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Sunday, January 18, 2015

Memory

Restless specters in the dark lane of Memory
Turn happy days into the bane of Memory.

The stained attire, the vestments of yesteryear --
Out, out, damned spot! exclaims the thane of Memory.

In care and worry, I have lost my mirth,
A kindred soul to the royal Dane of Memory.

A quarter-century ago we taped our windows
Against roaring Gloria, hurricane of Memory.

Now sweet with joy, now bitter with calamities,
O winds that batter the weathervane of Memory!

Captive and thrall to Daphne's raven tresses,
Behold, the lovesick Niles Crane of Memory.

Where did I, what did I, who was I going to -- aargh!
One more bit of info down the drain of Memory.

The nagging truth-ache of Embarrassment
Doesn't respond to the Novocain of Memory.

Limbs of trees march forth from Birnam Wood,
Converging upon the Dunsinane of Memory.

Our maculate past, defaced by many regrets ...
Will it vanish in the acid rain of Memory?

It is, the sage avers, deeds left undone
Exacerbating most the pain of Memory.

While Thomas breathes, he hopes. The soft gray dawn
Rises above the spacious plain of Memory.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Of the Moment

I am Time's charioteer, Ben-Hur of the moment:
I race through January gales on the spur
of the moment.

Protesters clog Copley Square, mess up traffic:
who can stay aloof from the stir
of the moment?

The Windchasers perform for the Royal Family:
will their keyboardist become the Sir
of the moment?

Pictures on cable news disorient and sicken:
dizzy in cyberspace, I'm lost in the blur
of the moment.

Lady of light, Woman of wisdom, bless us:
Dante sings to his muse, hymns the Her
of the moment.

At Baudelaire's, satellite radio plays the Cure:
wonderfully pretty lovecats give us the purr
of the moment.

Flags of the regiment fall, and white flags rise:
unconditional is our surrender
of the moment.

Sirens enchant the man of the broken stones:
is Thomas worthy to be the listener
of the moment?

In the Silverware Drawer After Dark

The steak knives are playing the Ramones at full blast. The salad forks are dancing with the teaspoons to the tune of "Come On, Ei...