Poetry: Rhyme While You Can

Rhyme While you Can

Love is a powerful driving force
that moves the writers hand
the problem comes when the poet finds
it not at his command
but rather whimsy rules loves path
tempts close and then away
so the writer rhymes while the blood runs hot
or writes another day.

~1993

Blind Man's Bluff

Walking down the street, rain pounds above my head.
I am dry
except for the errant drops that bypass my umbrella.

Yet I grumble along, and as I do
I hear a little tune coming closer;
the cheerful sound of whistling
in contrast to the dismal patter of falling rain.

Turning to find the whistler, who
like a robin singing in springtime,
brings an unanticipated joy to my breast

I see a man, without hat or umbrella,
galoshes or raincoat,
moving down the sidewalk toward me.

Water streams from hair turned shiny black,
running over closed eyes, and shifts midstream
to accommodate pursed lips still issuing their song.

The drops reach his chin
and fall to a coat
stained dark with moisture.

For the first time I notice that his gloveless hand
is curled around a battered aluminum cane,
which he taps right and left before him.

Tapping out a rhythm,
and with the rain,
making music.

Happy Halloween

I sit in the dimness
Surrounded by jack-o-lanterns and costumes
While the sounds and smells of Autumn revelry fill the air
And Cheshire smiles from made-up faces
Shine through at me.

I sit in the dimness
Enveloped in the black cloak
That I cut
From the cloth of loneliness,
And drink.

I sit in the dimness
Where people pass and greet me
Where men stop to talk
With question marks shining from eyes
That scan up and down like yo-yos.

I sit in the dimness
And wish
That my glass would sprout a label saying “drink me”
And upon drinking
I would shrink
And climb inside
Escaping to Wonderland with a splash.

But rather than being made by me
The tiny splashes, barely heard
Are from my tears falling down
One by one

As I sit in the dimness
And weep.

Followed

Little girl in Catholic-school plaid
Hurrying down the sidewalk with books clutched tightly
To an unformed breast

Your eyes peer out at the morning
From beneath a hanging shock of black curls

And small ears listen
To the sound of footsteps
Following steadily behind.

Frowning, you walk faster
Glancing back to see
The shadow of the man speed up also

Noting at the sane time that no friends wait
As they usually do
On the street

But the school looms ahead
And eyeing it
You sigh with relief.

Turning, you stop to give your follower a quick kiss
Before running inside;

Sometimes Daddy can be so embarrassing.
~1984

I Open My Book

Waiting for a bus
To take me away
From the black and the gray
Of the city

I join the queue
Relaxing bit by bit
The lights have not been lit
Yet still I can see

And then I hear the sound;
A braking tire’s squeal
A startled voice’s peal
Before it is quiet again.

Rather than looking around
I pay no attention
The light pole is my stanchion
Upholding disbelief

And as my bus drives past
The truth becomes clear;
The body lying near
Loudly shouts out the facts

As the scene disappears
I slowly turn my head
And hoping she isn’t dead
I open my book.

~1984