I quit on the finesse of a
Comma or a query mark
Too much like structure
Too constrictive for me
Let me roam the prairies
Of sentences without an
End oh sure they'll begin
And then we'll run on and
Away to enchanted lands
Language is a magic ride
Magical carpets transport
Let's not fuss over where
Our touch down takes us
For always
The theme is time. It's
Love. Remembrance.
Love above all else.
Remembrance else I
Forget not just you.
But us.
What has time taught us
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.
34-Love
All these years, we never dropped
The ball. If it happened to fall, we
Would have been there, saving the
Other the embarrassment when it
Rolled away off the court. It didn't
Winds and rain
Straining for the sun and
Beaten down by winds or
Rain-soaked, tulips wonder
If they came up too soon.
My jacket, less than I need,
Makes me nod at this real
Concern. When the summer
Heats us beyond reason
Will we feel the winds and
Rain, miss the comfort of
Our discomfort, yearn for
Yesterday's wintry spring
Summer
I came for summer
And stayed for fall
Autumn leaves fell
I was still here and
Now it was getting
Cold. The chill did
Not deter. I waited
It out. Spring was
'Round every corner.
I stayed for summer.
May
April was "the cruelest month"
T. S. Eliot had his sway, being
Right only goes so far and now
May comes in teasing, blowing
Hot and cold like a lady in waiting
Flowers, famously made hers
By the showers of anticipation
From the clouds of the month
Before sit unsure of themselves
In beds strewn around tree trunks
Cast too early for their colorful
Debuts, appearing papery and
Transparent in the iffy sunshine
Of overcast May days, seeking
Succor from the chill winds, not
Quite secure in their nesting
Places. Chaucer spoke of the
Renewal that is spring. I say it's
A process and a time of year.
Unusual
Were you expecting rain, or
Hale? Violent weather comes
Uninvited and bids Adieu to
Crops or kills off wildlife and
Man, together. We may not be
Prepared, but someone warned
Of this impending doom. A big
Change was coming. They all
Said climate would affect us
Soon and not in a good way.
What were you expecting?
Saving graces
We can't save our loves from
Their fate, their anxiety. Their
Path is a parallel journey we
Share. We can not even save
Ourselves. Who can steer away
Clear of the shallows and the
Rocks, of life's pitfalls and the
Dangers that come to us all
From living, through life's path.
We see when love isn't enough.
It doesn't stop our heartbreaks.
We are saved by loving but we
Can not save the other or get
Either of us safely home. It all
Happens too fast and moves
At a snail's pace, we seek and
Then we avoid, tripping over
Our desires, protecting and
Worrying. Worrying, unable
To protect ourselves or our
Beloved in life's uncertainties.
Spring pleasures
Our personal juices
Teasing through our
Veins. We are giddy.
Floral scents and that
Chaos of color makes
Us flighty as a puppy
Chasing butterflies.
It's spring; we crave
Love but more than
That. We're unreliable.
It's spring. Our blood
Is pumped for and
Primed. Renewal is
A reward, a privilege
Tamara, really 