SHOUT OUT

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SHOUT OUT

Uneasy, when it came to sex,
You made me feel
I was doing you wrong.
Your body stiffened,
And, I remember, once you said,
“Too incredibly intimate!”

Later I watched in movies,
Men drop to the knees,
It seemed nothing special,
No more than regular business,
Hollywood presents its usual fare.

In a recent film with a Bedouin setting,
North Africa, camels on route,
Over windy hills of sand, oasis to oasis,
Hardly a trend setter,
The lead takes his captive,
Calls her wife number three, and there
Within the walls of his village home,
He keels. While camera spies,
He takes love by mouth.

Since I last had knelt before you,
Months have passed.
I wish I might kneel now,
Just as does the sheik in the movie!

But you, you are gone.
And with you, too, went
Health, and work, and sleep,
They have fled irrevocably!

I wake in the middle of shouts.
                                     
I picture you and our last night at dinner.
I see you there sitting before the table,
And in a fleeting glimpse I recall your delight,
How you savor and chew upon your meal.

 

 I rise up from my bed and return to my desk.
I try to write,
But swoon instead.
My night shirt has the wet of perspiration,
Down my back and well below
The neckline binding at its front.

Were I not lost, driven to distraction,
Were I able to clear the mind
And gain once more a proper bearing,
This poem might read better by far.

'Oh, Oh goodness!'

Though I am up and about,
Ready to write before the computer screen,
I feel a faint. My stomach is turning,

'Fetch a chair!' I say aloud in my empty home office.

'Never mind.  I’m fine.  I’m okay.'
(As if somebody here bothers to listen.)

'It’s just this summer's terrible heat!'

JUNIOR SAYS

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JUNIOR SAYS

Honey, remember,

Remember that girl friend of yours?

She was the one, who, you said,

Had abandoned all hope of love.

A boyfriend had ditched her;

He had dropped her hard.

She felt awful, bitter, and

Whenever she referred to him,

In what amounted to a peculiarity of her despair,

She called him,

Instead of using his own real name,

She nicknamed him “boy”.

Sadness had run her down.

Your friend confessed that

She could not imagine world without him,

That that "boy" was all she ever wanted.

I told you, then, were you to leave,

Quit our home, break your solemn vow,

And go into world without me that

I too would desire sobriquet. I said,

Darling, might you now call me Junior?

I can no longer imagine life

Under my own given name.

My first name, the one you used to call me,

The one which formed upon your lips

Every early morning, and then later

When you wished me good night.

Now, whenever I hear it,

Can you imagine, yes, my own forename,

It only serves to increase my anguish.

Junior says,

He is lonesome.

He misses you terribly.

He awaits your return to his arms.

He knows your love is right.

You remain his heart.

He can not feel a thing without you.

That you had once called him “dear”

Makes him think himself

One of the luckiest men alive!

You alone possess his soul.

You rule his mind.

You trigger his every emotion.

You, his goddess,

You center his prayers.

He sees you as dream come true.

You are the love of his life.

BLUES, Deep and Bad

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BLUES,

Deep and Bad

I got the blues, tonight, honey.

I got the blues, deep and bad.

You’re not here and soon I leave,

I go abroad for a long, long stay.

I doubt we see each other ever again.

I sit at the end of the bed.

The bedroom couch is gone,

Much of the art is removed and sold.

The furniture arrangement, I must report,

No longer resembles anything you once knew.

The whole apartment looks different,

Not at all the same, nothing is the same,

Since you dwelled and laughed with me here.

Vivid recollections, your loveliness,

I need not close my eyes,

I picture you as you stand in your white hotel slippers,

And wash grapes under the faucet in the kitchen sink. 
 

And my loving you, it frequently comes to mind.

That we had fallen and broken apart,

No words reach the depth of my regret.

Listen to the music coming over the TV.

Oh, sweet momma, daddy,

He has caught a wicked case of the blues.

Horns worry a lower pitch, run semitone in a six note scale.

The drum loops hit my entire bodily frame,

And when I fall, drop within myself, my soul clamors,

“A middle note is missing”.

My heart’s down, the shuffle strokes are down,

The rhythm accompanies the lyrics, all of it is down.

How did it all go wrong?

How did it all go wrong?

I doubt we see each other ever again.

I go abroad for a long, long stay.

I got the blues, tonight, honey.

I got the blues deep and bad.