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Edition #2

As I start this, the second edition of THE BLOG, (sounds like a 50s horror movie, doesn’t it?), I’m still not sure where this thing is going. Writing the first one did make it quite clear that I truly miss just writing for the adventure of writing. This is something that I’ve not done for several years. And, honestly, I am sneaking into it. What follows are some poems that I wrote a while back and have edited for this endeavor. Let me know what you think.

As I said, where this thing is going, I’m not sure. But, I can guarantee you there will be a mixture of business, opinions (I’ve been known to have one or two) and more “adventurous” writings!

Enjoy (I hope).

Larry

Elizabeth
You've met Elizabeth
The tall woman
who wears white cotton dresses
and lives on the road to Sweetwater.

She heals, you know.
Practices soulistic medicine
with a cup of tea
on her front porch swing
and spikes of columbines
that glow in the softened light
of early evening.

Elizabeth talks to strangers
as they walk up Sweetwater Road.
Always asks if they are doing well
and if they have time
for a cup of tea
or a columbine.

Love and sharing your life,
she explained as I filled
her ancient china cup,
is the secret of soulistic medicine.

Fortunately, for all of us
who travel the Sweetwater Road,
Elizabeth could never
keep a secret.

Percale Waltz
Would you like to dance with me
and do the percale waltz
until dawn when the morning sun
sends the band out for coffee and
cheese Danish so we can sleep until
noon when the band starts its second set
and the evening begs us stay?

Would you like to dance with me
and do the percale waltz,
making love in three-quarter time
as the rhythm of our hearts,
unabashed and unashamed, mark
the tempo of our joy as they beat
so close, almost touching,
in the gentle comfort of the dark?

Dance with me and we'll discover
how Fred and Ginger aren't the only ones
who know the magic of swaying, swooning
such sweet delight as we do
the percale waltz all through the night.

To Jenny…
I always said her last name wrong.
One too many syllables
and too many consonants in a row.
But she was tall
and lean
and I loved her.

She liked horses and slow dancing
and reading poetry to me
by the fireside light
throughout the Summer.
We kissed only to say goodbye
when the summer was over,
long after all the boats
were out of the water
and when gray clouds
hid behind scarlet and orange
maple leaves.

But we've always loved each other.

I ran into her at an airport
half a continent away
and I learned she still likes
horses and slow dancing
and reading poetry to me
by the bedside light.

IBM* Compatible
(*It's Basically Magic)
Software problems, my dear?
Golly sakes alive.
Could it be some memory
has taken away your drive?
Perhaps your RAM's not to speed
or his tired or floppy,
at 5.5, isn’t all you need.

Let me try to monitor,
in a strictly diagnostic way,
what your sweet computer
is trying hard to say.
Problem's not your software
or even in your mouse.
All programs have potential
if you're careful not to douse.

Let me read your software
for a night or even two.
I'll find every key stroke
your computer needs to do.
And should you need my hardware,
once I've pressed your keys,
if we become binary,
I'll do my best to please.