Off to the casino

With arthritic hip, the aging hipster ambles down the gangplank.
Hat pulled low.  Pants sagging lower.
Spiderweb tattoo dripping from flaccid elbow.
Bleached blonde on arm.  Her scent of rancid perfume and cigarette fills the air.
Will they find luck?

Unmarked banjo, circa 1885

Silent and aching
the ancient banjo reclines in the corner
without strings or tailpiece
neck twisted in homage of prior abuse
of steel strings grafted to untruss'd frame

How long has it been since you last felt the warmth of human touch?
Or the quiver of gently plucked string?
For how long have you been silent,
longing to raise your voice
in joy, or sadness or simple prayer?

A covenant I offer.
A pact between us.
For my part, new strings,
a bridge of maple, tailpiece and resurrection.
For yours, you must sing once again.
Sing of your history. Of the day of your birth
and the hands and ears that have loved you. 
I will listen and learn.
And I too will love.

Red Polka Dot Dress

Red polka dot dress
clinging to your shapely frame
I wonder your name

Eagle on Channel Marker #3

Alone, vigilent, regal, cruel.
Sitting watch over cloudy shore
with piercing gaze and unblinking eye.
What have you seen?  For what deeds are you so proud?
Of our many encounters, only once were you accompanied.
Only once felt the companionship of your kind.
And on that occasion of aerial courtship (more struggle than love)
     were you at peace?
Grasping talons seem a cold facsimile of warm embrace,
     flushing skin, quickening pulse.

Are we so different?
Do you not long for loving contact?
Or wish to witness the flight of the newly fledged?
But sit alone, remorseful for what you know not - staring to sea?

Inspiration

My lungs expand. 
I breathe him in and out.
Commingled but constant.
Indistinguishable though definite.
His presence within and without.
An atom here.  A molecule there.
Though years pass quickly his essence remains.
Circulating through me, and mixing with my own.
And in that sanguine commiseration, whom does he meet?
The child I never knew?
Sons of my sons, yet unborn?
For they too are with me.
They too are within me.

Who Gives this Gift?

Who gives this gift of words that linger past dreams?
Of images that loiter through subconscious thoughts
Overstaying their welcome?
A prank of mind.
Hazy in aspect
Ephemeral
Elemental
Unwanted
Welcome

CVB

Unsainted.
Flawed.
A deeply lined face bears witness to four decades and more
of never-ending battle with worry.
For what may come.
For what may not come.
Motherhood devoured her at twenty-eight
and though children grow and grandchildren flourish
she remains in its clutches.
And sits alone.
Drinking coffee
smoking cigarettes
and longing for youth.