Beans

 The coffee grinder is running

A little longer this morning

And though you’d prefer the quiet

Were they elsewhere

The noise is preferable

Than where they’d have to be

To save your beans

Busy

 Busy busy as a bee

Wishing this bee were here with thee

To bee, or not to bee

Limericks

She wore a bonnet of blue.
To the park and the bank and the zoo.
When they threw her in the clink,
Only then did she think:
Perhaps I should have worn something else too?

Young layers will surely all see
Male companionship's economy.
And should he perchance
At rivers red blanch,
Remind him this ferry ain't free.

My virginal diva is renowned
Her reputation flawless and sound
Though many times she's sung
She's ne'er had her bell rung.
Though many auditions I've perform'd.

On Mourning

It's a small thing on a shelf. Ashes.
Can't quite remember, but I'll try my best. Before I can't quite remember.
Oh look, print outs from a text. Full of noise, copied fifteen times.
Is it forgotten yet?

He was; nothing less.
Inside me, he is: a hobby, a pastime, an infuriating conversation.
Four tries at love, and three tries at life.
Is any of this important enough to forget?

Leader, functionary, driving sprocket
In machines he couldn't decide to despise for a time.
Official, miscreant, willing subject
Of inertia as culture for a time.
A laundry list that will be condensed after a time.
A caricature, useful to me for my time.
What do I choose to forget?

The transmission to the next is imperfect.
Lionized or colored with rose, who's to say different?
Copy errors stack.
Lessons replace history.
You can't take it with you.

On Regret

Recognize that regrets are a trick of the mind,
Sapping your will to act and correct,
A poison much worse than fetters that bind.
Men trapped abed by “What If?” and heart-pained;
Eternity mirrors that endlessly reflect
Recognize that regrets are a trick of the mind.
Weeping cracks, stiff facades, colors drained,
Stress-shattered urges hopelessly suspect:
A poison much worse than fetters that bind.
Woe unto all men who have this ingrained
If only we could, from this state, disconnect
And recognize that regrets are a trick of the mind.
Too far, you might say, to be unconstrained.
To be without checks, never self-inspect
Is a poison much worse than fetters that bind.
Just as a thought, for relief: be unchained!
And bask for a moment in that blissful effect.
Recognize that regrets are a trick of the mind.
A poison much worse than fetters that bind.

Love Letter

I wanted to give you something special:

Not hand-written and stamped,

Nor flowers that fade,

Or a tchotchke to stare at,

But something to hold and touch that would prompt you to scheme
And think of me.

First Four

It has been said mine eyes are stoutest dark,
Like amber but more rich and flecked with gold.
I say they are yet empty, stranger, hark:
Thine beauty they are waiting to behold.