Post by rrw on Apr 12, 2011 8:44:50 GMT -5
Over a month early for my B-Day poem, but I thought I would post it anyway.
At sixty-three, I’m not so sure what time remains
for me or for the likes of we. Yes, never having
learned to read, I find it somewhat difficult to
flawlessly decipher all that godly mumbo-jumbo
scribbled on the restroom stall.
I breathe; I think. My heart still beats. Though
surely not as fast as adolescence galloped past,
my elder years go jogging toward one simple…
simple… what? That sorrow filled inquiry, “Oh,
God, why, oh, why?” Oh, hell! Too many silly
questions asked; too few are ever answered.
There’s no time to speculate, to try and reason
why, or whence, or if… it doesn’t really matter.
Yes, I do confess, I miss my youthful arrogance
which battled through the daily dawn to dusty day…
those many proper, suited dragons, who would gaily
scorch and rape their merry way across the fragile
dreams I dared to dream when dreaming held no future
hope… yet, seemed extremely dreamy all the same.
I miss the smell of warm, unblemished flesh beneath
my fingertips, that gentle sip of slobber from that
pepper-minted mouth, her wet, illusive tongue—
in ‘n’ out, in ‘n’ out— past my smoke stained teeth,
inserted in my sparrow throat which wished to sing,
to find, instead, a strangled moan was all my gullet
could begin to muster up. Gangly arms and legs so
tightly wound around my skinny frame, a Christmas
present richly decorated (not too easily unwrapped).
Such fun it truly was to rip the paper from the box
and revel in the juicy fruits and nuts which flowered
from the depths, so deep within her naughty,
knickers basket…
Ah, much memory a gathering below my balding
pate. No doubt their shadows fade with every day
gone by… I feel their ghostly steps inside my looted
mind… I dream again… as once I dreamed… a child…
a boy… a man who never feared the cawing crows
adrift upon those caustic winds which whisk us off,
propel us all beyond the thought of grave…
—rrw 4-12-11
For his 63rd Birthday
May 23rd, 2011
for me or for the likes of we. Yes, never having
learned to read, I find it somewhat difficult to
flawlessly decipher all that godly mumbo-jumbo
scribbled on the restroom stall.
I breathe; I think. My heart still beats. Though
surely not as fast as adolescence galloped past,
my elder years go jogging toward one simple…
simple… what? That sorrow filled inquiry, “Oh,
God, why, oh, why?” Oh, hell! Too many silly
questions asked; too few are ever answered.
There’s no time to speculate, to try and reason
why, or whence, or if… it doesn’t really matter.
Yes, I do confess, I miss my youthful arrogance
which battled through the daily dawn to dusty day…
those many proper, suited dragons, who would gaily
scorch and rape their merry way across the fragile
dreams I dared to dream when dreaming held no future
hope… yet, seemed extremely dreamy all the same.
I miss the smell of warm, unblemished flesh beneath
my fingertips, that gentle sip of slobber from that
pepper-minted mouth, her wet, illusive tongue—
in ‘n’ out, in ‘n’ out— past my smoke stained teeth,
inserted in my sparrow throat which wished to sing,
to find, instead, a strangled moan was all my gullet
could begin to muster up. Gangly arms and legs so
tightly wound around my skinny frame, a Christmas
present richly decorated (not too easily unwrapped).
Such fun it truly was to rip the paper from the box
and revel in the juicy fruits and nuts which flowered
from the depths, so deep within her naughty,
knickers basket…
Ah, much memory a gathering below my balding
pate. No doubt their shadows fade with every day
gone by… I feel their ghostly steps inside my looted
mind… I dream again… as once I dreamed… a child…
a boy… a man who never feared the cawing crows
adrift upon those caustic winds which whisk us off,
propel us all beyond the thought of grave…
—rrw 4-12-11
For his 63rd Birthday
May 23rd, 2011