Villanelle # 3 BS

This is a poem from memory.
When I first wake up, I remember where I am.
A dream ago, I was a car salesman buying my first used car.

I can't see my next step.
I can hear terrifed bodies.
This is a poem from memory.

"Soriah chopped these down."
"Soriah, I love you," whispers I, the water.
This is a poem from memory

I think of it for days, and then I think no more.
I can't. He is done to me.
This is a poem from memory.

But he is not gone.
He stays and lingers, like moldy cheese.
So stay, and dazzle me with quick lines, and a cute smile (a really cute smile)

And you and I can dance on the moon (light) sic?
Or wait, silently, and kiss the air gently.
This is a poem from memory.

Far Be It For Me...

Far be it for me to call a frog a toad.
The way I see it, the difference between the two is small.
Shades of green, and a wart for a spot, don’t make much difference to me.
Both of them go hippity hop.
And they both got a penchant for eatin’ bugs
But far be it for me to call a frog a toad.
I say, you show any ole’ frog to any ole' misses ‘round here
And she’ll say you done brought her a toad.
Shades of green, and a wart for a spot, don’t make much difference to her.
You go and show a child a warty ole’ toad
And he’ll take one look at that hippity hop step, and name it a frog.
But far be it for me to call a frog a toad.
I can hear ‘em both burpin’ in the night
And my grandkids be chasin’ them both out the grass.
No shade of green, or warts for spots, make no difference to ‘em.
No, no, the way I see it, a frog and a toad is enough the same.
I can’t see no use in makin’ a fuss.
But far be it for me to call a frog a toad.
But no shade of green, and no warts for spots, make much difference to an old fool like me.

A Picture Of Home

Acres of tall grass and a blue wind
Is home. I look out past our front yard and I see it,
Whispering my name, the syllables dancing in the air.
I left Sheffield three years ago for Iowa City.
And I’ve been back many times since.
Acres of tall grass and a blue wind
I tell my girlfriends. I don’t think they like hearing it so much,
But if they could see it,
Whispering my name, with the syllables dancing in the air,
They’d long for it, too.
They’d swoon and gaze out across
The acres of tall grass and the blue wind.
Come back home with me, I’d beg my best friend Tracey,
Imagining her feeling like I do when the winds
Whisper my name (the syllables dancing in the air).
She’d never come to know such magic
And she’d leave to start off a new life in Chicago, far away
From the acres of tall grass and a blue wind
Whispering my name, the syllables dancing in the air.