Kissing cousin

 Kissing Cousin

I found I've got a 

Kissing Cousin

But now I'm too old

For lovin'

It would of been grand

To keep it in the family

Only

She lives in a dang 

Mansion in Mississippi 

And I live in a hut

In Flaridee

It would of been hard

To uproot her

From our family.

To boldly go

 Boldly Go

Bold the man who

Tells the lotto jerk

Move on dude

My chocolate milk

Warms.

I listen to the wind

 I’ll be out and about when suddenly 

a line will enter my mind and whisper

then a few moments later the second 

line will arrive. By that time I’ve usually

ceased from the task at hand and I’m 

getting them down before the third

and the forth enter. It’s then the process

slows to less spontaneous effort and

it’s when the word winds have settled 

that the sonnet or even the second 

couplet comes to fruition.

But I’m most grateful through the years

of being given this inner start.

Not standing

 I’m not standing in front of

pear blossoms composing

lines in my mind that the wind

blows in, fading to leave me

with my own uninspired lines

I’m not moving to a place in

Palm Bay or from Palm Bay so

don’t miss me today or any day

I’m just a poor boy

and my story’s often mist old

With wing

 To fly as a gull his desire

To walk as a child his aspire

Hands to shovel sand

Wings to currents ascend

And it was so

Nathaniel

 To the lad of o eleven

I shall ever sing

and for the brief time

The joy you did bring.

From Jeanne and Johnnie

 Ah many the happy hour I squandered 

O’er many a Bonnie field I wandered 

O Jeanne our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair

And bonie bloom’d our roses;

But auld lang came like a

frost in June,

An wither’d a’ our posies.

A grand St Patrick’s day from Bouquet Boy

Combine

 Combining two images.

Moody Blues

 Moody mornings

They are the worst moments

These mid-March mornings

Musing morbidly cursing my

Taming longing again for the 

old purple shades of sin

Flesh wars raging in the warm

Golden morning light

The crow diving over the 

Calm red-shoulder hawk

Making a metaphor for me

Sitting atop that pine 

While Cat Stevens I guess

Will forever chime

Oh baby it's a wild world.

The white

 The morning lights

whiteness that has touched the world

perfectly as air.

In the whitened country

Wendell Berry

Ah Aiden

Ah, today can we not stop and dream

Of a grand land of emerald green

Where yon lads chase the tide

And lassies the blush they hide

The ole home a welcome scene

The thistle but a flowering thing

Ah today, upon your green I rest

Oh Aiden, land of all the fairest

Lips kissed

 I sought to make a list

of all the lips I most missed

who left without e’en a kiss

but oh, how long the list.