no denying
I wish now that I’d done more good.

Gold tinged
just singed light.
The scent of rain washed air.
Padded paws on pavement.
and glittering, twittering,
of unseen passerine*
persuade me that I am not as alone
as I thought.
That gloss of moss
frames my loss,
And dew bejeweled leaves
leave me breathless.
Here I meander and politely philander
with the nature of these sweet things
And I am suddenly
surprisingly
aware!

© Robert C. Leung 2020

I hold you

I hold you in contempt
But I hold you.

I may hold you at arms length
But I’ll never let go.

I hold you just out of reach
And sometimes I do worry.

I hold you this way
because I know no other.

I hold you in the only way I can     at a distance     from both of    us.
But by God, I hold you.

Scorn me, but never doubt
my unfelt embrace.

Hold me any way you can
But hold me.

Some say the heart’s an *****
that plays a catchy song,
It’s very simple. Just two beats
and we must sing along.

Some say the heart’s a teacher
of lessons we should know,
With every beat it doth repeat.
But alas I’m a bit too slow.

Perhaps the heart’s a lover
that seems what they say most,
And so we chase each other round,
till we give up the ghost.

Use your head and not your heart
I think I heard that too,
You’ll be safe and wiser then,
but is that really true?

Do not wear it on your sleeve
was my dear mom’s refrain,
Or you are destined to commit
your sins once more again.

But I say let love pierce you once
or as often as it takes,
For there is not a sweeter pain
than when our hearts do break.

And we are opened for all to see
beneath our sorry soul,
What dares to make us human
and seeks to makes us whole.

In that moment my dear heart
alive in death we are,
And happily may fade away,
glad to have come this far.

Robert C. Leung © Copyright 2017

My breathing is gentle
Though I’m feeling quite mental
As if everything I could rhyme

It’s rapturous and great
I must note it, can’t wait
This experience is quite sublime.

I started to bed
Then things pop in my head
Instead of just popping out

I awaken in fright
In the middle of night
To discover I’m stricken with gout

Oh woe is me
It seems easy to see
That life is not easy at all

And that each step I take
Is just prep for my wake
And I’m one step away from the fall

A fall that won’t end
And a break that won’t mend
That’s all that there is left for me

Down the stairs in the dark
And the dogs they will bark
I’ll die getting up for a ***.

Is this all that’s left
To be sad and bereft
That seems unfair and quite cruel

To lie in your grave
And not misbehave
Neath a tombstone that says you’re a fool

So if you can’t cope
Don’t feel you’re a dope
For most of us don’t have a clue

A tisket a tasket
Just lie in your casket
And hold your breath till your blue

Robert C. Leung © Copyright 2015

The Gains of Loss by Robert C. Leung

As I begin to lose
my sweet memory
The flotsam and jetsam
and ephemery.

The regrets, the injustice,
the pain and despair
The resentments, the insults,
the hurts and the fear.

The timeless reminders
of not good enough
Pale yellow post it says:
“Hasn’t got the right stuff.”

That time that you said
what no one would say
“I don’t really love you
now please go away.”

Most of it gone now,
I can’t quite remember
It whispers to me
from a foggy December.

Am I better off for it?
Well perhaps in some way.
Have I gained from the loss?
It’s a bit hard to say.

I need no longer sit here
and artfully languish
In all the sad fury
of my piquant anguish.

Like my father before me
I’m one of those old timers
Reaping the benefits
of beneficent Alzheimer’s.

Robert C. Leung © Copyright 2015

Like a switchblade my ******* flashed out
Angry, self righteous, without any doubt.

A weapon or protest stabs innocent air,
skewering injustice and all things unfair.

Well oiled and oft used it stands at the ready,
Resolute, on point and ever so steady.

It leaps forth with such speed I could swear the air sang
with defiant rebellion and an audible twang.

It appears on the seen without much provocation,
except for my own insecure invocation.

Ah those were the days with scalpel like ease
and Errol Flynn skill I’d carve all that I please.

A happily buoyant juvenile revolution,
which had much to do with my evolution.

But now quiet and still in its scabbard it sits.
Tired, wrinkled and dull like my wits

Slightly arthritic and just a tad slower,
My weapon of choice now a disdainful glower.

Are there simply less things that annoy me enough
to expose prodigious digit with a great huff?

Do things matter less with the passing of time?
My insurgent uprisings reduced to sad rhyme.

Has peace come at last to this humble shell?
Tranquility now no more raising of hell?

My memories defiant and still fresh, they do linger.
But now it’s unlikely that I’d lift a finger.

© Copyright 2017 Robert C. Leung