Kitchen rigs' hop

Crotchetty fridge's
    clackety-clack
catchy hook
    as if on track
with radio's jazz
    trumpet solo
floating by
    sweetlier made
in liquid notes
    to splashing faucet's
funky metre
    plop plop plop per…
lop
oh yeah
    premiere performance
this once only
    my kitchen rigs' hop
man     if I can jive
    wonky joints in rhythm
at eighty-two
    and still get with 'm
ah yes     I'm alive

mmviii

*Upon getting a spanking new fridge that turned out defective.

And here we are

Next to precious breath
    next thing to cherish
no    not love imperishable
    nor dearth of punitive hurt
nothing fabulous
    like indulgent life
after the fact

yes    affirmation
    blood's pounding tide
active confirmation
    without doubt of inference
after sedulous thought
    instance at one go
here I am     therefore there am i


mmviii

Blissful bed

Bllissful bed where luxury lies
    in thrallèd virtue of your eyes
rebellion lurks at issue whence
you return gentled virtue out of violence
and undo hair    restrained from flair
    so to observe and drawn thither behold
bold shyness hidden        invitation's trust
    in reticence turns and lightning thrust
as breast to breast prudence is cast
    perforce aside        and also pride
loss becomes least and more glory beside
    fond versus vain    all else at rest
perquisite's gain engaged stands fast
    and so proclaims love's gleeful heart
at your invitation tussle is won
    betousled and fragrant to awake as one

mmvii

To Joceline

Say . . . joss!
    let's give the rules a holiday!    from you
who take the cake
    like a faith in the exhuberance of living
simply for enjoyment's sake
    to me who peck at the crumbs
grudgingly
    as if committing a sinful act of pleasure
tell me    when are the tables turned
    you know: the unmerry-go-round mad hatterwise
picking up someone else's empty cup
    with apologies

to dodge the questioning
    let's pretend we're the guests
call the waitress
    we'll set out the goodies on our sensual table
the limit's our ability to pay in laughter
    we'll pile sensation to the skies
forgetting all about the cost
    until we've had a bellyful of what we're after!
the moral's clear    move over gal!
    as long as imperfection rules the roost
the gamest cocks get to crow . . . let's go!

mcmlxiii, rev. mmvii