TIME WELL SPENTJupiter and Moon guided me all the way homeMy Christmas dinner was not spent aloneWe wined and we dinedAnd heard Christmas GuitarShe ate all the cranberriesWith a har-de har-harA ring round the moonPromises precipitation too soonThe temperature chillsI climb concrete hillsUpon opening the doorThe scent of rosemary did pourStill warm as toastBecause the turkey did roastHome all aloneThe holiday spentNo time to bemoanMust focus on rentBack to the grindWith a keen mindTo live and let liveYet dam up the sieve.Then live to tell,
“It came without ribbons, it came without tags, it came without packages boxes or bags.” However, by virtue of a few fine friends and some very generous clients I’ll be just fine and dandy, blessed with a very merry little Christmas, and a gay Yuletide: while warm and well fed, focusing on Christmas present. Thank you from the bottom of my needy human heart, thank you with all my heart, thank you for whom you are, you know who you are. All my love and may peace ensconce your hearth and home this season and all throughout the new year and forever…
No Shelter From The StormOnce upon a timeAn old man stranded in serfdomForgotten, left behind,Ravaged by the scorn,Abandoned without love,No shelter from the storm.Trapped within their worldLiving in their fantasiesNo place else to hideNo one on their sideHiding from reality.
Stepping off the worn and weathered boards, traversing the finely groomed sugary white sand, dropping my petals and unfolding my tent at the mean high tide wrack line, I paused to revere an armada of peering pelicans floating puposefully, about eighty-five meters, offshore in a calming sea. Days before Leslie had quickened her pace from eighteen to forty-five knots per hour and raced past our Mid Atlantic shores, zeroing in on Newfoundland, leaving us with heavy surf and roiling rip currents; now the ocean had receeded and the undertow subsided. The fleet of pelicans eyed me carefully as I dove and body surfed salty swells without being swept swiftly to the south as I had been the previous days. The sun shone brightly with nary a cloud in a cerulean sky. Wet, pink sand, packed firmly, made for easy walking since the tide was low. The water wavered like ten trillion sparkling diamonds. Gulls gulled and fifty-five kites flew at fifth street. Boats powered north, sightseeing, then returned south to the inlet. Bicycles of every color of the rainbow, rumbled north and south and south and north, peddling over the grayed and splintered boardwalk. Readers read and sunburned faces smiled with pleasure from the light north east breeze that cooly fanned their warm faces. September… a fine time to be present.
I hope you are sleeping well. You should be – if the rain is not too loud . I woke because it was too warm and I was perspiring. The rain is rapping on the roof, walls and skylight of the tree house like it is trying to get in. The dilapidated gutters are overrunning and the water is slapping the wooden balustrade and deck of the veranda like ten thousand angry palms across ten thousand innocent faces. The ground is saturated and the cement walk is flooded. It continues to rain.