Friday, April 24, 2015

That Dreaded Question

You were the cool
but eminently approachable
dark-haired ambidextrous biker gal
at my now-ex-girlfriend's birthday dinner
that sublime July night
of moderate heat
at Christopher's in Porter Square.

Nursing a ginger ale
or some such drink of dampened effervescence,
you made bold to ask me
That Dreaded Question.
"So! What do you do?"

Intuitively I knew
you were a woman
of capacious sympathy
and of generous understanding.
Therefore, I answered candidly:
"I'm a poet and a curmudgeon
and a sluggard."

Your smile (oh, bless├Ęd soul!)
was warmer than a kiss.
You raised your glass
in gladsome salute:
"Dude! More power to you! Cheers!"

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Scollay Square Sonnet

O lovely cocktail-mixer without rival,
Concocting Rob Roys at the Bowdoin Bar!
Quick wit and lively smile, my tart-tongued star,
Friend to the lonely, thirsty, quirky, idle:

Bellissima signorina! well-versed at
Rebuking Sapphic suitors, lustful drunks:
Queen of the shot-glass, Absolut autocrat
Chatting with poets, mailmen, jocks, failed monks:

My Beatrice in knee-high boots, my joy!
Good Catholic girl, tough as a brass knuckle
(Accent pure Boston, seen-it-all brown eyes):

Pardon the glib praise of a gray-haired boy
With beer-gut held fast by a strained belt-buckle,
And dim sight dazzled by your bright surprise!

Monday, April 20, 2015

Tenth Letter to a Poet

Rays of sun fan out,
breaking to brilliance from beneath
gray-blue masses of cloud in a sky
like an evangelical photograph
of uplifting intent.

Underneath the nimbus,
one can almost discern
an italicized verse
from the 23rd Psalm!

I drink instant coffee
and wonder if my prayers
(while I stand or sit,
while I kneel or lie down)
are case-sensitive passwords
dependent on my posture
for their acceptability.

No, I suspect that even when they're careless,
sloppily presented,
articulated crudely or in haste,
Someone gets them, hears them,
and approves.

first draft 2012
revised 2015

Thicket and Thorp

Who blossomed this frost-branch out of slumber? Must have been one of those crazy artist types, always splashing noisy colours, bl...