Sun On Thigh

I felt the warmth of the
Winter sun on my thigh
It felt pretty good I can
Tell you

I was writing a story
About the beginning
Of a love affair
It is part make believe
And part memoir
So there was more
Than the warm sun
To make me feel good

Yet I noticed
As cloud cover came over
That my mood deteriorated
And with it my story
Light turned to dark
In both fact, and in fiction
Yet it will still be there
Forever

But yes, I did feel pretty good
When the winter sun
Shone
And warmed my thigh

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Speed Circles

It was a very logical dream
A very repetitive dream
I think I understood its origins

I would write two or three lines
Then the fourth line I would
Highlight with silver grey marker

I would do this two or three times
Then on the fourth stanza
I would highlight the last
Line with a blue marker

It was as though I was
Telling a story, building
Up towards a big finale
I repeated the dream

Two or three times
Then just before the fourth
Time, the story came to an end

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Discuss

The sun is over my shoulder
I am listening to people
On the radio, they talk about
Barber's Adagio for Strings
Their explanative words are
Interspersed with Samuel's music
The sky ranges from silver
Through blue, to grey, to black
The swirling winds occasionally
Settle into a calm stillness
I am full of cold, and from
Time to time break out
With a raucous cough
The room in which I sit, on
A Harris Tweed settee, is filled
With light, bright-light, and
Soft shade
A performer talks of spreading
Out the cello and violin parts
In order to prevent a beat
To provide a serenity
Much like the light in my room

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Absenteeism

Warm smile
Warm skin
Happy
Still to be alive

Coughing, coughing
Rising from the deep
Cool thoughts
Cold feet

Optical illusion
Clouds don't move
Branches don't move
I can't sit still

That old shed
With its moss covered roof
That old fence
With its memory of sunflowers

All in all
This mirror catches me
As I hear
The upstairs floorboards creaking

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Writing Home To Whoever

I am alone
As alone as I was listening to John Cage
Alone listening to his silence; I never felt so alone
As when I had to explain his Four minutes thirty-three
I escaped, went to a committee meeting
And afterwards, alone, I went on to the opera
I never was so alone, as when I had to explain that story
More so, when I had to explain why I had enjoyed myself so
So I escaped, went to an international convention
And afterwards, we went to a bar in the Bavarian Forest
Stood on the tables, sang our big hearts out, accompanied
By a very excitable, oompah band
Beethoven never got a look in
I was found; I had another beer

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