On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 3:08:34 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 3:04:16 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 12:33:46 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq.. wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 11:33:27 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > > Evil grins, umbrage and such an assortment of sins
> > > > On it's head, the world and the truth now spins
> > > > Freedom is at mercy of the not so tender druthers
> > > > Of hanging judges of the business of one another
> > > > Know that the noose can sway both ways
> > > > But the gallows only falls one way
> > > >
> > > > So crusaders and heretics, know this to be true
> > > > Your savior took a spear for you and so can you
> > > > Pharisees still rule and know not what they do,
> > > > Just remember that when they crucify you too.
> > > >
> > > > Too soon it all will come to pass
> > > > so soon none of it will matter
> > > > like dust to the wind scattered
> > > > like sand of the shore, to be shorn by the storm
> > > > swallowed into the dark forgotten depths of the ocean
> > > >
> > > > I speak of sincerity in purpose
> > > > selflessness in word and deed
> > > > Purity of purpose, serenity of being
> > > > Free of the terrible weight of the world
> > > > To shed its shackles and rise above its discord
> > > >
> > > > And I finally gotten to know the rest of peace
> > > > But your bleeding hearts just had to drag me back
> > > > Perhaps because you couldn't face your griefs
> > > > Your foolish hearts have poisoned the well
> > > > Filled it with wishes of what you believe
> > > >
> > > > ~~Ash Wurthing
> > > The Wallpaper Knew Halloween Night
> > >
> > >
> > > THE CRIME WITNESSED:
> > >
> > > I wondered
> > > if yellowed horror
> > > could be extracted
> > > from aged wallpaper--
> > > the scream
> > > from last breath,
> > > the busy tones
> > > of detective's huddle
> > > over a heap of
> > > all that's left
> > > of the resident.
> > >
> > > I saw the shadow
> > > that night,
> > > a quick run from room
> > > to room,
> > > not giving thought
> > > of carnage,
> > > until flashes of red,
> > > slapped at my eyes.
> > >
> > > And they called,
> > > wanting to talk to me,
> > > the shadows I saw
> > > intrigued those assigned
> > > and I had to get the story
> > > straight--
> > > my whereabouts
> > > on a rainy night of mayhem.
> > >
> > > I hid the dress.
> > >
> > > THE INTERROGATION:
> > >
> > > "So, sir, you saw a shadow,
> > > could you make out anything?"
> > >
> > > "Just a run, back and forth
> > > from window to window."
> > >
> > > "And you watched?"
> > >
> > > "Yes."
> > >
> > > "You say run."
> > >
> > > "Well faster than a walk."
> > >
> > > "And did you see this person leave?"
> > >
> > > "No."
> > >
> > > "And you left."
> > >
> > > "To go home, yes."
> > >
> > > "But our background check
> > > says you live there."
> > >
> > > "Where?"
> > >
> > > "That house up the hill."
> > >
> > > "I did, once."
> > >
> > > "You say once... many years ago?"
> > >
> > > "Yes, but I moved out."
> > >
> > > "May we search your home?"
> > >
> > > They'll get a search warrant, I know.
> > >
> > > "Sure."
> > >
> > > "Your free to go at this point."
> > >
> > > I've got to get to that dress.
> > >
> > > She wore that dress many years ago
> > > and I stole it the night she threw me out,
> > > my own mother casting me out as if an old
> > > fish dinner and once a night
> > > I'd smell her sweet perfume stained
> > > on that dress,
> > > until it turned foul with my sweat.
> > >
> > > THE SHADOWS:
> > >
> > > "Mother?'
> > >
> > > "Why are you here?"
> > >
> > > "To kill you, as you killed me."
> > >
> > > And she struggled from room to room, with a scream to no one
> > > and I followed, with blow after blow
> > > until the scream whimpered to silence
> > > and I was finally free from the agony of her.
> > >
> > > Those shadows, me and her and the chase
> > > for love or nothing. No compromise.
> > > She left me no choice.
> > >
> > > AFTERMATH:
> > >
> > > They'll be here soon, those cops,
> > > I'll dress pretty, maybe
> > > splash on a little perfume--
> > > she wore it once you know,
> > > when she loved me.
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
>
>
> > Ghost Parade
> >
> >
> > Squeals ricocheted
> > off falling confetti
> > as Joltin Joe rode
> > an open-air Cadillac
> > down the canyon of heroes’
> > while back out of sight
> > down an alley,
> > a song was sung
> > from the cracked lips
> > of a city minstrel.
> >
> > The outside cheering reached
> > his ears and it became
> > a make-believe concert
> > starring the back-alley Dylan
> > cranking out
> > another poetic gamble
> > from the narrow honky tonk
> > of filled ash cans
> > as the parade, outside,
> > continued
> > until dusk brought
> > the street cleaners
> > and left-over stumble
> > of revelers.
> >
> > But he was the lucky one
> > this day,
> > confetti makes a fine bed
> > and after all
> > there was a concert again
> > tomorrow night,
> > long after that Yankee slugger
> > is served breakfast in bed,
> > with a wink
> > from Marilyn.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 3:04:16 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 12:33:46 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 11:33:27 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > Evil grins, umbrage and such an assortment of sins
> > > On it's head, the world and the truth now spins
> > > Freedom is at mercy of the not so tender druthers
> > > Of hanging judges of the business of one another
> > > Know that the noose can sway both ways
> > > But the gallows only falls one way
> > >
> > > So crusaders and heretics, know this to be true
> > > Your savior took a spear for you and so can you
> > > Pharisees still rule and know not what they do,
> > > Just remember that when they crucify you too.
> > >
> > > Too soon it all will come to pass
> > > so soon none of it will matter
> > > like dust to the wind scattered
> > > like sand of the shore, to be shorn by the storm
> > > swallowed into the dark forgotten depths of the ocean
> > >
> > > I speak of sincerity in purpose
> > > selflessness in word and deed
> > > Purity of purpose, serenity of being
> > > Free of the terrible weight of the world
> > > To shed its shackles and rise above its discord
> > >
> > > And I finally gotten to know the rest of peace
> > > But your bleeding hearts just had to drag me back
> > > Perhaps because you couldn't face your griefs
> > > Your foolish hearts have poisoned the well
> > > Filled it with wishes of what you believe
> > >
> > > ~~Ash Wurthing
> > The Wallpaper Knew Halloween Night
> >
> >
> > THE CRIME WITNESSED:
> >
> > I wondered
> > if yellowed horror
> > could be extracted
> > from aged wallpaper--
> > the scream
> > from last breath,
> > the busy tones
> > of detective's huddle
> > over a heap of
> > all that's left
> > of the resident.
> >
> > I saw the shadow
> > that night,
> > a quick run from room
> > to room,
> > not giving thought
> > of carnage,
> > until flashes of red,
> > slapped at my eyes.
> >
> > And they called,
> > wanting to talk to me,
> > the shadows I saw
> > intrigued those assigned
> > and I had to get the story
> > straight--
> > my whereabouts
> > on a rainy night of mayhem.
> >
> > I hid the dress.
> >
> > THE INTERROGATION:
> >
> > "So, sir, you saw a shadow,
> > could you make out anything?"
> >
> > "Just a run, back and forth
> > from window to window."
> >
> > "And you watched?"
> >
> > "Yes."
> >
> > "You say run."
> >
> > "Well faster than a walk."
> >
> > "And did you see this person leave?"
> >
> > "No."
> >
> > "And you left."
> >
> > "To go home, yes."
> >
> > "But our background check
> > says you live there."
> >
> > "Where?"
> >
> > "That house up the hill."
> >
> > "I did, once."
> >
> > "You say once... many years ago?"
> >
> > "Yes, but I moved out."
> >
> > "May we search your home?"
> >
> > They'll get a search warrant, I know.
> >
> > "Sure."
> >
> > "Your free to go at this point."
> >
> > I've got to get to that dress.
> >
> > She wore that dress many years ago
> > and I stole it the night she threw me out,
> > my own mother casting me out as if an old
> > fish dinner and once a night
> > I'd smell her sweet perfume stained
> > on that dress,
> > until it turned foul with my sweat.
> >
> > THE SHADOWS:
> >
> > "Mother?'
> >
> > "Why are you here?"
> >
> > "To kill you, as you killed me."
> >
> > And she struggled from room to room, with a scream to no one
> > and I followed, with blow after blow
> > until the scream whimpered to silence
> > and I was finally free from the agony of her.
> >
> > Those shadows, me and her and the chase
> > for love or nothing. No compromise.
> > She left me no choice.
> >
> > AFTERMATH:
> >
> > They'll be here soon, those cops,
> > I'll dress pretty, maybe
> > splash on a little perfume--
> > she wore it once you know,
> > when she loved me.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> Ghost Parade
>
>
> Squeals ricocheted
> off falling confetti
> as Joltin Joe rode
> an open-air Cadillac
> down the canyon of heroes’
> while back out of sight
> down an alley,
> a song was sung
> from the cracked lips
> of a city minstrel.
>
> The outside cheering reached
> his ears and it became
> a make believe concert
> starring the back alley Dylan
> cranking out
> another poetic gamble
> from the narrow honky tonk
> of filled ash cans
> as the parade, outside,
> continued
> until dusk brought
> the street cleaners
> and left over stumble
> of revelers.
>
> But he was the lucky one
> this day,
> confetti makes a fine bed
> and after all
> there was a concert again
> tomorrow night,
> long after that Yankee slugger
> is served breakfast in bed,
> with a wink
> from Marilyn.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

Lavender Ghosts

I have this old oil lamp I light,
casts a shadow of me
eight foot tall over the couch.

I sit there, in the cool evening
looking at the image, wavering at times,
when a cool breeze plays tricks with the wick.

The rich aroma, scented lavender,
arouses thoughts of times past,
times when I wasn't alone,
staring at a shadow on the wall.

It's times like these, I speak to yesterday
when there were two images
close enough to be one.

A moth flits about,
it too, larger than life
the shadow dancing around
my silhouette.

I turn down the lamp.

We'll rest together,
the moth and me.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 3:23:18 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 3:04:16 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 12:33:46 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq.. wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 11:33:27 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > > Evil grins, umbrage and such an assortment of sins
> > > > On it's head, the world and the truth now spins
> > > > Freedom is at mercy of the not so tender druthers
> > > > Of hanging judges of the business of one another
> > > > Know that the noose can sway both ways
> > > > But the gallows only falls one way
> > > >
> > > > So crusaders and heretics, know this to be true
> > > > Your savior took a spear for you and so can you
> > > > Pharisees still rule and know not what they do,
> > > > Just remember that when they crucify you too.
> > > >
> > > > Too soon it all will come to pass
> > > > so soon none of it will matter
> > > > like dust to the wind scattered
> > > > like sand of the shore, to be shorn by the storm
> > > > swallowed into the dark forgotten depths of the ocean
> > > >
> > > > I speak of sincerity in purpose
> > > > selflessness in word and deed
> > > > Purity of purpose, serenity of being
> > > > Free of the terrible weight of the world
> > > > To shed its shackles and rise above its discord
> > > >
> > > > And I finally gotten to know the rest of peace
> > > > But your bleeding hearts just had to drag me back
> > > > Perhaps because you couldn't face your griefs
> > > > Your foolish hearts have poisoned the well
> > > > Filled it with wishes of what you believe
> > > >
> > > > ~~Ash Wurthing
> > > The Wallpaper Knew Halloween Night
> > >
> > >
> > > THE CRIME WITNESSED:
> > >
> > > I wondered
> > > if yellowed horror
> > > could be extracted
> > > from aged wallpaper--
> > > the scream
> > > from last breath,
> > > the busy tones
> > > of detective's huddle
> > > over a heap of
> > > all that's left
> > > of the resident.
> > >
> > > I saw the shadow
> > > that night,
> > > a quick run from room
> > > to room,
> > > not giving thought
> > > of carnage,
> > > until flashes of red,
> > > slapped at my eyes.
> > >
> > > And they called,
> > > wanting to talk to me,
> > > the shadows I saw
> > > intrigued those assigned
> > > and I had to get the story
> > > straight--
> > > my whereabouts
> > > on a rainy night of mayhem.
> > >
> > > I hid the dress.
> > >
> > > THE INTERROGATION:
> > >
> > > "So, sir, you saw a shadow,
> > > could you make out anything?"
> > >
> > > "Just a run, back and forth
> > > from window to window."
> > >
> > > "And you watched?"
> > >
> > > "Yes."
> > >
> > > "You say run."
> > >
> > > "Well faster than a walk."
> > >
> > > "And did you see this person leave?"
> > >
> > > "No."
> > >
> > > "And you left."
> > >
> > > "To go home, yes."
> > >
> > > "But our background check
> > > says you live there."
> > >
> > > "Where?"
> > >
> > > "That house up the hill."
> > >
> > > "I did, once."
> > >
> > > "You say once... many years ago?"
> > >
> > > "Yes, but I moved out."
> > >
> > > "May we search your home?"
> > >
> > > They'll get a search warrant, I know.
> > >
> > > "Sure."
> > >
> > > "Your free to go at this point."
> > >
> > > I've got to get to that dress.
> > >
> > > She wore that dress many years ago
> > > and I stole it the night she threw me out,
> > > my own mother casting me out as if an old
> > > fish dinner and once a night
> > > I'd smell her sweet perfume stained
> > > on that dress,
> > > until it turned foul with my sweat.
> > >
> > > THE SHADOWS:
> > >
> > > "Mother?'
> > >
> > > "Why are you here?"
> > >
> > > "To kill you, as you killed me."
> > >
> > > And she struggled from room to room, with a scream to no one
> > > and I followed, with blow after blow
> > > until the scream whimpered to silence
> > > and I was finally free from the agony of her.
> > >
> > > Those shadows, me and her and the chase
> > > for love or nothing. No compromise.
> > > She left me no choice.
> > >
> > > AFTERMATH:
> > >
> > > They'll be here soon, those cops,
> > > I'll dress pretty, maybe
> > > splash on a little perfume--
> > > she wore it once you know,
> > > when she loved me.
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > Ghost Parade
> >
> >
> > Squeals ricocheted
> > off falling confetti
> > as Joltin Joe rode
> > an open-air Cadillac
> > down the canyon of heroes’
> > while back out of sight
> > down an alley,
> > a song was sung
> > from the cracked lips
> > of a city minstrel.
> >
> > The outside cheering reached
> > his ears and it became
> > a make-believe concert
> > starring the back-alley Dylan
> > cranking out
> > another poetic gamble
> > from the narrow honky tonk
> > of filled ash cans
> > as the parade, outside,
> > continued
> > until dusk brought
> > the street cleaners
> > and left-over stumble
> > of revelers.
> >
> > But he was the lucky one
> > this day,
> > confetti makes a fine bed
> > and after all
> > there was a concert again
> > tomorrow night,
> > long after that Yankee slugger
> > is served breakfast in bed,
> > with a wink
> > from Marilyn.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.

> Lavender Ghosts
>
> I have this old oil lamp I light,
> casts a shadow of me
> eight foot tall over the couch.
>
> I sit there, in the cool evening
> looking at the image, wavering at times,
> when a cool breeze plays tricks with the wick.
>
> The rich aroma, scented lavender,
> arouses thoughts of times past,
> times when I wasn't alone,
> staring at a shadow on the wall.
>
> It's times like these, I speak to yesterday
> when there were two images
> close enough to be one.
>
> A moth flits about,
> it too, larger than life
> the shadow dancing around
> my silhouette.
>
> I turn down the lamp.
>
> We'll rest together,
> the moth and me.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

Broken blood line

Poor misunderstood poetry,
misbehaved unwashed and drunken
or polished upper crust lisps
of doth or thou never spoken
from the cotton fields of blues,
step and fetch it, dust-driven ache
roasting in the sunshine shack
or air cooled Cadillac cruising the country,
on the road to fame and alcoholic
demise.

So it remains a one isle, seven shelves
stack of words, at Barnes and Noble,
feathers in the caps
of authors, though dusty beyond
the dust jacket, never saluted
on the late night brought to you behind
the desk and band openings
played by wannabe poets
that found no home
beyond the trumpet playing intro.

Poetry, the stepchild hiding beyond
reams of words, never quite finding a home
as the homeless line their winter coats
with chapbooks and unfinished
manuscripts.

Costume Ball
by NancyGene

Escape, you’ll not, instead, you’ll rot
in pieces lie, yet still deny
unfaithfulness, as maiden’s kiss
burns on your lips of bloody strips.

Your church was you, not me, I knew.
You preyed on need, all ways, succeed
and I, naïve, was left to grieve
a love ill lost, in bitter frost.

So you must die, and morn is nigh
when sons will ache for lives I take,
of fathers gone, and quartered, drawn.
They dared to toy with me, their ploy

was don’t believe on All Saints’ Eve
that zombies walk and werewolves stalk,
but I am real, you can’t conceal
your guilty fright, my errant knight.

Frog World
by NancyGene

I’m a tiny green frog in a changed-to-brown world.
I perch on the west side of the monster’s cave,
tuck in my limbs, try not to blink, and stifle my ribbit.
The food might come--I look like a leaf stuck to the wall.

The ogre passes by, turns back, and looks at me twice.
A flash of light blinds me but warms my smooth skin.
I don’t move, although my four strong legs feel jumpy.
More flares, then the giant goes back to the dwelling.

It’s cold out here, as I wait for prey that’s sparse now.
All of the pretty flowers are dry, and the air is chilled.
My oasis of grass is spread, dead and mowed.
I would move away but where could a little frog go?

https://imgur.com/gallery/B7VVfVT

On Thursday, October 20, 2022 at 4:44:59 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Frog World
> by NancyGene
>
> I’m a tiny green frog in a changed-to-brown world.
> I perch on the west side of the monster’s cave,
> tuck in my limbs, try not to blink, and stifle my ribbit.
> The food might come--I look like a leaf stuck to the wall.
>
> The ogre passes by, turns back, and looks at me twice.
> A flash of light blinds me but warms my smooth skin.
> I don’t move, although my four strong legs feel jumpy.
> More flares, then the giant goes back to the dwelling.
>
> It’s cold out here, as I wait for prey that’s sparse now.
> All of the pretty flowers are dry, and the air is chilled.
> My oasis of grass is spread, dead and mowed.
> I would move away but where could a little frog go?
>
>
> https://imgur.com/gallery/B7VVfVT

Leapfrog*

I used to grab frogs like you,
back when the summer brought
fishing poles and mayhem.

I am not that monster anymore,
not that quick grab and giggle guy,
preferring now to capture with camera,
study the colors and delicately webbed
muscle of your leap and swim.

I'm told a frog can only see
as far as their food source, so I say
beware the monsters to arrive,
they only want to gulp or contain
your very being, then again,
when you spot the fly, your gulp
is to survive, my grab wasn't.

The circle of life can be fulfilling
or downright dangerous.

This monster wishes you well.

Edward Rochester Esq.

*Inspired by 'Frog World' by NancyGene

I Have No Time
by NancyGene

I have no time,
I check on-line,
the mirror’s there,
to brush my hair.

The day goes by,
I can’t do that,
nor time for this,
to reminisce.

All work’s undone,
nothing’s begun.
Someday I will
my life fulfill.

On Monday, 17 October 2022 at 09:18:27 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 9:24:52 AM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > Start posting!
> >
> >
> > Cutting Board
> >
> > They once fixed a hole in your heart,
> > now you cut your arm's flesh, begging attention.
> >
> > Did you forget the attention, the five year wait
> > until your newborn body could handle such a job?
> >
> > You were told of the prayers, handled with care,
> > watched around the clock.
> >
> > Then they opened you up, breastbone spread
> > as if a clam shell, the heart pulsed in gloved fingers
> > and the repair was complete.
> >
> > And now you're nineteen, confused and cutting--
> > not deep enough to sever a vein, just enough to scab
> > and you're asked about the damage.
> >
> > Now the prayers start over and you'll be taken for help,
> > hopefully realizing the attention you now seek
> > has always been there.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> DOA
>
> I destroyed you,
> touched where delicate, promised
> complete fulfillment
> while keeping realistic intentions
> a hidden flaw in plain view.
>
> You waddled next to my once lean stride
> and soon the offspring, tried to get it right
> from my upbringing of all wrong.
>
> Where to turn? Perhaps the artificial world,
> for mine was more a carnival ride
> and I killed you, not with gun or knife
> but strangulation.
>
> You ran, struggling to breathe,
> I folded back into a world designed
> to fail as the clock ticks off
> the final seconds of the game.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Friday, October 21, 2022 at 9:06:10 PM UTC-4, ME wrote:
> On Monday, 17 October 2022 at 09:18:27 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 9:24:52 AM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > Start posting!
> > >
> > >
> > > Cutting Board
> > >
> > > They once fixed a hole in your heart,
> > > now you cut your arm's flesh, begging attention.
> > >
> > > Did you forget the attention, the five year wait
> > > until your newborn body could handle such a job?
> > >
> > > You were told of the prayers, handled with care,
> > > watched around the clock.
> > >
> > > Then they opened you up, breastbone spread
> > > as if a clam shell, the heart pulsed in gloved fingers
> > > and the repair was complete.
> > >
> > > And now you're nineteen, confused and cutting--
> > > not deep enough to sever a vein, just enough to scab
> > > and you're asked about the damage.
> > >
> > > Now the prayers start over and you'll be taken for help,
> > > hopefully realizing the attention you now seek
> > > has always been there.
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > DOA
> >
> > I destroyed you,
> > touched where delicate, promised
> > complete fulfillment
> > while keeping realistic intentions
> > a hidden flaw in plain view.
> >
> > You waddled next to my once lean stride
> > and soon the offspring, tried to get it right
> > from my upbringing of all wrong.
> >
> > Where to turn? Perhaps the artificial world,
> > for mine was more a carnival ride
> > and I killed you, not with gun or knife
> > but strangulation.
> >
> > You ran, struggling to breathe,
> > I folded back into a world designed
> > to fail as the clock ticks off
> > the final seconds of the game.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.

----------------------------------------------------------

The Plant with the Split Brain
by Edward Rochester Esq.

How rickety the bridge is,
that spans the left from right.

Should I cross with the fear
I cannot cross back.

I do know music began in the womb,
the steady drum beat of the heart,
the gush of blood traveling vein and artery
as if a Wurlitzer had been implanted
until the scream, caught by Ennio Morricone's
masterpiece,
but it is the checkbook that lingers
after the concert's close.

Prehistoric was God's first try,
man dragging women to the cave
to couple as the great dinosaur's roared
outside, the first advent of guard dogs
and fluffy pink Poodles until the hippies
took Washington Square as their own.

That bridge should be cautioned with red flags,
cross at your own risk but it is music that remains
no matter bone in the nose noise or gentle McCartney
leading us into the forest of pretty flowers.

Check book or easel, Hawkings or hoboes?

Godzilla is gone from the shores of Tokyo,
though we blew up Hiroshima with one drop;
King Kong remains to snatch the beauty,
as artificial intelligence lingers by the rickety bridge
over the river cry.

Cross if you must, chances of crossing back
remains 'iffy' at best.

Thank you.

Jesus Asked Me to Dance*
by NancyGene

He walked over and asked if I would like to dance.
I wanted to, and He looked okay, so I said yes
and went with Him onto the crowded dance floor.

He said His name was Jesus.
I said my name was Mary.
We both laughed.

His hair was unstylishly long, but He had a kind face.
You don’t often see men wearing robes and sandals
in urban nightclubs, but His were white, clean and flowy,
so I decided it was a matter of His personal style.

The music was hard rock and He had some moves,
waving His arms, and doing raise the roof a few times.
He walked me back to my table when the song ended,
saying that He wanted to save me from all of this.
He asked me if I liked wine. Bread? Fish?

I said I was vegan, gluten intolerant and didn’t drink,
then excused myself, claiming I was going to the ladies’ room.
Messiah complexes make me want to leave and go elsewhere.
He rejoined His 12 friends, and I stepped into the Christmas night.

I hope He found someone who fell for His line,
but He didn’t believe me either when I said I was a virgin.

*Inspired by Edward Rochester’s poem “I Bought God Three Beers.”

On Saturday, October 22, 2022 at 5:31:08 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Jesus Asked Me to Dance*
> by NancyGene
>
> He walked over and asked if I would like to dance.
> I wanted to, and He looked okay, so I said yes
> and went with Him onto the crowded dance floor.
>
> He said His name was Jesus.
> I said my name was Mary.
> We both laughed.
>
> His hair was unstylishly long, but He had a kind face.
> You don’t often see men wearing robes and sandals
> in urban nightclubs, but His were white, clean and flowy,
> so I decided it was a matter of His personal style.
>
> The music was hard rock and He had some moves,
> waving His arms, and doing raise the roof a few times.
> He walked me back to my table when the song ended,
> saying that He wanted to save me from all of this.
> He asked me if I liked wine. Bread? Fish?
>
> I said I was vegan, gluten intolerant and didn’t drink,
> then excused myself, claiming I was going to the ladies’ room.
> Messiah complexes make me want to leave and go elsewhere.
> He rejoined His 12 friends, and I stepped into the Christmas night.
>
> I hope He found someone who fell for His line,
> but He didn’t believe me either when I said I was a virgin.
>
>
> *Inspired by Edward Rochester’s poem “I Bought God Three Beers.”

Bread, Wine and Moon Walk*

I watched through the frosted window,
Him and twelve friends attempting the Moon Walk
which became more a robotic Slip/Slide.

Perhaps I left too soon as they giggled, most likely
laughing at His 'walk on water' story.

The North star looked extremly bright, guiding me home.

Studio 54 had notning on this crazy night. Robes and sandals in winter?

By morning all was forgotten until a bite of toast revealed his profile.

The girls at work will never believe it.

Edward Rochester Esq

* Inspired by 'Jesus Asked Me to Dance.
by NancyGene

On Saturday, 22 October 2022 at 07:30:17 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Friday, October 21, 2022 at 9:06:10 PM UTC-4, ME wrote:
> > On Monday, 17 October 2022 at 09:18:27 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 9:24:52 AM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > > > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > > Start posting!
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > Cutting Board
> > > >
> > > > They once fixed a hole in your heart,
> > > > now you cut your arm's flesh, begging attention.
> > > >
> > > > Did you forget the attention, the five year wait
> > > > until your newborn body could handle such a job?
> > > >
> > > > You were told of the prayers, handled with care,
> > > > watched around the clock.
> > > >
> > > > Then they opened you up, breastbone spread
> > > > as if a clam shell, the heart pulsed in gloved fingers
> > > > and the repair was complete.
> > > >
> > > > And now you're nineteen, confused and cutting--
> > > > not deep enough to sever a vein, just enough to scab
> > > > and you're asked about the damage.
> > > >
> > > > Now the prayers start over and you'll be taken for help,
> > > > hopefully realizing the attention you now seek
> > > > has always been there.
> > > >
> > > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > > DOA
> > >
> > > I destroyed you,
> > > touched where delicate, promised
> > > complete fulfillment
> > > while keeping realistic intentions
> > > a hidden flaw in plain view.
> > >
> > > You waddled next to my once lean stride
> > > and soon the offspring, tried to get it right
> > > from my upbringing of all wrong.
> > >
> > > Where to turn? Perhaps the artificial world,
> > > for mine was more a carnival ride
> > > and I killed you, not with gun or knife
> > > but strangulation.
> > >
> > > You ran, struggling to breathe,
> > > I folded back into a world designed
> > > to fail as the clock ticks off
> > > the final seconds of the game.
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ----------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> The Plant with the Split Brain
> by Edward Rochester Esq.
>
> How rickety the bridge is,
> that spans the left from right.
>
> Should I cross with the fear
> I cannot cross back.
>
> I do know music began in the womb,
> the steady drum beat of the heart,
> the gush of blood traveling vein and artery
> as if a Wurlitzer had been implanted
> until the scream, caught by Ennio Morricone's
> masterpiece,
> but it is the checkbook that lingers
> after the concert's close.
>
> Prehistoric was God's first try,
> man dragging women to the cave
> to couple as the great dinosaur's roared
> outside, the first advent of guard dogs
> and fluffy pink Poodles until the hippies
> took Washington Square as their own.
>
> That bridge should be cautioned with red flags,
> cross at your own risk but it is music that remains
> no matter bone in the nose noise or gentle McCartney
> leading us into the forest of pretty flowers.
>
> Check book or easel, Hawkings or hoboes?
>
> Godzilla is gone from the shores of Tokyo,
> though we blew up Hiroshima with one drop;
> King Kong remains to snatch the beauty,
> as artificial intelligence lingers by the rickety bridge
> over the river cry.
>
> Cross if you must, chances of crossing back
> remains 'iffy' at best.
>
> Thank you.

On Saturday, October 22, 2022 at 6:00:50 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Saturday, October 22, 2022 at 5:31:08 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > Jesus Asked Me to Dance*
> > by NancyGene
> >
> > He walked over and asked if I would like to dance.
> > I wanted to, and He looked okay, so I said yes
> > and went with Him onto the crowded dance floor.
> >
> > He said His name was Jesus.
> > I said my name was Mary.
> > We both laughed.
> >
> > His hair was unstylishly long, but He had a kind face.
> > You don’t often see men wearing robes and sandals
> > in urban nightclubs, but His were white, clean and flowy,
> > so I decided it was a matter of His personal style.
> >
> > The music was hard rock and He had some moves,
> > waving His arms, and doing raise the roof a few times.
> > He walked me back to my table when the song ended,
> > saying that He wanted to save me from all of this.
> > He asked me if I liked wine. Bread? Fish?
> >
> > I said I was vegan, gluten intolerant and didn’t drink,
> > then excused myself, claiming I was going to the ladies’ room.
> > Messiah complexes make me want to leave and go elsewhere.
> > He rejoined His 12 friends, and I stepped into the Christmas night.
> >
> > I hope He found someone who fell for His line,
> > but He didn’t believe me either when I said I was a virgin.
> >
> >
> > *Inspired by Edward Rochester’s poem “I Bought God Three Beers.”
> Bread, Wine and Moon Walk*
>
> I watched through the frosted window,
> Him and twelve friends attempting the Moon Walk
> which became more a robotic Slip/Slide.
>
> Perhaps I left too soon as they giggled, most likely
> laughing at His 'walk on water' story.
>
> The North star looked extremly bright, guiding me home.
>
> Studio 54 had notning on this crazy night. Robes and sandals in winter?
>
> By morning all was forgotten until a bite of toast revealed his profile.
>
> The girls at work will never believe it.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq
>
> * Inspired by 'Jesus Asked Me to Dance.
> by NancyGene
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Hop Scotch and Old Men Playing Chess

A piece of tossed chalk
rested against his worn heel
and he looked with that scowl
reserved for old men with a cigar set firm
inside a clenched jaw.

Hopscotch squares,
were drawn in the midday light;
surely he knew the game as a young man
before "king me" became his retirement.

I must get the chalk piece,
should have used that flat
crème sickle stick,
broken, it's perfect
but without weight,
bad for distance.

So on this sunny cement park day,
I approached his shoe
and his weathered hand reached down,
grabbing it before I could.

Slowly rising up,
he handed it to me
with a tobacco leaf smile;
"You should always use a flat stick,
stays in the square better you know,
not very good for distance though."

I smiled back with thanks.

Bet he played a heck of a game
back in the day.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, 4 October 2022 at 00:17:50 UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!

On Tuesday, 11 October 2022 at 19:58:11 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 11:52:59 PM UTC, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 7:50:08 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > Start posting!
> > > -------------------------------------------------------------
> > >
> > > Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs
> > >
> > > Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
> > > It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
> > > and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
> > > to the front row.
> > >
> > > You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
> > > though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
> > > never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
> > > before I finally drift off.
> > >
> > > How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
> > > of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.
> > >
> > > I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
> > > inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.
> > >
> > > I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
> > > and head off, their movie about to begin.
> > >
> > > Never a kernel left by morning,
> > >
> > > You're gone as well.
> > >
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > Yes, Grab.
> "Garb themselves in white kernel pieces" would also work.

On Tuesday, 18 October 2022 at 12:33:46 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 18, 2022 at 11:33:27 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > Evil grins, umbrage and such an assortment of sins
> > On it's head, the world and the truth now spins
> > Freedom is at mercy of the not so tender druthers
> > Of hanging judges of the business of one another
> > Know that the noose can sway both ways
> > But the gallows only falls one way
> >
> > So crusaders and heretics, know this to be true
> > Your savior took a spear for you and so can you
> > Pharisees still rule and know not what they do,
> > Just remember that when they crucify you too.
> >
> > Too soon it all will come to pass
> > so soon none of it will matter
> > like dust to the wind scattered
> > like sand of the shore, to be shorn by the storm
> > swallowed into the dark forgotten depths of the ocean
> >
> > I speak of sincerity in purpose
> > selflessness in word and deed
> > Purity of purpose, serenity of being
> > Free of the terrible weight of the world
> > To shed its shackles and rise above its discord
> >
> > And I finally gotten to know the rest of peace
> > But your bleeding hearts just had to drag me back
> > Perhaps because you couldn't face your griefs
> > Your foolish hearts have poisoned the well
> > Filled it with wishes of what you believe
> >
> > ~~Ash Wurthing
> The Wallpaper Knew Halloween Night
>
>
> THE CRIME WITNESSED:
>
> I wondered
> if yellowed horror
> could be extracted
> from aged wallpaper--
> the scream
> from last breath,
> the busy tones
> of detective's huddle
> over a heap of
> all that's left
> of the resident.
>
> I saw the shadow
> that night,
> a quick run from room
> to room,
> not giving thought
> of carnage,
> until flashes of red,
> slapped at my eyes.
>
> And they called,
> wanting to talk to me,
> the shadows I saw
> intrigued those assigned
> and I had to get the story
> straight--
> my whereabouts
> on a rainy night of mayhem.
>
> I hid the dress.
>
> THE INTERROGATION:
>
> "So, sir, you saw a shadow,
> could you make out anything?"
>
> "Just a run, back and forth
> from window to window."
>
> "And you watched?"
>
> "Yes."
>
> "You say run."
>
> "Well faster than a walk."
>
> "And did you see this person leave?"
>
> "No."
>
> "And you left."
>
> "To go home, yes."
>
> "But our background check
> says you live there."
>
> "Where?"
>
> "That house up the hill."
>
> "I did, once."
>
> "You say once... many years ago?"
>
> "Yes, but I moved out."
>
> "May we search your home?"
>
> They'll get a search warrant, I know.
>
> "Sure."
>
> "Your free to go at this point."
>
> I've got to get to that dress.
>
> She wore that dress many years ago
> and I stole it the night she threw me out,
> my own mother casting me out as if an old
> fish dinner and once a night
> I'd smell her sweet perfume stained
> on that dress,
> until it turned foul with my sweat.
>
> THE SHADOWS:
>
> "Mother?'
>
> "Why are you here?"
>
> "To kill you, as you killed me."
>
> And she struggled from room to room, with a scream to no one
> and I followed, with blow after blow
> until the scream whimpered to silence
> and I was finally free from the agony of her.
>
> Those shadows, me and her and the chase
> for love or nothing. No compromise.
> She left me no choice.
>
> AFTERMATH:
>
> They'll be here soon, those cops,
> I'll dress pretty, maybe
> splash on a little perfume--
> she wore it once you know,
> when she loved me.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 25, 2022 at 3:30:39 PM UTC-4, ME wrote:
> On Tuesday, 11 October 2022 at 19:58:11 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 11:52:59 PM UTC, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 7:50:08 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > > > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > > Start posting!
> > > > -------------------------------------------------------------
> > > >
> > > > Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs
> > > >
> > > > Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
> > > > It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
> > > > and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
> > > > to the front row.
> > > >
> > > > You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
> > > > though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
> > > > never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
> > > > before I finally drift off.
> > > >
> > > > How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
> > > > of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.
> > > >
> > > > I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
> > > > inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.
> > > >
> > > > I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
> > > > and head off, their movie about to begin.
> > > >
> > > > Never a kernel left by morning,
> > > >
> > > > You're gone as well.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > > Yes, Grab.
> > "Garb themselves in white kernel pieces" would also work.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fresh Fruit

There was a hole left
in the side of a simple man,
his few dollars earned
from selling apples, oranges,
ripe grapes was enticement
enough to fire,
no warning shot,
just one in the side
bringing his crumble, upturning
his meager life and cart.

A red apple came to rest
by the wound, oranges framed
by yellow crime tape,
flash bulbs popped as if a grand opening
of an art gallery, rather than chest
but after all, the colors did provoke
a sense of viewing the brush
of Gauguin rather than muzzle
of a .38

How easy, today, blood
is hosed down, yellow tape removed
as the traffic builds down the west-side,
with horns honking their displeasure
and Macy’s dusts off jet fuel
as men in black hold cigarettes and automatics,
their dogs sniff at shopping bags
filled with everything but fresh fruit.

Edward Rochester Esq.

Waste not

We are all in this together
the noblest of sentiments
the tenderest of emotions
and the best of intention

Want not

Our creature comforts
our material wellbeing
our worldly goods and
our hearts’ desires

On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 6:19:47 PM UTC-4, xip14...@gmail.com wrote:
> Waste not
>
> We are all in this together
> the noblest of sentiments
> the tenderest of emotions
> and the best of intention
>
>
> Want not
>
> Our creature comforts
> our material wellbeing
> our worldly goods and
> our hearts’ desires
-------------------------------------------------------

Waiting for the Bell

I stopped by--
A friend from high school
has donated his liver to Dewar’s,
and what is left, is but a wisp.

His same crooked tooth remains
when a smile is coaxed,
no need for talk of today or tomorrow,
rather the gym coach, shop class,
is dragged out from the cobwebs
of yesterday.

I thought about whether my one suit
still fits.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Wednesday, 26 October 2022 at 22:33:54 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 6:19:47 PM UTC-4, xip14...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Waste not
> >
> > We are all in this together
> > the noblest of sentiments
> > the tenderest of emotions
> > and the best of intention
> >
> >
> > Want not
> >
> > Our creature comforts
> > our material wellbeing
> > our worldly goods and
> > our hearts’ desires
> -------------------------------------------------------
>
> Waiting for the Bell
>
> I stopped by--
> A friend from high school
> has donated his liver to Dewar’s,
> and what is left, is but a wisp.
>
> His same crooked tooth remains
> when a smile is coaxed,
> no need for talk of today or tomorrow,
> rather the gym coach, shop class,
> is dragged out from the cobwebs
> of yesterday.
>
> I thought about whether my one suit
> still fits.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 10:33:54 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 6:19:47 PM UTC-4, xip14...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Waste not
> >
> > We are all in this together
> > the noblest of sentiments
> > the tenderest of emotions
> > and the best of intention
> >
> >
> > Want not
> >
> > Our creature comforts
> > our material wellbeing
> > our worldly goods and
> > our hearts’ desires
> -------------------------------------------------------
>
> Waiting for the Bell
>
> I stopped by--
> A friend from high school
> has donated his liver to Dewar’s,
> and what is left, is but a wisp.
>
> His same crooked tooth remains
> when a smile is coaxed,
> no need for talk of today or tomorrow,
> rather the gym coach, shop class,
> is dragged out from the cobwebs
> of yesterday.
>
> I thought about whether my one suit
> still fits.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
------------------------------------------------------------

The Last Decade

Most likely this just might be my last decade,
I don’t envision buttering bread at 90
or having folks shout good morning
with a hand cupped behind my ear.

I do not want to undress and feel a cold
Stethoscope pressed to aged ribs,
or wonder if all pills have been swallowed,
though labeled telling of when or read
reminders on the bathroom mirror,
saying ‘turn off lights.’

I open the memory book, turn the page
to a scraped knee bike ride, remember the cut lawn
and a father shooting the hose at my fleeing screech.

I can smell the ocean visit or first day back to school,
with new shoes giving a bit of pinch before broken in.

Another page shows the girl next door, a first hint
of life outside the swing of a baseball bat, or the inhale of banned
tobacco, next to a stream where talk of nothing important
until the call to supper.

It’s quick, these decades, saying goodbye too many times
just when it seemed a minute ago, the visions and smile
ruled all thought.

I do have a plan, each new day the focus will be on what a joy
it was and is, this journey, too quick but worth every minute.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Thursday, 27 October 2022 at 18:15:23 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 10:33:54 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq.. wrote:
> > On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 6:19:47 PM UTC-4, xip14...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > Waste not
> > >
> > > We are all in this together
> > > the noblest of sentiments
> > > the tenderest of emotions
> > > and the best of intention
> > >
> > >
> > > Want not
> > >
> > > Our creature comforts
> > > our material wellbeing
> > > our worldly goods and
> > > our hearts’ desires
> > -------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > Waiting for the Bell
> >
> > I stopped by--
> > A friend from high school
> > has donated his liver to Dewar’s,
> > and what is left, is but a wisp.
> >
> > His same crooked tooth remains
> > when a smile is coaxed,
> > no need for talk of today or tomorrow,
> > rather the gym coach, shop class,
> > is dragged out from the cobwebs
> > of yesterday.
> >
> > I thought about whether my one suit
> > still fits.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> The Last Decade
>
> Most likely this just might be my last decade,
> I don’t envision buttering bread at 90
> or having folks shout good morning
> with a hand cupped behind my ear.
>
> I do not want to undress and feel a cold
> Stethoscope pressed to aged ribs,
> or wonder if all pills have been swallowed,
> though labeled telling of when or read
> reminders on the bathroom mirror,
> saying ‘turn off lights.’
>
> I open the memory book, turn the page
> to a scraped knee bike ride, remember the cut lawn
> and a father shooting the hose at my fleeing screech.
>
> I can smell the ocean visit or first day back to school,
> with new shoes giving a bit of pinch before broken in.
>
> Another page shows the girl next door, a first hint
> of life outside the swing of a baseball bat, or the inhale of banned
> tobacco, next to a stream where talk of nothing important
> until the call to supper.
>
> It’s quick, these decades, saying goodbye too many times
> just when it seemed a minute ago, the visions and smile
> ruled all thought.
>
> I do have a plan, each new day the focus will be on what a joy
> it was and is, this journey, too quick but worth every minute.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Thursday, October 27, 2022 at 6:15:23 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 10:33:54 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq.. wrote:
> > On Wednesday, October 26, 2022 at 6:19:47 PM UTC-4, xip14...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > Waste not
> > >
> > > We are all in this together
> > > the noblest of sentiments
> > > the tenderest of emotions
> > > and the best of intention
> > >
> > >
> > > Want not
> > >
> > > Our creature comforts
> > > our material wellbeing
> > > our worldly goods and
> > > our hearts’ desires
> > -------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > Waiting for the Bell
> >
> > I stopped by--
> > A friend from high school
> > has donated his liver to Dewar’s,
> > and what is left, is but a wisp.
> >
> > His same crooked tooth remains
> > when a smile is coaxed,
> > no need for talk of today or tomorrow,
> > rather the gym coach, shop class,
> > is dragged out from the cobwebs
> > of yesterday.
> >
> > I thought about whether my one suit
> > still fits.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> The Last Decade
>
> Most likely this just might be my last decade,
> I don’t envision buttering bread at 90
> or having folks shout good morning
> with a hand cupped behind my ear.
>
> I do not want to undress and feel a cold
> Stethoscope pressed to aged ribs,
> or wonder if all pills have been swallowed,
> though labeled telling of when or read
> reminders on the bathroom mirror,
> saying ‘turn off lights.’
>
> I open the memory book, turn the page
> to a scraped knee bike ride, remember the cut lawn
> and a father shooting the hose at my fleeing screech.
>
> I can smell the ocean visit or first day back to school,
> with new shoes giving a bit of pinch before broken in.
>
> Another page shows the girl next door, a first hint
> of life outside the swing of a baseball bat, or the inhale of banned
> tobacco, next to a stream where talk of nothing important
> until the call to supper.
>
> It’s quick, these decades, saying goodbye too many times
> just when it seemed a minute ago, the visions and smile
> ruled all thought.
>
> I do have a plan, each new day the focus will be on what a joy
> it was and is, this journey, too quick but worth every minute.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Tourniquet

They told me
a tourniquet
would stop the bleed.
 
I tried, it didn't.
 
Burned into the memory
of gone; you reside
in that space of 
wish you were here,
though no longer;
being filed into
the sunset of last kiss,
your image
now carved into trees,
clouds and moon.
 
You shall remain
a constant vision
and I,
a constant dreamer.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, 25 October 2022 at 22:21:55 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 25, 2022 at 3:30:39 PM UTC-4, ME wrote:
> > On Tuesday, 11 October 2022 at 19:58:11 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 11:52:59 PM UTC, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> > > > On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 7:50:08 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > > > > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > > > Start posting!
> > > > > -------------------------------------------------------------
> > > > >
> > > > > Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs
> > > > >
> > > > > Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
> > > > > It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
> > > > > and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
> > > > > to the front row.
> > > > >
> > > > > You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
> > > > > though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
> > > > > never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
> > > > > before I finally drift off.
> > > > >
> > > > > How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
> > > > > of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.
> > > > >
> > > > > I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
> > > > > inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.
> > > > >
> > > > > I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
> > > > > and head off, their movie about to begin.
> > > > >
> > > > > Never a kernel left by morning,
> > > > >
> > > > > You're gone as well.
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > > > Yes, Grab.
> > > "Garb themselves in white kernel pieces" would also work.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Fresh Fruit
>
> There was a hole left
> in the side of a simple man,
> his few dollars earned
> from selling apples, oranges,
> ripe grapes was enticement
> enough to fire,
> no warning shot,
> just one in the side
> bringing his crumble, upturning
> his meager life and cart.
>
> A red apple came to rest
> by the wound, oranges framed
> by yellow crime tape,
> flash bulbs popped as if a grand opening
> of an art gallery, rather than chest
> but after all, the colors did provoke
> a sense of viewing the brush
> of Gauguin rather than muzzle
> of a .38
>
> How easy, today, blood
> is hosed down, yellow tape removed
> as the traffic builds down the west-side,
> with horns honking their displeasure
> and Macy’s dusts off jet fuel
> as men in black hold cigarettes and automatics,
> their dogs sniff at shopping bags
> filled with everything but fresh fruit.
>
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Sunday, 9 October 2022 at 01:29:51 UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> OCTOBER
>
> The Summer verdure fades like dying grass,
> Grows brittle like the gathered stalks of corn
> That guard the hillside on a sunless morn,
> Bears testament that men, like seasons, pass.
>
> I shiver in the wind that blows as cold
> As graveyard whispers drifting through the dawn,
> For all I've ever loved in life is gone
> And like the season, I am growing old.
>
> October flutters in on raven wings,
> Sings ancient psalms of sorrow and decay --
> Of spindle-leggéd hours that whisk away
> The soldiers, sailors, carpenters, and kings
>
> Who pass like frosted glints of morning dew
> Or dreams of love when Summertime was new.
>
> *****