Poems

it's so easy to fall in love
and write cheesy couplets thereof
much, much harder to say it well
in my ardor, I broke the spell

The streets of Edinburgh, craggy
deliver countless tales to swoon.
Hear now the tale of half-hanged Maggie
who didn't want to leave too soon.
Maggie was sentenced for concealing
a pregnancy -- still birth revealing
adultery.  Widow, she was,
that -- in the day -- sufficient cause.
They hung her.  Put her in a coffin,
and carted off for last respects
but just when nobody expects
(though in tall tales, this happens often)
she wakes.  And never hung again.
They called it justice, now and then.

Author notes: Onegin Sonnet https://www.scotsman.com/whats-on/arts-and-entertainment/half-hangit-maggie-scots-woman-who-survived-hanging-622567

"Come, sail away", he said to her,
the foreigner, as cold as ice.
"Don't stop", she said, "Cause I feel love,
the Styx will lead to paradise.
Don't leave me this way, in the summer,
to carry on your wayward son."
"But it's so easy", he said, coldly,
"a rich girl, you can be the one."
A barracuda, was he really?
He gave a little bit, and left.
The hall, as empty as her heart.
She's his wild oats, and now, bereft.

Author notes: 1. Don’t Stop by Fleetwood Mac 2. I Feel Love by Donna Summer 3. Come Sail Away by Styx 4. Cold as Ice by Foreigner 5. Don’t Leave Me This Way by Thelma Houston 6. Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas 7. It’s So Easy by Linda Ronstadt 8. Give a Little Bit by Supertramp 9. Barracuda by Heart 10. Rich Girl by Hall and Oates

I once walked -- just like an Egyptian
in mimicking a Bangles song,
and reenacted an inscription.
The mummies woke, and came along.
The dead and buried, two dimensions,
perspective lacking in those days,
they mummified, with good intentions,
and hid their treasures in a maze.
Tutankhamun or Tutankhaten
seem hardly relevant, and yet,
the pyramids above Manhattan
are built so that we won't forget.

this is what men do
while women do their shopping
then carry their bags

half-hanged Maggie was her name
this is how her story went
the event that brought her fame
you might think was heaven-sent
'tis a tale of subterfuge
a town judge that was a scrooge
but in justice did relent

she was hanged: adultery,
the concealing of a child
was the charge: what doltery
she was hanged for it, but smiled
in the coffin, she woke up
the town judge -- he then spoke up
double jeopardy -- thus filed

Author notes: https://www.scotsman.com/whats-on/arts-and-entertainment/half-hangit-maggie-scots-woman-who-survived-hanging-622567

a waterfall that flows downhill
does not engender a raised eyebrow
and yet, the flow of dollar bills
continues to surprise the highbrow
like a black hole, the budget does
attract all matter to an orbit
it's all about "I Have", "He Has"
nor is it time to write an obit
for justice: justice ever bends
to what I'd call the laws of nature
and execution -- yes -- depends
not on some quirk of legislature
but on where the black hole resides.

So put away their bona fides
no advocate or legal scholar
will supersede the mighty dollar.
Once you have learned this lesson well,
no, life does not, of sudden, swell
into utopian perfection.
Put it aside. Get a canoe
and ride the rapids to the finish.
Dissatisfaction will diminish.
You'll get your turn into the queue.

And that, at least, is my reflection.

along the sculpted Scottish coast, they are no strangers to the boast
but whisper Duncan or Macbeth, and there's that telltale catch of breath
yes, something wicked this way comes, cue in the beating of the drums
the witches prick their thumbs and chant, and Duncan seeks escape, but can't

Author notes: the fuller version: https://allpoetry.com/poem/16258137-Duncans-Ghost-by-Coolmails

The time comes soon, when humankind
will hand over the torch.
What Sistine chapels would its mind
conceive of? Will it scorch all that we've done
and all that we've created?
Or will it let us carry on: no longer masters. Sated.

bright dreams shattered
glass  cracking
sunlight scattered
blame not lacking
but the picture's gets clearer
search for fault? look in the mirror.

Author notes: Image from thisiscollosal.com

a potent chemical attraction
the touching hands, though, demand action
at last she gives up, in a rant:
"Please, please, please use -- deodorant!"

Author notes: Image from stockunlimited.com

each man an island, but the mind
will try to ascertain and find
a common tongue with which to prattle
the will to talk is half the battle
but in the end, what you will hear
is either boobs, or butt, or beer