Bully For Us, Old Chap!

 

Little man, as 

It looks like 

 

You have so little 

To say, don’t you dare

 

Take up all my precious 

Time saying it— 

 

I’m next in line, 

By the way. 

 

 

 

End Of The Line, Mister

 

And for your own good, stop 

All that hollering—you’ll know 

 

When the poem can’t take any more 

Of your meddling when it breaks 

 

You down for good. 

 

 

 

Synesthetic Passion

Dearest Valentines, 

 

Imagine it all 

Going up in smoke, 

 

Could you still smell 

The burning 

 

Ecstasy of vocables 

Crying out? 

 

 

 

Aubade: Old Timers' Rustic Love Song

Between sheets soft 

And warm 

 

Woolen blankets 

In the dead of winter, 

 

And below 

Zero temperatures, 

 

To slowly come alive 

Before the light comforting morning 

 

Rustling of sheep bells while 

Waiting for the woman you love 

 

Nuzzled against you

To wake and join you, 

 

Coupled in awe before all 

That has come about 

 

Between the two of you— 

And still is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Memorium: Passing Hallmark Card Mandate

"Old soldiers never die, they simply fade away"

 

Lest we forget— 

For as long as we can 

 

Live and breathe, 

Let the death of each 

 

Cherished friend breed 

A remembrance 

 

That never dies.