Who am I to talk?
Or talk so much,
Taking pride in it,
In the telling, the
Observing, just a
Matter of looking.
Just looking, I say
Seeing the skyline,
Seeing everything
Today as if for the
First time. Today.
It's all new-to-me,
News, to me, today
As if for the first
Time. Every day, a
New scene seen.
Who am I to talk,
If I've never been
Here, seen here
Before today,?
You will say it is not but
Summers that mark our
Life. There's winters too.
You will be wise. I will be
Foolish. But as it is my life
And I will mark it, year upon
Year, by the passing of the
Summers. Cool nights, and
Warm days. Idyllic summers
Day follows day, each in its
Succession makes my life
Warm days cool nights
Succeed each other to
No greater purpose than
To make up a summer
And summer succeeding
One upon the other to no
Greater or lesser purpose
Than to make up a life
My hair was more interesting
Before I ran a brush through
To create some order out of
The nightly chaos. It seems
That order bores and chaos
Revitalizes. Who knew? I did,
I think, and I am sure you did
Too. Yet we disparage all that
Is chaotic. We crave order in
The little things that make us
Domesticated. We say "A place
For everything and everything
in its place." We say it with the
Grim self-satisfaction of chaos
Conquered. Order everywhere.
She walks her summer walk
More a languid strut full of
Hips and promise. Languid
And languorous, relaxed yet
Sultry. She moves slowly in
The heat, in measured steps.
Her allure is as evident, as
It is subdued. She is in no
Hurry to captivate or arouse
It's eight o' somewhere or
Perhaps 5pm as drinkers
Share. Grab a gin, mix in a
Tonic. Salud. But time does
Not just mark the rotations
For cocktail hour or bedtime
If you're sleepy. It is a valued
Tool when you've wanted to
Knock off work or plant crops
It's junior only to a season's
Measure but more intimate
And personal in its breadth.
You know that it's 5 o'clock
Somewhere. Raise a glass
Or just dim the lights and
Head home. Closing time.
Learn more about moon cycles here.
Moon is a crescent, or it's
Full, round as the globe
Which, of course, is its true
Shape. The moon is a ball
Like the earth. Round and
Round it goes, what you see
Is its shadows as light will
Obscure or reveal, as light
Does. The full moon is our
Curiosity. We revel in tales
Of its magical powers, its
Influence to madden and
Inflame. A full moon will
Happen every month, and
There's a term we derive
Of its powerful rotations.
Months hang on a calendar.
The moon cycles through.
Moon hangs out in our sky.
Too disciplined to bring all
That chaos we'll pin on it.
Seventeen. I give you
Thirty-four. Double or nothing.
Nothing short of great
But a better thing
Is sticking to form, discipline
Not my thing I know
Tamara, really