“ The Hat ” ~ tit for tat ~

 

He wore the hat

To dress his head,

And tit for tat

He wares it now

To hide pilus dead,

Or gone so thin,

It fails be coaxed

To grow back in,

Thus pate regrets

That bushy hair

Of peacock fame,

Held chose delimit

Its germinal game,                                              

Evoking sad recall                                                    

Of his departed mane!

 

“ The Days ” ~ that tell ~

 

What of the days

That tell

Of distant past,

At times so well

You almost feel

No time has passed,

As if a dream

Be made to last,

But at once there

You sadly find

Yourself aware,

You’d left a part

Of you behind,

Though long ago

A sepia’s memory

Will scarcely show,

That part of you

Did endure whole

In spite of time,

Hence of the days

That tell

Of distant past,

Lingers on your mind!

 

“ Man In A Hurry ” ~ is doing us in ~

 

Will we hence find,

Else ne’er know

To tell ‘tis time,

We’ve need to slow

Man in a hurry,

Or soon be thence

When far too late

To tame this state…

 

Yet should one hold

Clocks be set bold,

To fix the pulse

A slower rate,

For all to move

At homologous pace,

Mightn’t we discover

One another,

Thus man in a hurry

In a tranquil place,

To finally face

He is doing us in,

With reckless haste!

 

“ The Search ” ~ for who I be ~

 

Need I pursue

This search

For therein who,

Assume I be,

Thus when in fact

Said a reflection

Of what I see…

 

Must I so find

A valid line,

That reaches

Neath the outer

Of my being,

Hence to explain

Be but thin gain…

 

Shall I then fix

To understand

What purpose

So commands,

This searching

For the real me,

Tho assumed be

The whom ye see

Be so of held validity!

 

“ Not A Cicada ” ~ this tinnitus ~

 

There is a buzz

Said be tinnitus,

A ringing sound

Ne’er holds leave,

Tho has no cause

Save but it does

Till seems a hiss,

Like a cicada’s

Endless kiss,

A grating bound

To drive one mad,

As could be found

Echoes from hell,

This buzz made feel

As would a bell

Of endless peal,

Wants  buried be

Tintinnabulations

And thus so well,

Rather than decapitate

As the alternate stead,

To stop tormenting

My wretched head!

 

“ Words I Borrowed ” ~ to touch your heart ~

 

Words I scribe

Meant not forget

The road I follow,

To flee the depths

There I be yet,

If not for words

Ago inspired,

So perceived

By worthy fellows,

Who fashioned so

Words I borrowed,

Made find inspire

To thus so weave,

Lines wouldst tell

Begs you believe,

Brought an end

To wasted sorrow,

On that fine morrow

Thru words I borrowed

To touch your heart!                                      

                                               ode to Cyrano de Bergerac

                                                        and for Marianne

 

“ Who You See ” ~ may not still be ~

 

The who you see

May not still be

The monolith

You surmised,

And begs perceive

The elapsed time

Ought not surprise,

That who you see

Be but an outer shell

Etched so by time,

Wouldst bare a man

Of plus score years

You thus now see,

Yet seems to hide

A real me inside,

The while who I am

Matters not a damn

Who I was then,

Should mirror now

The who you find to see!