Happy New Year........Long, Long Ago

Auld Lang Syne

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?

CHORUS:

For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !
And surely I’ll buy mine !
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine ;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine^† ;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand my trusty friend !
And give us a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

Poem

Gifts in a Dark Time

“The weight we lift with the finger of a dream…”
- from An Ordinary Evening in New Haven, Wallace Stevens

the velvet
parted lips
of the sculpted woman
cool one spot
beneath my chin
in the palm
of your palm.

the silken
brown shoulder-length hair
offers itself over
and over
to be combed, to be
tossed back
and about a black
velvet gown,
a string of pearls.

the burnt
sienna tongue
draws a line in the sand
of my desire, needs
to be crossed
as much as the ‘t’
in betrayal
or fidelity,
life and love lines
of your palm crossing
to make a point.

the silken
chestnut hair offers itself
over the shoulder
and in the palm
of the man to study in
adoration
and afterthought
for times of darkness,
for times of risk
and the creation
of our heart
and imagination.

Poem

Shelter

in the moss
on the backs of trees
I can always find
my way
home
and by memory
of Starry sunlight
in your sextant eyes:
North, South, West,
East. It is
a great comfort
to hear you,
your compass words,
if only in my head
where they always sound
sweet, intrinsic, full
of knowledge
of things I know
nothing of.

Happy Holidays to All!!!!!

Poem

my love II

my love walks with me like the lily
in her hair.
my love stays in my eyes
like the shadow of a hawk on the sand,
graceful and silent,
circling for prey.
my love dances eternally in my hands
like water or sand
as if nothing
could hold her.
my love whispers the meaning of her life
with each breath,
with each word.
my love carries my half of our heart
with her
when we are apart.

Mariscal Breeze

Along the ocean
edge and beach sand
a ghost crab races
a lone white triangle
on the horizon,
the breeze firm
as it kisses waves,
a spotted dog
chasing a ball thrown too far,
the yips
and barks
coming in
and out
with the smell of her
coconut-oiled skin
browning softly
as my loose hair,
beach umbrellas,
the wings
of a passing bi-plane,
distant moriche palm trees
and book pages
dance together
en masse
as she sleeps.

Poem

What Passes Between Us

What you take
for pleasure
I contemplate
in pain.
What you take
for pain
I demonstrate
disdain.
What lies between
us – pleasure,
pain – pales next to
our love, hate
in desire’s flame.

poem

Cold Rain

On the last beach
of the night
the rain collects
in my heart
without teeth
or steely bite
but in a beating
puddle, small ocean,
in the concaves
of this last muscle
to enter any conversation
on a dock
where the fishing boats
smack back
at the ocean,
as pessoas vivem em
casas caverna,
and your lips
meet me
in the cold rain.

To Fire a Clown

The sun is hot and low in the sky
like a spotlight or peephole in the circus tent.

The ringmaster tinkered with the earth’s
orbit to attract people through the front gate.

Spontaneous wells have dried. Tigers combust.
Skulls of ushers have horseflies for eyes.

A barker attempts to shout but can only cough,
hack. Caged turkey vultures cackle and laugh.

The report of a daredevil’s cannon is as silent
as a monkey tree’s faint in a deserted forest.

An elephant sheds its skin on a high-wire
and falls off into an oasis mirage. Trapeze

artists shrivel in the hammock of a safety net.
The Buffalo Bill impersonator sidesaddles a cactus.

The Chippewas have consulted their Sun God
and will not chant and dance to bring rain clouds.

The bearded lady dreams of a waterfall’s roar,
of the squeal of children allowed to bathe

in a smattering of raindrops pocked in the dust,
and of the eternal sucking of air from the straws

of lovers drinking from the same empty glass.
Clouds of cotton candy float past like tumbleweeds.

The moon is a visible stainless steel canteen
and all stars are giant pulsing sponges of light.

A rubber nose and giant tear are my trademarks
but now sweat streaks my mascara and whiteface.

The sweet nonsense of my patented somersault and flop
used to depend upon the darkness of the big-top.