Wednesday, February 29, 2012


photo public domain
                              He's mild mannered...

                              He's a natty dresser...

                            He's a doctor...

                            He's not a short little guy...

                           He doesn't comb his hair to one side...

                            He doesn't have that same funny looking mustache...

                            He wouldn't ordinarily strike you as a  madman...

                            THE WORLD ISN'T DOING A DAMN THING ABOUT HIM...

Tuesday, February 28, 2012


d'Verse Poets Pub   Poetry Potluck

You, my fantasy island
by the seashore,
by the madness.
You're not from around here--
the planet, I mean. 

You, the mystery of mythic proportions--
like trying to decipher the lyrics to "Chasing Pavements."

You call to me on a super high frequency
that only dogs and angels can hear,
and I hasten to your side
just to let you take me for a ride.
And yes, cowboys do still exist,
but you've decided to give in to me
only on certain patriotic holidays and February 29th.

And you think of compromise
the way a field of daisies is compromised
by a free-standing outhouse--
our conversations a verbal game of paddle ball. 
If I hold your comments to the light
will I see a validating watermark?

And what kind of woman sees that I am falling for her, 
and all she can do is stand back and yell TIMBERRRR???
Yes, I am easy to manipulate--blindly optimistic,
as when Noah said: Yes, but we could sure use the rain.
The hapless grin that indicates an alarming loss of brain cells.

But there are penalties for scofflaws like you
who break the rules of love while smiling so sweetly.
Ooh...don't kiss me now...
who knows where those lips have been?

Sooner or later we must choose
to embrace life, or hold it at arms length,
now and then giving into wild abandon. 
But you say if we dance naked in the rain
who will do our choreography?

Romance is poetry
not ambiguity...
one day the heavens will part
and love will prevail...

May I have this samba?

Wednesday, February 15, 2012


it was warm inside the pub                                                     
a girl was making a fire
people were stamping their feet                                                                                      
all I could see was a swirling grey mist
we can't walk home
she said
the storm is still raging
a sort of gypsy looking woman
who always wore the same puke-green pea coat
she was adamant 
almost aggressive
she expected me to make a decision
but you can't sleep with things like that

she left alone that night
so I didn't get to her before she died
but it set me to thinking
after she'd gone
that no one I'd ever made love to
had croaked yet
far as I knew
still living their lives
with some nameless face
or faceless name

 they're dead to me

i stepped into the misty haze

i turned to see Noah's Ark
standing in my path...
extending me safe harbor?

it is a crime to take your own life
and sometimes a tragedy not to 
bad manners to joke about a thing like that

i turned away from the vision
i lifted my face to the sky
blue lights flickered from overhead wires
i knew that it was dangerous
i closed my eyes
the best kind of oblivion
i saw the sunrise and the sea
i tasted the rain
i saw the passage of all my empty days
i almost forgot that i was running

Author Note: One Night In The Rain is not derived from any actual incident. The narrator is a character. But as every writer knows, there is a little of ourselves in each of our characters. . 

Linking up to d'verse Poets Pub

Monday, February 13, 2012


The greatest love of all
                Her voice soared to the heights
is easy to achieve
          Her mind plummeted to the depths
Learning to love yourself
               And in between--the wasteland
is the greatest love of all...

Thursday, February 9, 2012


the goddam cat
pissed on my pillow
'cause I wouldn't give him
an extra tablespoon of
his favorite canned food

I was trying to draw the line
because I was typing in a poem
and he walked across the keyboard
three times
and then SAT on it
like he always does

he knows I can't get anything done
till I get up and feed 
his obsession

don't know what happened
to that other poem
after I lost my train of thought
so instead you've got this one

thank the little pisser for that

cunningest cat I ever seen...
and one of the fattest

I gotta do some laundry 

Friday, February 3, 2012


Funny Bunny Fridays                                                               d'Verse Poets Pub                             photo by Timoteo

the mobile psychiatrist
comes to you...
lie down in the back of the van