Katabatic Currents

The wind picked up 

                           Early this evening

Angry like a tone deaf frustrated cantor

          Leaves were swept 

                                          Down the sidewalks and streets

Giving the illusion that this town cares

      About appearances

Except for the tattle-telling trash 

                             That's been plastered on the fences

That sound, loud like a high-ballin' Tractor-Trailer

 Filling the air

As the zephyrs and gusts 

         Burst through the aether 

Slightly tornadic in their efforts 

To uproot trees and shrubs

Yet not nearly potent enough 

                                     To cause much damage

Failing to reach cyclonical relevance

Though the effort did 

                          Rattle a few windows

The New Year Poem

It's the last weekend of 2024, time to shut the door

     On all our failed diets and friendly sanguinary riots

For another year has passed, time to look beyond

     Mankind conceived of these imaginary timeframes

In order to allow us all to reset, just like video games

We can write off what we didn't finish

     Or we can add another year to the tally 

                             of what we did (or did not) accomplish

We can edit and rewrite our list of things we really want to do

    Or ratchet up our goals and dreams and throw-out those we outgrew 

For as we all know, there is always ample room to improve

It's the last weekend of 2024, time to open up the door

     To new adventures and undertakings, new aspirations and beginnings

For here we are back at the starting line in a new race to be run

      So dig out that marked determination and grit you stashed away

Remember where you put it in the closet this past June (or maybe late May)

 

The new year will be upon us in a few short days

       With life enriching opportunities and chance serendipities, 

                                     unimaginable possibilities and joyous festivities

The future is ours to write and ours to create

     There are endless choices to avoid or to make

Cast aside doubts and reservations for there are new memories to generate

 

 

 

The Problem With Christmas

 

   The problem I've always had with Christmas (by "always" I mean since I became a thinking, rational adult, so about 4 or 5 weeks now) is that it forces you to confront two very different questions

   The first is; How much is this person (gift recipient) worth to me?

   The second is; How much am I (as a gift recipient) worth to that individual?

   It's quite the conundrum, eh?

   Should probably just stick to cards. Cards are the great Christmas equalizer.

'Tis The Season For Yard Inflatables...And Such

Three Playfully Lewd Limericks

 There once was a comely Miss from Spain

Who lifted her skirt while riding the train

Though it was considered rude to stare

The old porter didn't much care

And asked if she would do it again

A quite homely girl from the heights

Was disregarded, even in tights

But upon their removal

She was met with joyous approval

For revealing such wonderful sights

There was a plump stripper from Glengarry

Who decided to start counting every calorie

Her fans cried it was unjust

For if she lost half her bust

There would be no point to her lingerie

The Memory That Would Not Fade

She had a way of whispering goodbye

That made it impossible for you to deny

Everything and anything you two ever meant

Would live on in your head

Until the day you die

The Clarifying Reveal