Boulevardier on a Bench

... In tomorrow town
Waitin' for the trolley
And the coming Spring
Of the heart's desire.

There are benches
For every metaphor of life -
Benches and cafes
Where a man
Might go to sit and wait,

For serendipity and fate,
Wild dancers and destiny
And English ladies drinking tea ...

"The Last Passenger Pigeon"

The last Passenger Pigeon
Died alone in 1914
At the Cincinnati Zoo.

The only one left and lonely
Of the once many millions,
Spread out majestic and splendorous
Across America’s mid and prairied west,

That with her death,
Last soft breath,
Lifted her up and out
And bore her over,
To the freedom to finally join
Those migrating ghost flocks
Seen on full moon nights
Eternally crossing the Ohio River
Setting John Audubon a-quiver,

For to her silk-ilk
Of feathered minions
She fled
Coming home to echoes
Of “last call”, she sped.

"I built a Shed in the Fall"

I built a shed.
I laid down those planks,
Those cornerstones,
Made that flooring
Upon those beams.

Lifted them heavy
Put them along
And lined them up
And put them strong.

I Built a shed.
Rose up and lifted
Those joists and walls,
Set them proper and tall.
Struck them firm
The decking, the roofing,
Cannot fail, cannot fall.

Lifted up to the eaves,
Rafters and beams

I built a shed in the Fall
Before the Winter comes.

I tacked hard the shingles
On the roof,
Hammered the shakes
Upon the wall.

I built a shed
In the Fall
Right before the Winter,
In my early Winter
I am sixty
That is all.

I built a shed
In the Fall
I ached,
Tho did not suffer
And sore each night
And alone,
I built a shed in the Fall
I am sixty
That is all.

Sore each night
And alone
I dreamt you held me
Once again,
When I was young,
Handsome and tall.

I built a shed
In the Fall
I am older now
That is all.

"Waiting for Lenore" : An Homage to Poe and Blake

Waiting for Lenore,
There is ice
On the widow's walk
Not far from shore,

Looking out onto the sea
For that proverbial ship to come,
Pacing and glancing seaward,
First glimpse, she brings
Warmth to me.

For it has been cold
on the widow’s walk
With metaphor
For voyages home
And welcoming warmth
at the end
Of the wait
of a lifetime.

With renaissance ship,
Her sails of silken garments
Flowing in the breezes.

Of sea saddled vigils
And endless nights
Of cold lookings-out
Onto moon luminations
Of the whales' spout

And gentle mammaled migrant herds
From the iceberg terraced North,
Enroute to warm watered,
Mexican lagoons.

As Dead black night watches
On the chilly widow’s walk
Turn to sun-blind, brilliant days
And the ocean sprays
The notes of salt-bird cries,
Again and against the view
Of weary eyes,
The phantom ship upon
The horizon dies.

Thus unrequited, yet he tries
And steadfast, visions-out
To slip-skim the waters
To where the Seahawk flys.

And later,
From the widow's walk that night,
The Gods of Neptune
Heard him talk to her
Of love and grace.

For upon a shimmered ocean light,
Her resplendent angel's face gave sight
As he wept and stumbled
Towards the shore,
Into the chilled water he dove
and swam out, then deeper
Until he was no more.

Last breath, last words
from his lips were "Lenore,
my Lenore, I pray thee not
to join the fair Elenor".

Be thee not ghost
Nor mermaid
At Poseidon's door -
But return with me
Where once along
The sunny and sandy shore,
We walked hand in hand
Towards tomorrow's evermore.

Tho merely a man
against the sea
This love for you,
These Gods shall not undo
nor damp the glint and sheen
that astride the lights of eternity.

De Novo De La Poem De Licata

De Novo De La Poem De Licata
 
As once stardust
And stardust to be,
Dare to destine
To Coalesce anew,
Light-years and voyages
Of looking for you.

Far within the galaxy,
Throughout immortal time
And nebulas eternity,
Astride the Auroras
And the widow’s walk,
I will wait for thee.

Earth Hearts and Starflowers,
In fields of Summerly
Under Nirvana moonlight
And Starlight’s canopy.

The calling to Camelot –
Quests for Justice and Love.
The same dust that made thee,
Made the Angel and the Dove.

The warrior weeps
To see the face of God,
Children of the universe,
Turn from where
The war has trod.

" Ever See a Cheetah Run? "

Explodes yards
Into a mere few seconds
With a power and grace
Only matched
By the human heart’s
Quest for love...

"The African Cheetah"

Catsped, brilliance to motion
Burning like a comet
Dust-bound
Across the ground
Catsped, quadruped
Fed and fled
By millenniums
Of floods
And blood broods
Of golden and dark-mottle stripings.

Catsped Cheetah-bright
Unfolds, explodes
From sight
To fast-fanned
Colors of whirl
Sling-shoted across
The treeless plainsongs
Of ancient lands.

In flashes of Flurry to fury
Look quickly:The blurry, scurry
Of a cat-in-a-hurry
Catsped and blurringly
Unfolds in the shard
Of seconds
With speed
That freed
The Gods from mortal space
The Grace
Of the Cheetah’s pace
Across the face
Of old-age soil
Catsped springs the coil
Of brightly comets
In the Nightly
Out of the eye
And out of the sightly
Of the right prey’s
Wrong day
Last to see: Catsped

And thunder-bolted
The frightening, lightening
Homing in,
Slow motioned in the brain
Timeless last refrain
In drizzling cold the rain.

Down falls the Zebra!
Upon the African plain.

Down falls the Gazelle!
In Story to story
And ageless to tell
Of death-breath dances
And sad beauties in hold
Last circle to pirouette
Of the meek and the bold.

Beach and Bay

Beach and Bay
Held cupped
In palm opened hands

Betwixt Point Lobos
And the Pebbled shore

Of low flying Pelicans
Sunlight montage and Fog 

" The Water Wagon and Van Gogh Sun "

 

The Water Wagon

Running after the water wagon
Dusting down the meandering roads
Through fruit orchards
And blossoms fallen.

Little daughters
Of Italian and Portuguese immigrants
And the wee boys of the families
Of the Valley of the Heart's delight -
This Santa Clara Valley.

Van Gogh Sun

Without you
What of this coming day

Without you
To walk my way

There will be no sun
As Van Gogh saw
Only Wheat fields gloomed
With the Blackbirds caw

Nor stars to shine
Sans winds to blow
For this, a love lost 
For all to know...

( "Wheat Fields With Crows" -
Painted 1890 by Vincent Van Gogh
Dutch 1853-1890 )

"Old Man Quiet Hungry"

To see so sharp
To boot a ball
To play the harp
To pen some lines
To touch a heart.

To pay the toll
To play the part
And at the end
A rocking chair in the sun
With vague and muted memories
Of what was won.

And with only a few
Hours of Winter sun
I search my heart
and find that you
were the only one.

" Sir Wilton the Cat "

He is not Wilt-the-stilt
Nor Wilton-at-the-Hilton
And with his extra ounces
No longer tries his trounces
And piddles instead of pounces.

And his extra, added girth
Has brought the mirth
To Lady cats
And taunting rats
Who know he slides
Instead of scats.

I guess he's come to be
A paunchy history
And ought to spend his time
In a kitty nursery,
Telling old cat stories
Of younger days and glories...

" Mea Coda "

From fire
To steel
To sculpture
To rust.
From dust
To poet
To dust...