THE FRIENDLY LOUNGE

a corner counter and a stool

that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the patrons’ charm and chatter over a sip or two
and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view,
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

What they say about this place is true.
“You are a stranger here but once,” because of the interesting crew
and the patrons’ charm and chatter over a sip or two
and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view,
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool


** Thanks, Rob (and Debbie, Lee, and Dan), for one of the most productive and enjoyable summers a teacher/coffee drinker/writer could ask for!

The MADRIGAL format

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RAIN DROPS

They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.
But then, again, the sun and snow do, too.

The nightingale is friend and sets me free
to weather days of clouds and changing hues.
They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.

When morning comes, your image fades.  I wean
my thoughts and wash away your voice, renewed.
And then I am reminded by the dew.
They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.
But then, again, the sun and snow do, too.

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SEEN

The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen.

The husband, dad, and son who had been called,
who answered with a conscience proud and clean.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green.

Crossing enemy lines, the chaos stalled.
He heard his baby cry across the sea,
the fatherless who honors land that’s free.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen

to all but those who honor land that’s free.

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TIME

The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face
when knowing you’re gone and can’t be replaced.

Sons grow—already five-seven, five-nine—
these teens, who kiss me still before they race.
The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face.

What happened to the future that was mine?
You chisel away at such a quick pace,
and as you pass, I pray I age with grace.
The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face
when knowing you’re gone and can’t be replaced.

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LIVIA:  MY HEROINE

Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.
I need to live beyond our history.

Your character became my shining star.
Your conflicts kept me from much needed sleep.
Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.

Still flawed, it's true, but I will leave you marred.
It's what we learned about ourselves, you see;
a perfect world was never guaranteed.
Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.
I need to live beyond our history.
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