Skay Hour 12

Last sentence from: “Very good, Jeeves!” P.G. Wodehouse.

A free flow Saturday in strange times
Brown stains left by coffee cups
On the white window sill
Dialogs with oneself
Dialogs with the world
Dialogs with the people
Ruling one’s head
I ponder thoughts and philosophies
And words and carefully avoided rhymes
My head screams “Stop!”
My clock screams “Done!”
My glass screams “Refill!”
So its closing time, bar the shutters
Shut the door. Cheerio.
Cheerio, sir, if I may use the expression.

Skay Hour 11

 

On my garden’s calls

 

She’s a siren, that Garden
Calling forever to preen
All her troops in unison.

Clematis, roses, fuscias, peppers
Beans and penstemons nod in unison
Herbs and cucumber sing a chorus

Nurture us
Talk to us
Sing to us

We’re your children too

 

 

 

 

Skay Hour 10

Beliefs

My Monstera Adansonii leaves
Have large gaping holes
Where light breaks through on the other side.
Leaves with windows she said.
If you peer through them you can see
The soul of the world outside.
Sometimes you can see the world
Beyond.
That’s why the leaves have slits, she said.
Then she lit camphor to drive spirits away

Skay Hour 9

An exhausted afternoon sun strikes lethargy
In a stifling thick air of the summer cottage
A tired fan groans as it makes yet another
Circle midair in the dense heat.
Fumes rise from the bottle of need
Putrid, rancid, and plain old strange
My head dances a tribal ritual,
A porridge of unrest, tears and obituaries
An escape atop wings to a cool paradise
I raise my glass and down the bitter drink.

Skay Hour 8

Loves sugar, also loves salt

A special dichotomy exists
In a wild flutter of heartbeat
An unsettled unrest
A frenzy to pump
A drive for life
Yet a calm underlying thought
Says all is well because life is.
The calm of the river over a turbulent
Feed of the speedy waves underneath.

The essence of life is Janus.

Skay Hour 7

Season of the Grape

 

You swagger and return a blank smile
To my conversation
All my words have washed off you
I read your face.
I see the signs.
I raise my own glass to my lips.

Burgundy of the drink turns brown
Blood curdled in my goblet
Sweetness turns back
And flees into a rancid bitter
Taste on my tongue
I fling out the liquid and watch
The arc of wine rise through the air
Before settling into a pool on the floor

You’ve slumped. Call of the drink is stronger
Than the call of all the loves
You have gathered.
No person remains, no feeling recalled
Only the distant insistence
Of the glass and the liquid

A beckoning never answered completely
Glass upon glass emptied on the call
Yet never fulfilled.
Wine whips once more
And you lift yet another glass

I watch as it brings you closer
To the Grape…and me,
I’m flung farther each gulp you take
Farther from my glass
Farther from you.

Skay Hour 5

Muscles ripple through gleaming skin

Beads form and sweat trickles

Down a furrowed brow.

Each move shows the ache

In the overstretched sinew

From the strain of the oar

And the burden of your toils

What keeps you going, sailor?

What heartache pumps your blood?

What makes you keep rowing

To where the stars, the water and the land meet?

Skay Hour 4 Epistolary

Baguette and cheese

 

Of photography and particle physics

And respective loves

And pushing out hates

 

Of friendships lasting longer 

Than lives lived.

And of  living forever.

 

Of bolognese and tiramisu

And baguette and cheese

In a brown bag for lunch.

 

Of memories weaving in and out

Of aches that somehow 

Refuse to go away.

Skay Hour 3 The Bop

Of Progressions

 

A glance that began

A smile that helped

And a wee, token word

Yet now we stand here

Deep in our travels from 

Whence the journey spurred

 

Time is the judging quicksand

 

Comfort zones redefined

And warm fuzzies stay

Why look at adventures

When mundane looks safer? 

Daily chats of groceries

Daycare and pencils

Replace songs and stories

Painting shades of candor

 

Time is the judging quicksand

 

I stand at the end 

Of a warping driveway

Watch the story evolve

Questions loom

Tell me someone

Will it all dissolve?

 

Time is the judging quicksand