Old Age

"Now what I want is, Facts." – Charles Dickens


Old age

After all it is winter

Temperature drops

The woods splinter

Misplacing props

Reflecting warm times

Regressing to sops

Alone in the cold

Family too busy

Many dreams sold

Dreams in a tizzy

Aches and pains

Foreign and dizzy

Foolish  gains

Never to be

Ice cold reigns

None for thee

All gone hinter

Shift to lee

After all it is winter

Chicken Soup

Such stuff as dreams are made on

– Shakespeare

Chicken Soup

Dressed with carrots, corn and peas

So darned delicious; she brings me to my knees

Onions and okra adorn her too

She makes me feel good through and through

Tomatoes and barley bolster her stock

When I'm with her I don't watch the clock

Healing and happy I want her to see

She makes all pleasant as pleasant can be

I made her with heart; solely from scratch

Tasting so good I'm making the next batch

To have her to hold her to keep her around

 Is better than all night, any night, on the town

Her fragrance is rich she saves me a stitch

Her perfume is sweet  with nutritious meat

Embracing and loving and warm through and through

I'll make her forever, I'll make her for you too.

And Still; A Face

I am not I; thou art not he or she;

they are not they.

– Evelyn Waugh

And Still; A Face

Earl Grey and I sit in a bay window

Overlooking the frozen confection

Covering the floor of the wood

Earl wears a necklace of stevia

And a cloak of warm almond milk

I applaud and embrace his perfume

I, I'm dressed in  thin layers of black

As cold as it is, the birds still do sing

The sun shine radiates brightly

A breeze has begun as promised to do

The wood; all is wagging in quiet rhythm 

To be interrupted by the fanning cadence

Of the gas furnace providing our comfort

Peace on this Sunday, peace and plenty to all.

Romantic February

The course of true love never did run smooth

– Shakespeare

Romantic February

A magic carpet of snow has dressed the wood

An iced precipitation continues to sprinkle down

I saw it, I see it, confectionary white were I've stood

Enough, enough to keep me from going to town

I gaze and laze presented to a day of rest

A  delicious dreamy quiet set all around

I embrace this weather with an open breast

Nature reminding of  less difficult times

Remembering… that they be forgot not, lest.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie

– Shakespeare

Tropical Persuasion 

The sun is shining, sand is pumping, swells keep rolling in, the clouds are billowing, and erosion has been significant. There is a drone, barely audible above the chords of the surf, in the distance where construction of the Indian River Inlet Bridge continues…. Surfers donned in their seal skin like wet suits passel down the pink packed sand to waddle and careen and duck dive onto and into the oncoming barrage of roiling hills of sea water rallied by Igor. Gulls cheep and wander nearby in hopes of a handout. The tide is waning. A lone biker sits on the bridge investigating the potential. A jackhammer hammers away. The breeze is soft and small ; almost directly out of the east The white and silver-gray gulls scamper, like skinny chickens, squabbling over some morsel found in the rack line. There are no kite surfers today as the lack of wind prohibits their wangle. To the north the puffed up undulating clouds have a violet underbelly, to the south their under carriages are more gray. As the tide recedes the hills and valleys of the saline quaffed sea become deeper and steeper. A father and writer whistles loudly, to his son and daughter, then waves them to shore ; it is time to go ; it is hard for them to leave as it is the high point of the day. Nice, long, juicy rides on fun boards. One pelican beats his wings in search of a meal. Food? Time for walk, stretch, brunch …

When shall we three meet again

– Shakespeare

Rain

Campari effect subsided

Awoke…

Precipitation clamorous

Music of the rain

Tinkling notes

Striking odd elements

An enamel shade

The iron garden table

A tin bucket

Gravel drive

Fieldstone walk

Concrete statuary

Copper roof

Stove pipe

Slate patio

Potted arboretums

Grassy green

Firewood

Indian trail

Flowing gutters

Trees laid bare

Babbling brook

No longer audible

Rain’s orchestration

A tick on old glass

With Buddha

Ore the left shoulder

Draped in multiple

Colored Christmas lights

The rain sings

An elaborate song

Making way

To aquifer and brook

Buddha smiles wanly

Chords chime

The song sings

Making time

The rain wings

From the bed

All fluff with pillow

Under shed

Beyond willow

The song of rain

Will entertain

The mind the soul

And earth

Each melody

For her for me

All and free

Cacophony

Onlooker

Sitting in my living room

Rain rat tat tatting ore my head

Dollops of rain ease down

The front window like melting wax

Another sip from a vente quad soy wet cappuccino

Yet another, a drip drops on a jeans covered knee

From an indistinguishable leak

Another drip, cold

Went on a lame adventure

Performance art, strip poker

In a store front window

By a controversialist

Advocating occupy wall street

As the rain rattles down

Contemplation and a frown

The silver-black asphalt reflects

A silvery shroud

Temperature mild

Financial gridlock

Must put air in tires