All writing

Redid my house and boarded up the windows.
The flat, brand new TVs will do the trick.
As to the walls, although I'm trapped within those,
repainted in the latest style and chic.

The grass outside gets cut, his name is Jorge.
Deliveries for toiletries and stuff.
My food, as if by magic, to the doorway.
That pizza, I can never get enough.

Grown tired of the constant admonition.
The wisdom of the ages leaves me dry.
I swore, indeed I've made it my life's mission,
to argue, to resist and to defy.

So yes, I sit and brood here, all alone.
Glass windows boarded up, I throw a stone.

in geometry
parallel lines cannot meet
without perspective

some are changing, set to morph
to a brown or yellow dwarf
some are nova, some are giant
bending gravity, defiant
they are far, so very far
but each one wants to be your star

"Hey honey, it's your turn to change the baby."
Indignant, I respond: "Change into what?
A dragon or an elf? A mermaid, maybe?
Can't change her to a princess, she's all that."

I know, of course, the answer to my question.
The diaper on the princess a bit full.
Unless in an extraordinary session,
we each must take a turn, that is the rule.

You'd think the rules of magic would permit it.
A snap of fingers and the diaper's changed.
To pamper it, to clean it or to feed it,
a spell that seems so easily arranged...

Up in her crib, the baby starts to squeal
reminding me that magic can be real.

evening gown, pompadour
and the mask, a nice touch
leaves you begging for more
best not want it too much
and her eyes say it all
she's the belle of the ball

Author notes: image from poetrypoppoetryblog.com

wet concrete beneath my feet
street's a dirty mirror
the reflections, incomplete
although getting clearer
as the streetlamps flicker on
and the day admits it's done

Author notes: image from nextcity.com

I first misplaced myself in college,
(this happens to the best of us).
Was it a lack of carnal knowledge?
Perhaps, but like the rest of us,
I suffered through my English major.
My friends would party, drink and wager,
but I did study, study hard,
while planning to become a bard.
Then daddy said: "get a profession",
and added: "no one wants to write,
but to have written." He was right,
and so when faced with this confession,
I put my barding on a shelf,
and ever since, look for myself.

the rhyming haiku
for those having not a clue
between me and you

"Your situational awareness",
said my exasperated coach,
"it truly sucks, although in fairness,
the effort is beyond reproach."
No, it was not these words exactly,
but said just so, matter-of-factly,
and added, just as even keeled:
"why don't you try for track and field?"
Track didn't serve me any better,
and tennis wouldn't do at all,
since all I did was drop the ball.
though when at last put on a sweater,
found out that skiing fit the bill
and ever since, it's been downhill.

If Hollywood is Babylon
then where, pray tell, is Eden?
Where parties rage from dusk to dawn,
the place to do the deed in
is surely by the famous sign,
lit up by movie lights.
I'll bring the coke, you bring the wine;
for Hollywood, the nights
are as important as the days,
in some ways, even more.
When morning comes and parts our ways,
we surely know the score.
No soul to sell, we pay the price.
A perfect slice of paradise.

I'm told I almost made it to the Fourth.
At night, though not last night, well past eleven,
and far away from Washington's true north,
both mom and baby fine, weighed in at seven.
But Fourth is when I choose to celebrate
the orbits that I've made around the sun,
although of late these do accelerate,
and turning over having just begun
appear to fade into a kind of haze.
The fireworks a colourful distraction.
Each New Year's and each Fourth. Those special days,
competing as they do to round the fraction,
until at last, they'll settle on the whole.
And someone will proclaim: yes, that was all.

a world of difference
between "loose change"
and "lose. change"
but just one oh.