…I’m sure that tons of yeez Lads and Lassies out there in the virtual Candle-lit Garret universe will understand that just sum’times there’s absolutely no accounting for the whimsy that takes us… p’raps it’s part of the Quill-Scrapers Union membership requirements… to throw sum’thing a bit different into the mixer… my novels are kinda heavy-duty smacking good guys and bad guys around, with multiple blowings-up, and myriad methods of terminating peoples’ breathing (murders and such, Mabel)… the blog is generally reserved for the (supposedly) lighter-veined, humorous sprinklings… so today, I was riffling through some old files and came across a collection of some dust-covered sheets of poetry I wrote ‘way back when… I offer this one here as NUTHIN more than a sop to my own personal whimsy… if yeez enjoy it, that’s just grand… if yeez don’t, that’s okay too, but please don’t complain about it on Facebook or anywhere else that my Granny might see it… this was penned 20 years ago…
a man could stand at the edge of his life,
if he really felt like it.
love meant romance,
and romance was painful
but nothing else cluttered it up.
obligations meant just breathing,
and turning up each day,
experience got in the way,
the hard-edged sort
that leaves a taste in the mouth
who really don’t know any better,
want to throw their hats in the ring
and tell other people how it’s supposed to work.
But then again,
when the Gods are truly kind,
along comes the second chance,
this time the real second chance,
and words are not enough
to tell it like it is.
from time was,