26 December 2011

Sundown Out On The Town

Sundown Out On The Town
24 December 2011

I drove with friends over the bridge 
To Coronado. Below the ridge
We parked on Pomona and walked 
Past the Boathouse to City Hall 
Where we admired and talked
About the photography stall
Of yesteryear's Tent  City.
The fountain had organic styling
With hexagonal and itty-bitty
Cut rectangular tiling
Morphing into curved metaphors.
We crossed the street and
Passed thru Coronado Shores
To reach the beach sand. 
The low tide was out very far, 
Exposing a broad promenade.
We strolled down the sand bar
Watching the breakers cascade 
Down the shoreline. Next we 
Admired house styles amid
Decorations on the way to coffee. 
As we sipped our hot liquid,
We chatted and took in society.
Back out on the street with bravado
We went to a jewel of the local variety
Known as the Hotel del Coronado. 
There we admired the Christmas tree 
In the lobby, then went downstairs 
And outside by the ice skating locality.
On the west of the rink instead of chairs
We found a bench to sit on as time went by
For the sunset. From a cloudless sky, 
The sun leisurely sank into the ocean.
Back inside we listened to a chorus 
Who were dressed in Dickens fashion.
The holiday lights were decorous 
Against the darkening sky.
People taking photos had to ignore us
As we interrupted passing by.

After all was said and done,
The scene I give first place
Was the natural majesty
Of watching the sun
Going at its own pace
Sinking into the sea.

23 December 2011

Physique Mystique

Physique Mystique
20 December 2011

Following my propensity
And the immensity of intensity
To utmost sensation density
And release of body tenseness
Easing stubborn resident stress,
So I  support and express yes
To the complex 
Natural reflex
And savor sex.

12 December 2011

Bucolic Frolic

Bucolic Frolic
10 December 2011
The occasion was the holidays,
The group was Finest City Squares
For a party at P, B and J’s.
Invited were lesbians and bears.
The hosts were genial and pleasant,
Their condo tastefully decorated
And welcoming to all who were present.
We munched until we were sated
On hors d’oeurves, fruitcake,
Nuts, chips, soda and wine.
Also, the coffee, cheesecake
And cookies were very fine.
Cross-stitching was displayed
And Christmas stockings that had 
Been personalized and handmade.
Carols on the piano added a tad.
The large tree in the living room had
Medallions designed by Wedgewood
And the Metropolitan Museum fad.
Also, pierced ornaments from Waterford
And Lennox, plus a strung popcorn 
And wooden cranberry garland.
In the other room a small tree was reborn.
Above the crocheted skirt and stand.
The ornaments had a duplication of stylization
Shoes of high-healed variation and inspiration.
We were told by way of narration information
That the proliferation, ostentation and veneration
Was a cause of irritation, indignation and protestation
With possible subjugation or mitigation
By reputation litigation, defamation
Or character assassination,
Which was the motivation for the instigation
And machination of a stipulation
Leading to the cessation and limitation 
On the replication, infestation and inundation
Of more such creations and simulations
Causing indications of jubilation
And peace on earth integration.

08 December 2011

Thief Motif

A tale well told bears retelling in a different setting.
Thief Motif
originally by Alfred Noyes 
7 December 2011
The wind was a torrent in darkness among the cedar trees,
The moon was a ghostly countenance upon a cloudy breeze,
The road was a ribbon in the moonlight crossing the range of pasture land,
And the train robber came riding—
The robber came riding, reaching a ranch house by the Rio Grande.
He'd a ten-gallon hat on his head and a bandana at his chin.
He'd jeans of faded blue denim, and a coat of fine buckskin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his calf.
And he rode with a merry jingle—
His spur rowels a-jingle—
His rein bits a-jingle, with an easy chuckle and a cheerful laugh.
Over the ground he clopped and jangled into the dark barnyard.
He tapped on the shutters with his lash, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to an upper window, and who should be waiting there
But the cattle baron's blue-eyed daughter—
Elsie, the cattle baron's daughter—
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long blond hair.
Down in the dark old barnyard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tom, the cowhand listened—his face was white and peaked—
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay,
But he loved the cattle baron's daughter—
The cattle baron's blue-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my lovely sweetheart. I'm after a prize tonight.
I shall be back with the railroad’s gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply and harry me through the day,
i'll be in view by moonlight,
Listen for my cue by moonlight,
I'll come to you by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burned like a brand.
The sweet blond waves of perfume came tumbling over his chest,
Then he kissed its skeins in the moonlight
O sweet blond mane in the moonlight!
Then he tugged at his reins in the moonlight and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a slender ribbon over the dusky range,
The vigilante troops came riding—
The sheriff's men came riding, up to the baron’s grange.
They said no word to the cattle baron; they drank his beer instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement with rifles by their side.
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one scary window,
For Elsie could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had bound a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. But she heard the robber say,
"I'll be in view by moonlight,
Listen for my cue by moonlight,
I'll come to you by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands until her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, time crawling when nothing occurs,
Until, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
Strenuously struggling with all her might! The gun trigger at last was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not push her hedge,
For the road lay plain in the moonlight,
Bare across the terrain in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins in the moonlight, throbbed to her lover's pledge.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse’s hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The train robber came riding—
The vigilantes perked up at the tidings! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger traversed in the moonlight—
Her rifle burst the moonlight—
Burst her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head over the rifle, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Elsie, the cattle baron's daughter,
The cattle baron's blue-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his pistol brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his cravat
When they shot him down in the roadway,
Down like a dog in the roadway,
And he lay in his blood in the roadway, out on the sagebrush flat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly countenance upon a cloudy breeze,
When the road’s a ribbon crossing the range of pasture land,
The train robber comes riding—
The train robber comes riding, reaching a ranch house by the Rio Grande.
Over the ground he clops and jangles in the dark barnyard,
He taps on the shutters with his lash, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the upper window, and who should be waiting there
But the cattle baron's blue-eyed daughter—
Elsie, the cattle baron's daughter—
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long blond hair.

07 December 2011

Clothespress Distress

Clothespress Distress
6 December 2011
I’m in a bit of a pickle,
In a perplexing stew.
You bet your last nickel
I’m unsure of what to do.
Going out, I’m preparing;
A dilemma I’m giving air
As into my closet I’m staring,
Wondering what to wear.

02 December 2011

Wishin' on a MIssion

Today I rhymed more of my great-grandfather Jesse N. Smith's journal.

Uncle John remarked that himself and his
Brothers had always desired that a son
Of the family should be an educated whiz.
For that purpose they sent their one
Youngest brother Stephen to be educated.
However, he died in early manhood.
He wished me to remain and be matriculated
In school here. I greatly desired, if I could,
To get an education, however, I preferred 
To go upon the mission. When I told him 
About my resolution, we each were conferred
A Patriarchal blessing. According to my whim
We proceeded on our journey southward 
With one horse team, one ox team an’ 
A few cows. At Payson which, we were assured, 
Was then the nearest settlement to Parowan.