Twilight Idylls Posts

A folk singer clashes with a diminutive hustler over use of his missing guitar pick.

One woman’s struggle to obtain perfection by secretly staring at her neighbor’s table lamp.

The clue
Passed on to you
A note,
A gift,
Anew
Sent to be passed
On
Never solved
Just acknowledged
The mystery
Grew

Waiting on the muse
In bright red shoes
To appear and astonish
Fresh from the place of
Total inspiration
Where the wish
Is a dull cupboard
To cram in
Away from the appallingly
Blissed-out
Confusion

“It’s nice to see the snow…”
“popped off…you think you’re the picture
of health and…”
“You got what I need, shake that
broomstick.”

Woozily waking and wining,
Sucking cigarette and sighing,
Puffing pipe and perspiring,
The artist readies the brush
Colors clash and resolve
Hues arise and dissolve,
Then the late night push
Coffee commando and smoke
Wraps round the easel with hope
That alights on the face
Of the shepherd in forest faraggio
But he isn’t some late coming Caravaggio
A splash of reddest dawn
Still with multicolored boots on
Mist of sweat around the figure
Tugs down his hat but looks bigger
As the canvas clears and fissures

Gumming the spruce gum
He peered up at the space
Between the leaning trees
The sappy look on his face
The wind making his rain gear flappy
The smell of fresh cut wood
And the hush then as breezes sucked
Up into the hills
His heart fills with a warm pucker to its beating
But the moment too fleeting.

The English man’s tea
Must never be sloshed or dribbled
His lips slip moist and witty
The tea must be stirred
With a wooden dowel
Forbidden is the heat
That provokes no howl

Before the amber Hue
Touches cup’s bottom
The English man slapped
With a rainwashed shoe

Oh river of quivering concoction
Oh paralyzed with paroxysm
Deliver this englishman up for auction

Icy branch drips
Bits of wisdom
Onto snow hollow
–
Squirrel tracks own
Tracks past
–
Sack of flurries burst
By young tree
–
Shadow hurries
Back to bird
Loosed by wind
–

Swift bone ache
Weary pallor
Fevery shakes
Chilly all over
Fleeing in the night
To some strange land
And returning
To the burning
Temple
The pull
Up
Of the wooly
Blanket
To the chin
Feeble grin
Sunken
Into the bed
Grabbing
For pillows