soft grumbles

This house is as old as a man who can
barely stand and walk with his cane.

Its stucco walls used to smell
of acrylic and enamel

vandalized with crayons by tiny hands,

muted by family squabbles keeping family affairs within,

deafened by a blasting sensurround stereo,

that sent the dogs barking

much to the dismay of Miss Cruz,

the spinster neighbor who always concluded:

"he's high on reefers once more,

mesmerized by the devil's songs:

'Electric Funeral, Paranoid and Fairies Wear Boots'"

when in fact, all he did was wonder

about apples and cream and Mrs. Wagner Pies.

Rectangular-roofed tile windows miss a few
like teeth that have fallen off with age.

From where the scent of the matriarch's cooking flowed,

or the clatter of silverware,

the clanging of glasses were heard

together with the busy chatter of wagging tongues

that always accompanied dinner.

the green lawn where a broken swing sat unnoticed
has been dressed differently with time.

First festooned with balloons

and littered with spaghetti noodles,

coupled with puttanesca sauce and candy wrappers

on his seventh birthday,

stenched of retch and booze by drunken guests

on his 21st and the following year,

adorned with roses on his wedding day.

Roof that's worn like a hat over its head,
repaired countless times,
now looks like a man with a toupee

that withstood storms that ran at least 200 miles,

defied sweltering heat of the summer sun

Its Victorian door squeaks
welcomed so many and bade goodbye to a few

Yes, this house is old
but so am I

# posted by rolly @ 10:05 AM

How I miss being awakened
by the song of a warbler,
perched on top of a tree,

by the smell of jasmine in the air
or the scent of crisp leaves,
recently touched by morning dew

I miss watching a waterfall
plummet into earth.
I want to listen to its untiring rhythm,
sense its power and make my heart pound
by its thunderous roar.

I miss swimming in an ocean
teeming with fish.
I bemoan the measly few,
choking on lead vomited by a nearby mine
caught by hungry fisher folks
who are almost flesh and bones.

I miss the sound of seagulls
for their wings are wrapped, trapped by oil
spilled by a huge vessel
ferrying a promise of life
in easyville street..

I shall miss having seen
crystal glaciers as old as time
before they totally disintegrate
collapsed by the warming zone.

I have missed seeing a world
devoid of sin, hunger and greed.
All I can see are men
who dind themselves superior
simply because they were born
with a fancy name.

I shall miss them all if I don’t stop
dreaming of things that will never be
only to realize
all I have to do is wake up
and rise at the other side of the bed
and find a new me.

my son has set off on a journey
not on a plane, train, ship or car
neither by bus, not even by tram

all he has is what he has -
smidgen of morsels
from his father's tales
or his mother's caresses
to tell him she cares

armed with his bow and violin
he glides his way with
dulcet notes, pulsating vibratos,
pixelled pizzicatos and arrogant arpeggios
unleashing a fierce brute
or a beautiful maiden –
letting loose the yin and yang

he has a long way to go
with different paths to take
he may stumble along the way
but he will never know
the broth is sour or
that the sauce is sweet until
he has dipped his spoon in it
so I will have to let go

in the meantime
I watch him fulfill a dream

I once had

rolly