Another Tepid Morning, Waiting Silently

Photo by Lood Goosen on Pexels.com

Another tepid morning, waiting silently
Dawn yet to break, but my head feels that way
These dog days lapse like a bit of purgatory
Standing before St. Patrick with nothing to say

Teetering & more than slightly confused
Checking my watch; praying its not too late
Did my heart stop? How did I go so astray
Jolted back- the Almighty’s nectar begins to percolate

Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought

Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees

Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late

You pray to the spirits of procastrination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

Touched By The Whim Of God

Touched by the whim of God
Revolutions in the unlikeliest of places
Tasting the perfect tilt to her hips
My benign lunacy comes in traces

Diluted measurements by midmorning
With inconvenient virtues & unholy glee
Bringing small obsessions in my mind
When the local widows invite me for tea

Entering only after a courteous introduction
No need to intrude on our nebulous beliefs
A shared sacrilege when I watch her curtsey
Dropping to our knees; praying for some relief