Portulaca

Today on my daily long walk of hours,

I encountered a yard covered with flowers,

The flowers looked familiar of days past,

Of memories that in my mind will always last,

It was the Portulaca, my father used to grow,

On our front yard so many years ago,

Every spring he would plant a new bunch,

No scent but carrying a colorful punch,

You could see the beautiful colors from afar,

Even from up the street driving your car,

It is the little things – that we remember,

The little things that make a heart tender,

xox

Advertisements

Books and Music

What kind of books do you like to read?

He whispered in her ear taking the lead,

Oh said she with a smile big and wide,

I like to read green books she said with pride,

Sometimes I also like pink books in spring,

No particular reason it is just my thing,

And music he asked what you like especially?

Mahler? Beethoven? Mozart? Stravinsky?

Oh said she with a smile curly in shape,

I love listening to music on a tape,

Thus she was chosen miss Tennessee,

Chosen for the all world to see

xox

Europe on A Dollar A Day

I remember the days you could see,

Europe on a dollar a day sea to sea,

Then it went up to five dollars per day,

You could visit London and the Russian ballet,

Then came Europe on ten dollars then fifteen,

You could see Paris and have your morning caffeine,

Then the currencies were replaced by the Euro,

So everyone was broke even before the get go,

Today if you go to Europe, it is no less than a hundred,

This is even before – you had the tax added,

It is cheaper today to travel to Latin America,

Peru, Argentina, Bolivia or Costa Rica,

xox

The Wonders of Beer

I have a very distinct taste for beer,

Good beer to my heart I hold very dear,

There are amber beers and dark and stout,

Yellowish and bitter or gentle sweet shroud,

There are imported, domestic some are local,

Some will argue out loud and will turn vocal,

I share my choice with the type of food I eat,

Matching food with the right beer is a treat,

The temperature has to be precise and correct,

Mismatched food and beer and your meal wrecked,

Yet one thing keeps me puzzled and wonderin’,

I drink black Guinness and it comes out white clean,

xox

A New Diet

 Today I was thinking of a new diet,

For now, I decided to just keep quiet,

I do not want to let everyone know,

I keep it a secret this is my show,

However, you I will let know my secret,

You I can trust my reader is no threat,

My secret diet goes well with your coffee,

It’s an Oreo Cookie that taste like anchovy,

xox

Chronicles of a Day in June

There was a family of racoons under the deck,

A mother and three little ones with a grey neck,

All were partying under my son’s deck in the yard,

Obviously staying in Canada, they had no green card,

Earlier I had a meeting of the electric storage alliance,

Still trying to save the world with logic and science,

We discussed raising the water and geothermal heat,

Make water going up instead of down the street,

We sat outside at the meeting under the scorching sun,

I wore no hat my shaved head is now well done,

xox

The Making of a Writer

Impulsively neurotic, obsessively compulsive,

A poet, a writer, a wordsmith, am I being defensive?

It seems one does not go without the other,

Show me an un-neurotic poet I will show you a faker,

One must be a pledged paranoid, a full time zombie,

Little on the positive and very much on the anti,

He must see every little detail with a sharp eye,

The truth must be dealt with you must not deny,

Every minute accounted for every image burned-in,

Where is the tragic ending where does it all begin?

If you cannot commit to being completely nuts,

You are certainly not a writer you are just a putz,

xox