How Do I Get There From Here?

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Exchanging pleasantries,

Exchanging consideration,

Compromise and cooperation.

I know how to make the final touches,

A few sharpened lines,

A few brushed flourishes…

One doesn’t need a field guide to know,

And the other doesn’t need warmth for a technical show.  

Perhaps they have both arrived at the place they’re going,

Through commerce they are growing,

As I sit on the riverside ledge, all-knowing.

But where can I step me down to feel the cool water?

How do I  get there from here?

For looking from here is not the same.

Slopes of tall grass obscure a slippery path,

But if my thirst needs quenching,

I would stumble and go.

I’d take my time to touch the wetness,

Before these dry bones turn to ashes,

And the fascination of living passes.

So be one half of my dialectic,

Take the words out of my mouth,

But see me for more than a pigeon race to shore

From a ship, flying, to be seen no more.

Indulge me in non-profit ventures,

In exchange for new adventures,

Steps in journeys without hurry,

Interludes of passion,

And sensual flurry.

 

November 26, 2020

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Luck Be a Lady One Day

 

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In the light of the silvery moon,

By the colors of the rainbow bridge,

Brightening me, enlightening me

To entertain you

By reading a poem about what I would choose:

The toe-picker on the bench,

Over a trip to the airport.

With most planes still grounded,

And the air, hot, around hangers,

And hangers on,

I would be spending the morning with hot Petunia

Than riding to watch a hag’s toe nailed,

But I am saving my energy for hot ‘Lanta

When all I get is Jehovah Witnesses,

Toeing the line of false propheteering.

They’d waste their time on a dubious Jew,  

So I told them where to go and what to do,

So I could talk to you, my friends, one or two,

About a pretty lady to spend a few hours with

In a hotel room,

One of these evenings,

Mornings, or afternoons…

Luck be a lady, I say,

Luck be a lady one day.

 

November 11, 2020

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Looking Presidential

 

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Bats know where they’ll go

With their bellies full of gnats

But a dying nation counts each mail-in

Yet no way home after that.

 

A typhoon passing to the south

Brings needed rain to quench the drought

But the storm between two sorrows

Has no wet tomorrows; only doubt.

 

Business unusual in the cycle of supply and demand

No promise to farmers working the land

No sustenance nor strengthened workers

With no eagle’s grace at hand

 

But bats don’t dicker or mock the sea

Unlike the gluttons of the century

Who wither and worry between two losing choices

And have no sonar to hear clear voices.

 

As dusk signals the end of the bats’ meal airborne

They return to their nests for the dawning of dawn

Grasping nature that suffices without decision

Life and death infamy or derision.

 

November 6, 2020

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Who is Going to Make Me Desire Her

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Who is going to make me desire her

And let my desire reach fruition

With nothing short of infatuation encouraged?

Fine with the details of a fresco engraving,

Painted partially before the plaster dries. 

She is one of a kind to brighten my eyes,

With a pristine wine of her vintage.

Through enveloped creases tucked into the other,

Unlicked until our closure sealed,

Intoxicating like an exotic potion.

Wordlessly breathless into her gaze,

Holdingly conversant with each niche divine.

Who can make my lust take notice?

Warm air rippling between us, excited 

The fragrances waffing from our bodies.

Who can bring it back to life

From the depths with a fawn’s enticement?

November 2, 2020

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