Abecedarian (poem)

Awing entertaining escapades about town…

Bracing ourselves, as we make swerves down adjacent streets

Crowded with the steam from cars and the breath of the breadth of the populace –

Drowned in their own conversations of their daily occupations, which they will

Ease on into the evening. They speak languages both

Foreign and domestic –

Generating a feel for their particular regional dialectic –

Harped in homespun words and phrases

Inched into one anothers ear with

Jazzed up jive –

Keeping up with an intimate beat

Leered from their neural passageways at

Metered rhythm in a careful string of

Nuanced insinuations and inclinations drawn from a multitude of situations,

On which make up their daily reverberations –

Petered in and out in a particular patter –

Questioning the standard say so …. perhaps a bit

Racy for polite cafe conversation.

So what? All have a particular conceptualization crowding up their mind, which

They feel must be transmitted onto another being

Upon which they feel they must make an intimate connection, even if it is an opinion

Vetted in intense passion…

Waved in wafts of flustered flurries,

Xylophoned in pounding notes,

Yodeled from purported pretenses and

Zeroed on obscure subjects.

The Heroes on Retro Saturday Morning TV. ( poem)

I sit here with remote and reminisce upon Saturday morning TV.

I sit and muse over heroes in tights who fight for right

Through the day and into the night –

Teaching each of us how we ought to be.


I insist we need a hero with a cape to fly high across the skies.

With an emblazoned symbol across their chest –

Who fights for justice and who can be summoned upon request

And able to break through villains greed and lies.


Tell me when will a Superman fly

Through the sky from up above to save us

From the disorder and greed around us?

After all, Lex Luther is mocking us from an office high up in the sky.


When will Captain Planet be summoned up?

After all, Loot and Plunder is running amuck and stashing cash,

As they reduce the forest and sky to trash.

As a child, I thought they were fables a writer summoned up.

To a Cat ( poem)

Dear Feline,

As I gaze into your slit pupils,
You turn your head from me,
Though I filled your bowl with nibbles,
Though I filled your bowl to the brim when you were thirsty,
You denied my arm-bound-comfort and endearing eyes,
Which you consider to be under your class.
You turn head-up, struggle, turn-up tail,
Swing head back, as if to sass.
All I can do is moan and wail
Of the love I am not entitled to.
No! I shall never get a pleasant purr for the dumping of your droppings, ( such is the tale)
Which clutter, spill and spread all over the bathroom in full-view.
What shall I do but sit and stand with head-in-hand and moan
Over the toil and pain invested to make you a comfortable home?


Owner Inclined to Whine

(PS. though I love you dearly)

Sipping Our Tea From Across the Table (poem)

As you and I drink cups of tea from saucer plates –
Sipping, sifting and drifting; as we dash glances eye-to-eye,
As we think up possible plans for this evenings date.
“Do we still love as we once loved? Are we just stiffening our upper lip as days pass by?”

As you and I prepare to head out and go out to different paths,
We drift our mind through the day-by-days and the year-by-years –
Musing, regretting, loving, hating each moment with you; through our temporal path
We have chosen to strive together and halo dear.

As you and I dress and press up to a full-impress state –
Showering, adjusting ties and pressing suits –
Smoothing shirt and skirt… spraying perfume (a taste) –
We smile, as we make an inward sigh and shrug each shoulder under our dermal suit.

As you and I nod and wave and clip our shoes down paved paths,
We drift our mind through the day-by-days and the year-by-years –
Musing, regretting, in our ties, suites, skirts and shirts down the paved path.
“Do we still love as we once loved? What is this life we have haloed dear?”