Quixotic JestersQuixotic jesters, my foolish kin, traipse ever through your loopy days, but linger not in foolish ways,
I do not chide nor call it sin, (I too myself indulge herein) But oh, so much beyond your walls
Is found break free from bathroom stalls, abound, and filter out
Into the streets and crowds and shout.
Don't languish in your sullen room, professing love and hurt and doom.
Tarry not in squalid thoughts,
Profess, digress, or be forgot.
A New Age in RomanceIn an age of romance that's bludgeoned to death
I've always found words insufficient, bereft
Of the depth that I wish to convey,
Nay, gestures, caresses say all I could say.
"A moonlit veranda", a "stroll through the sands",
My dear I'm Italian, I talk with my hands!
Now this discourse while seeming a hypocrite's song,
Is quite to the contrary, because I was wrong:
Yes, words, overused, mistreated abused,
Have lessened their weight and left some unenthused.
Your heart would not flutter (I'd probably shudder)
To hear love-sodden lines first by Romeo uttered.
So instead of a ballad of pomp and devotion,
Let me divulge this one simple notion:
I love you, I cherish the time by your side,
Be it painting or cycling or hearing Clem Snide.
You're the garments a feline puts on before bed,
You're the knees of an insect on honey that's fed.
True ColoursRefuse I am refuse I am refuse I refuse
The judgment day of slanderous decay
Is all I have to lose.
My banging heart it beats anon
Not strong, but weak I'm weak I'm weak
And all my secrets I will keep.
I bleat I bleat, look at my feet
Solitary grief is sweet.
A slender thread of strongest twine,
It cuts into my fingers
As I reel in the line.
It lingers in the waters deep,
I'll be dragged under, ere I sleep.