If perchance
Time offers say,
A laudable way
To find amity,
One may discern
That special place,
Where so decides
Life’s real worth
Be best described
As friendship…
Of rare occasion
Be this a present
Of euphoria,
And far beyond
One of fortuity
Be the substance,
Of an august gift…
Thus bestowed
Upon my life,
Be kismet,
Two score or more
Of years ago,
The wondrous joy
Of lasting friendship
I’ve cherished so,
What serendipity alas
Would have me know!
ode to my friend Pierre Ste.M
Of man we hoped
While we ignored,
The dark side
Of this being,
Thus would suffer
His betrayal,
Whilst he misused
Our naïve trust,
Hence so bestowed
He’d fail be worthy,
Held higher mortal…
Granitic he levels neath
The surface of intent,
An immoral creature
Of life form pitiable,
That but abuses
The innocent beguiled,
Fellow mortals
Who for the while
Find this being,
A peerless creature
Chosen to elect as leader,
To blindly go on trusting!
You’ve lived so far
Being who you are,
Enjoyed the road
That life bestowed,
So why pursue
A search in vain,
That may not reach
To cause explain,
Holds you’ll discover
Where bides the other,
More real than be you!
Why do they call me friend…
What is their cause
Or purpose
To judge me worthy,
That they should levy
Such expression of regard,
Entrust this much
Responsibility
To be bestowed
Upon my person,
Thus be asked to manage
With this impressive status…
And to this title friend,
A singular entitlement,
Who possesses
Such impartiality
Could deem me deserving,
Or capable indeed
To discharge such obligation,
Required and implied
When one is given title,
That of being called friend…
Why do they call me friend!
Poetry on a Canapé 