Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

her hair was burning auburn,
sunlit curls, framed alabaster,
a painting of emerald orbs
and I didn't know if it was 25 or 6 to 4
or what that even meant, all
these years, Chicago won't
answer my calls, so I tried to speak
to her, "Hello"...came out feeble
without any diaphragm or luster,
so I flashed my friendliest smile
and to my amazement she smiled back
and she said, " How ya doin' ?
like blackstrap molasses dripping
from summer nimbus, and I said, "Fine"
and she gave me this grin
like angels probably do....as she
boarded her bus....that was
fifty years ago,
that was yesterday

Love that
Twinkle in the eye

I was thinking about today
People moving out accross from me
Dog is barking
The sky is quiet
Cacoon like
Celebrating fixing canvas
Moving forward
In a world
That makes no sense
But we are moving around

sense is hard to make
in a world of trump-like
characters and epic flooding
in a world of suicide bombers
and road rage, how do we
find our center, how do we
find our joy....sometimes
it's in memories of better days

had a few wet days up here
so to pass the time
I dug out my old journals
and went back
to 1998
Markem Corporation's lone physicist
lovin' my job
lovin' a woman
who wouldn't love me back
oh, I tried
oh, I cried
when I finally admitted defeat
and with rain drummng overhead
on the skylight
how it all came back
the good and the bad
the ups and the downs
the yins and the yangs
sipping this bittersweet brew
savoring its smoky/musty taste
existing in superposition
of then and now
in what we call
nostalgia

A perfect poem.

Indeed the poem holds life like a baby, we are amazed at how quickly they grow but they are still a wonder.

What they said - this was so well drawn & playful, I couldn't resist adding a bookend. Besides, that auburn-tressed, alabaster-skinned beauty could have been describing my own succuba...