Making the Rounds


Round one, shields up
Pass the glass and down the cup
They’re not yet sure who’s foe or friend
And this night may quickly end
In awkward silences and doubt
So drink up, cocktails, wine, and stout!

Round two, here’s the sounds
Of similarities newfound
Cigarettes and movie quotes
The air is thick with jazz and smoke
And cups are emptying with glee
Let the barman bring round three!

And somehow reach rounds four and five
You wonder how they’re still alive
Well past the general niceties
They heading into stormy seas
Of politics and current news
Comparing angers, matching views
And by round six when all that’s done
They’re sitting silent as round one.

Glasses down, wallets out
Gone the cocktails, wine, and stout
And strangers are now almost friends
This is how a good night ends
Yet they hunt through darkened skies
For greasy meat and salty fries
I do not envy them the dawn
When all the rounds have come and gone
But wish them well the next time when
They meet to make the rounds again!

Desperately Catching Up Part I


Oh dear – between illness and work, I have been not doing a good job of getting this place updated on a daily basis. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame.

(That’s strong, but Shakespeare understood words, Man.)

Now then, on to the process of catching up!

Drinking Haikus

Let the world turn on.
I’ll trace the full equator
Around my wine glass.

Rusty flirtation?
Clearly you did not drink your
Social lubricant.

He drinks whiskey neat.
She loves frills and twisty straws.
A perfect bar match.

Waking up

I had an unfortunate dream about you.
There were no giant catfish.
There were no one-toothed gypsies.
No, you soothed my troubles.
And though I was the harbor master,
And mistress of the manifests,
It was you that calmed me down.

I say unfortunate
because I awoke feeling peaceful.
Knowing full well that you
– the real you –
The you I would see
Was not my subconscious evolution of you.
No safe harbor to be gained from you,
But no squalls either.

My mind was calmed by the idea of you,
Yet you do not sail with me.
You are as distant as the lighthouse,
As vague as the foghorn,
And I cannot fathom you holding me
for longer than the three seconds
between my coat and the door.

Sleep deceives and dreams belie
The soundless depths of men.

Asking for Forgiveness

Asking for forgiveness
Forces us to look at the callouses on our souls.
Looking to faith hurts
Because we are hurting
Scared that we might not be healed,
That we may be hurt again,
That we may hurt again.

And we will.

New Earth

To feel the promise of life,
One need only run fingers
Through the decay of the fall.
That rich, cool promise of nourishment
Squishing between one’s fingers.
There is no time for dirt like spring,
When all life is waking
On the bones of the last season,
When Mother Nature is tossing her muddy head, exultant in the thaw!
Let it get up under your nails
And rub into your knuckle creases!
Enjoy it! Revel in it!
For soon it will turn into the cracked and hot summer dirt
And lose a fraction of its glory.
At least, until next spring.