My thoughts
Rise from the shore;
Again, as before,

They cross the bay,
Seek out a crest
And come to rest.

One gull
Glides into view—
Could it be you

Searching
The misty sea
For me?

You turn away
Into the haze,
Uncertain
As always.

Darkness calls to darkness,
Whilst death calls to death.
Another one falls helpless
And I steal a last man’s breath.

One more visit left to pay
Scrooge—a man without a heart
He will be freed this very day
If he but does his part.

Cowardly, he hides
Beneath his bed and I
Slip into his room
And take him where he lies.

He protests, and he cries
But not a word says I;
I drag him to my side,
To see where he will die.

The guy on the radio said
he’d like to go out the way his cat did
Nineteen years old, and never had bad hips,
or the other usual problems

The guy on the radio just came home one day
and found his cat had left him,
right there on the porch
in his favorite place to lie, as peaceful as could be

That’s the way I’d like to go
A good life lived, for the most part
let it go with something like a plan

Contentment; such true essence
I have found in your horn of plenty!
Ecstasy exhilarates my mind,
rising zephyrs gently touch
upon my life’s shore—I have been
awakened by the vying morning sun.

Here is love and here is life,
here are my dreams, gently swayed
by calmest waters that lift
my life’s raft toward the heavens,
and at long last I may see
enrapturing visions—

Eyes—oh, blessed eyes of man
that can behold Elysium
whence all joy and pleasure
beyond measure come—
I am content.

Drink to me with your bright eyes;
let’s celebrate the fruit of vine;
God Bacchus sealed up in a vat
this tasty, noble Riesling wine.
Drink to me; let our glasses rise
and clank in praise of wine from Rhine,
lest faithful love should be forgot,
O dearest friend and wife of mine.

I've read so much bad poetry
Plenty of it my own,
I’m guilty of most of these missteps

Stop using ten-dollar words
to impress with your vocabulary
And please, spend a moment
checking your spelling!

Rhyming is fine in limited doses
Using it too many times
makes me prefer trichinosis

I want to find you, to see who you are
and feel your tales, your thoughts,
and see your images in words

Sleeping next to me
her body rarely moves
echoing the stillness
and dark quiet of the night

I pull her gently closer to me
trying desperately to feel her calm

The beasts of the night are held back
by steel reins of contentment
now welcome, sleep finds me again

Oh, bogus Christmas Spirit pass me by,
I see lacklustre wrapped in mindless cheer.
If I rebel, I have good reasons why;
I won’t allow your jolly madness near.
It’s true, I love St. Nick and Tiny Tim,
But spare me that cha-chinking of the till.
You packrats, frantic in wild shopping whim,
You humbugs who snuffed out my own goodwill,
If your trite gifts are meant to touch my purse
And yield return, I shall ignore the pinch;
Bah Humbug! you will get, meant as a curse.
But IF you want to buy stuff for the Grinch,

After checking the oil for the chain
and a quick pull on the starter rope
my father’s chainsaw cuts through the branches
stainless steel teeth offer no quarter

The quickly turning blade suggests danger in unsure hands
regardless, his grip is firm and confident
Swift and experienced strokes
make short work of the green and sap-filled wood

Fine powder sawdust drifts across my arms
we stack the severed pieces in neat and orderly piles
I envy the purposefulness of it all

He stands across the room
A backlit twinkle in his eyes,
with a glow in his cheeks of polyethylene

Memories rushing forward
of dearest family and friends
Most are still here with me
but too many have departed

The specter of Christmas Past visits,
trying to haunt my thoughts
Despite the spirit’s best efforts
and winter so grey and unrelenting
I am not saddened by their absence

The company of Light-Up Santa
assures that I will still feel
those I’ve lost again
like toes warmed by the fire