In the evening the great grey sail is drawn;
Now, Tampa, the rains are beginning to pour.
I hear it thump over the HVAC's yawn
And the jammed traffic from Raymond James' door.
I heard the Bucs won and the final score
Was forty-to-something, though who they played
I don't know; usually there's fans galore
For any visitors, but today I made
My way to work with the game underway.
The rain has given way to blackness, laid
Upon our hut of lights and slow decay.
As easy a Sunday as any here,
Albeit the last Sunday of the year.
Month: December 2024
Goodwill
Smiling with friends is what gets you smiled on;
The will determines, so let it be good.
Goodwill is the path the masters styled on.
How many humdrum days have been withstood,
Bleeding together in monotony;
A good humor repaints them as it should.
Even here in the labor colony,
Life can be life if one allows it to.
Integrate goodwill with economy.
Look at your fellow as part of the crew
Weathering life on our vessel of soul,
Each in search of a piece of what is true.
Friendliness and compassion as the goal
Recreates from our common solitude
A feeling that the universe is whole.
There's much that can be gained and much eschewed,
Doors open and progress may resonate
When approached with positive attitude.
Even when enduring frustrating waits
Or rushing through the chaos of a blur,
There are opportunities to create;
Character that can be built, as it were,
Exercising fellowship and patience,
Growing into the person I'd prefer.
Why not work for positive relations?
There were years when that was impossible.
Happiness allowed the new nascence.
So how did happiness deposit, full
Of life-giving change for my stagnant gloom?
To not say would be irresponsible.
And yet I can't answer; was it the flume
Of love or maybe good drugs, I don't know.
Does anyone understand their own doom?
Peace is sudden and surprising in scope;
Once you have it try not to let it go.
Ducks on the Bridge
The evening breezes tossed our hair about
As we approached the wooden bridge's gate.
On the handrails four of our friends were couched,
Enjoying an eminent perch out late.
But when we sidled up to them to scout,
They shifted around. Though we hoped they'd wait,
George decided he would fly; and his flaps
Peppered his adjacent brothers with slaps.
Percy and Norm were standing beside him
As he opened his wings, readying flight.
They seemed bewildered, though not quite frightened;
I saw Norm raise his crest, though it was slight.
They sat with Marble after abiding
Their brother's barrage of blows feather-light.
At last these three lay down in settled ease;
We left them to sleep with the midnight breeze.
Percy and George
Oh Percy and George, you don't know how much
I want to pet you beautiful creatures,
But both of you ducks are beyond my touch.
If those downy white breasts I should reach for,
I know you boys would avoid me, for such
Are wild animals; yet you are teachers:
It's when I calm myself, when I sit still,
You darlings are wont to join me and chill.
Replaceability
Peril? Let me tell you what's perilous:
The idea of replaceability;
At surface there's nothing to tell amiss,
But in its irrefutability
It necessitates culpability.
In our societal lust for progress,
The strong force the responsibility
Down the line onto the many cogs less
Powerful or advanced than these august
Lords of capital. Then when they're displeased
They dispose of people as a process.
That's how they attained the power they've seized.
And sadly it's true, inevitably
Someone comes to fill the voids that we leave.
The dew is layered upon my windshield
The dew is layered upon my windshield.
The city's blood starts to pump through its veins
Faster, awakening before its yield
To deadlock before nine o'clock's slow pains;
But I am up early, I'm spared these banes.
I've smoked before the rising of the Sun,
And an abundance of daylight remains
To be enjoyed after my work is done.
Today can be a day to champion
Perseverance of personal designs,
Gratitude for a day that is still young.
So much light and warmth left to trace the lines
Of trouble and struggle toward ascent,
With luck an answer to why we've been bent.
Hypochondriac
I used to be a hypochondriac,
Terrified of every blemish or spot,
Until horror became insomniac
Episodes wherein mental illness fought
To drown me in its accreting onslaught.
Now you fret the appearance of a mark
On your hand, inconsolably distraught;
Compelled by anxiety to embark,
Downwardly spiralling into deep, dark
Ruminations on if it's cancerous,
Locked in deathful thoughts' inhibitive arc.
The dermatologist will answer this.
When they investigate all will be well,
We'll move on to the next paranoid hell.
Stork and Spoonbill
The stork and roseate spoonbill must be friends.
There's no way around the display we saw.
As the tall stork stooped to the rippling bends
In a three-point stance with its walking jaw,
The spoonbill came swooping; probing it draws
Like a metal detector its flat beak
Back and forth through the water as it trawls
Behind the wood stork's singular technique.
They carry along this way for a streak
Before they happen on the bank of sand.
Together they create a most unique
Sight: the spoonbill prancing while the stork stands.
Then they both settle, basking in the light,
These two wading birds, one pink and one white.
Norm the Duck
Norman is such a friendly guy,
He seems so eager when we appear.
He'll stretch his neck like a giraffe,
Starting to chuckle with Cory and I,
His feathers wagging in the rear;
Cory says his spirit's half-
Puppy how he reacts when he hears
His name: his eyes squinching with glee,
Tipping his head (on our behalf?)
Our hearts swoon with affection when sweet
Norm laughs.
The Limpkin
The limpkin resembles a toppled vase,
Dappled with white spots on its wings
And woody down; and flowing out
Like a rush of water, its neck,
Brilliantly flecked with flashing white,
Ends in its beautiful beak that curves
Very slightly, harpoonlike, probing
Through shallow waters, silt, and clay
For submerged mollusks to pick apart.
Its legs are fully half its height:
Walking sticks deliberate
In planting their quadrupod toes.
The limpkin was endangered once,
Hunted for its plumage's art.
Capricious supply and demand,
The vilest trait of humankind,
Came close to etching its demise;
But thanks is due to providence
Whose power turns curses around.
When the invasive apple snail
Took Florida, the limpkin found
An ecosystem it could thrive
In again, pulling prodigious
Amounts of shells from the freshwater
Marshes and creeks; if not for that,
I may have never had the chance
To see the little limpkin fly
Over the ripples of the pond,
Gliding down to the verdant banks
To trod with twiggy little legs
At the shoreline; where dragonflies,
Blue and pink, black and red,
Glimmering gold and shining jade,
Flit across the surface and mate,
Coupling in flight and performing
Their strange dance on the water's edge.
A place for my poems 