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Crepuscular Thoughts and Other Poems

By Gus Speth

June 30, 2018

Contents

A. Somewhere in Vermont

1. A Morning Around New Year’s Day                      

2. Starting a New Farm in Vermont                          

3. Speaking of Home                                                               

4. Friendship                                                               

5. Vermont Promise

6. It’s Beautiful Around Here

7. Tree Prayer            

B. Life Goes On

8. On the Loss of a Dear Friend                                                                                 

9. All the Color                                                             

10. Honey Savage                                                                                

11. Delmarva                                                              

12. New Morning                                                        

13. You Remind Me

14. Thinking Like a Mountain

15. Old Model

16. She Dreamed She Wore a Dress

17. Golden Okra

18. Old Sam’s Song                                                                                                    

C. In a Time of Trouble

19. Thought Police                                                      

20. I Know You Want To Cry                                     

21. Pub Song                                                               

22. Vision on the Beach                                           

23. Not Far from the Tree                                       

24. Holding It All Together                                         

25. The Id Is

26. The Evening News                                                          

D. Theologically Speaking

27. What We Have Instead                                        

28. Soul Searching                                                      

29. Getting to Heaven                                                 

E. Funny Bone

30. In Bed                                                                    

31. Weezie                                                                   

32. Stuffy                                                         

33. A Balanced Life                                                                                       

34. Black Flies                                                              

35. Doggerel                                                                

36. airborne

37. Happy Ending. Not!

F. Coda

           38. Crepuscular Thoughts

A.  Somewhere in Vermont

1. A Morning Around New Year’s Day

Real Vermonters love

a morning like this,

a land of ice and snow,

clear, crisp and 5 below.

The purple shadows

from big bare maples

reach out across

small slopes and rolls.

The balsam fir bows

with her new white coat

while the birdhouses

wear their snowcaps

and the swings try out

their new white loads as

the wind gives easy pushes.

In the bright sun

small tree limbs

glisten and glow

like good crystal.

Once-green everything

now everywhere white

except the red of sumac.

The deer will browse at dusk

but now what moves are

chickadees flitting and flying

with their friends the juncos.

There are a few goldfinch

at the feeders, but they left

their gold somewhere safe.

The dogs bark when the

long-hanging roof ice

drops in a noisy plump.

It is a beautiful day

for a walk on the road

or to head out with

skis or snowshoes,

and also very nice to return

to a warm sweet-smelling house.

Still, my wife and I were raised in warmer climes.

In a month or so we will be chilled enough to

take out of the refrigerator and be enjoyed

by friends and family on the beach.

2. Starting a New Farm In Vermont 

So, this is

what we have:

a young couple

who can feel 

the green grass 

between their toes

know the proper 

order of things

of hills to home 

and barn shaped

to rising woods

and the beauty

of enough space

to see the full scene

so that they now can 

envision a time

when sheep played

white and brown

dots into the distance

of a past 

not very far away. 

Not far at all.

3. Speaking of Home

My wife shouts to upstairs,

I am putting on coffee.

I roll in the bed and reply,

I am putting on airs!

And think to myself

when was the last time

I heard a person say that?

You don’t hear it here

because anyone hardly ever

puts on airs in Vermont.

Better to put on warm clothes.

Highfalutin is not the local way,

I think, drinking the coffee.

Politicians are plain-spoken.

The clothes aren’t fancy,

nor are the cars and homes.

Well, anyhow, that’s it mostly.

Folks are creative with crafts

and caring with the land,

the farms and forests,

and writers and poets and

artists are everywhere

making beautiful things.

They are proud but not prideful.

Now don’t go having a hissy fit

because I’m idealizing  Vermonters.

I got to get along with these people.

It isn’t that hard since they are

not really the remote and taciturn

folks they are made out to be.

Some on a good day could even

talk you out of breath.

We have moved four times

headed north from the South,

dragging along word baggage

and accents that don’t fit.

Not since we left in 1964

have we liked a place as

much as we do Vermont.

It is not merely that we

have been warmly welcomed

or that the state is so beautiful

and the politics quite decent.

It’s that we feel at home.

4. Friendship

She was an old dog

hard of seeing, hearing

and an awful winter:

snow rain melt freeze

snow rain melt freeze

everything slick with ice.

The old man let her out

to do her business.

He saw her standing

at the edge of the yard,

the big hill dropping

fast down to the woods,

 a steep sledding area

for the grandkids.

A glance later she was gone.

One step too far, with

ancient limbs and no traction,

she had slid away.

He dressed hurriedly

and spotted her trapped

in a jumble of bramble

down at the bottom,

occasionally struggling

but with no effect.

The old man’s back was afflicted,

painful with multiple ailments.

Still he headed down,

stumbling to the bottom.

The dog seemed glad

to have him by her side.

He was glad to be there too.

He lifted her big Lab body

and started up the hill.

When the pain was too great

he paused, let it subside,

remembered she had been

an acrobat at Frisbee, had

loved to play with the ducks.

He thought: two elder residents

of town in trouble and now

struggling together to get

up a hill covered with ice.

What could be better?

He lifted her one last time

as they approached the stone steps

to the house and it was too much.

His feet slipped out from under him,

the dog let loose as he reached for the ice.

His head banged an inch from the stones.

He rolled over, grinned and

she was licking, kissing his face.

5. Vermont Promise

the earth is pat down gray and brown

the snow gone, winter’s remains lie open

a giant porcupine moves through our bare field

headed somewhere tween lost and found

winter has had its very long run

now I’m looking for first green

tiny grass where it’s clear

the smell of detritus in the air

the yellow tops of daffodils

poke here and there along the hills

welcoming a warm spring sun

I shall check for rhubarb’s sheen

nothing dramatic going on

so much of life simply gone

spring held in check again

spates of warming asking when

left bears and sap turning round

wondering do I now head up or down

I saw a sugar house last night

bright and busy with the boiling

beer and banter slake the toiling

good times worth remembering

climate change is messing with the season

messing too with plain reason

the climate models are predicting

the maples could be disappearing

what’s left, what’s green we must hold tight

no, not going gently without a fight

6. It’s Beautiful Around Here

About a third of Americans own guns.

That’s a lot of guns.

We have enough guns for everyone.

That’s a lot of guns.

If only gun owners could vote,

he would have carried every state,

save one.

7. Tree Prayer

Ashes stand in fear

Slender limbs strive to heaven

Offer up a prayer

                                     

                                       

B.  Life Goes On

8. On the Loss of a Dear Friend                                        

Hovering, waiting,

she has held back

No viridescent 

displays cover  

the still gray woods

Spring suspended

The snow has gone

but buttercup

and daffodils

are all there is

to signal change

Perhaps she cannot

bear the thought of

arriving to find

that Ned has gone

9. All the Color

Don’t think that the colors you see

streaking across the ceiling

spread wide by a forgotten award

made of glass and sitting in the window sill

are all the colors.

There are other colors and other awards.

There’s an award of pure white

for the endless gifts you have bestowed

on family and friends and even strangers,

often neither deserved nor appreciated.

What is love if not

caring unreservedly

and giving regardless?

There’s a flat black award for sitting quietly

absorbing all that is going on in the world

and then standing up straight and acting purposely.

The size of the purpose does not matter;

it is the transcendence that does.

There’s a rust-colored award

for gracefully aging-in-place

without too much complaint.

And the phthalo-green award

for repeated acts of eco-tage,

large and small, legal and illegal.

Nihil sine natura.

We do not see, much less live, 

the true spectrum of all the colors

until life explodes like a collapsing star

and the higher elements with all their density

are born.

10. Honey Savage

My wife Cameron and I

went to a spot in New Orleans

in Marigny we think.

Honey Savage was there

singing beautifully with her band

and I thought to myself

Cameron is as good as Honey

and if I were her manager

and she had a name like Honey Savage,

wow,  we could really go places,

touring  around and having fun.

Being named Gus I am

sensitive to these matters.

A friend in the UN once said

“You become your name.”

Soon I will be a mule or mouse.

Movies love Gus, for animals.

It has occurred to me

that if I were instead named

Jonathan Countryman

I might have made

a decent living in politics.

11. Delmarva

a truly great spot that

America most forgot

you have won our hearts again

thank you for the oysters

and the crabs and the clams and the ponies

thank you a lot

lord how the kids love the ponies

the foal by the road has our hearts

ah but the chickens

please keep the big houses

far away from the shore

the first chicken man

was Mr Perdue

“it takes a tough man 

to make a tender chicken”

said Mr Perdue but now

Mr Tyson is here too

bringing millions of chickens 

from the land near the Ozarks

two tough men working 

on the poor chicken

after being away a long time 

we are again the two of us

walking on Assateague 

a beach so long it’s the

whole of Maryland’s shore

and so pristine its 

sands sparkle and squeak

laughing gulls laughing with us

breakers breaking fast 

into the sand’s steep slope

a beautiful blue and pale green

and a boy asleep in warm dunes

(oh regarding the Maryland shore

I forgot Ocean City

forget it we should definitely do

the city’s to pity and

its beachfront high rises

face imminent demises

climate’s coming for them too)

back on Assateague beach

what a beach where the

marshes are owned by the birds

birds are the best of what’s left

behind the beach cross the marsh

is quaint Chincoteague town

oh god there are pieces still here

of what the watermen had once

the small lovely houses

and the big boats and the little boats

and the nets and the pots

big men in wet trousers

and the smell of old fish

ripe on the docks

but big houses are moving in now

Marriott and lots more

have commandeered the shore

there’s poetry here and sad justice

the great American machine

is colonizing little Chincoteague

an eager participant one might surmise

in her own oncoming demise

12. New Morning

Now, with the last shove

of the round, orange bottles

into the drawer for another stay,

I will appear to all who may care

an average guy greeting another day.

Or do all of us have

our colorful displays?

Who knows

what’s average?

Whatever! Here today I am ready

for anything it might bring,

pills in the drawer and the cabinet,

ready to dethrone the king.

Feet unsteady, I stumble around.

Loud Thomas says I must rage, rage.

No one notices I am now

entering my anecdotage.

Is the long travail nearly over,

the seamless hours of striving?

I doubt it, but an easy thought

for a new day in the morning.

13. You Remind Me

After some fifty odd years of marriage,

you are beginning to remind me…of me.

It is not a case of old people getting

more alike, like babies are alike, no.

It is partly that we are now each

half of the same person so that

together we know the Jeopardy answer,

who it is who has the big apple orchard,

and how to cook together in this small kitchen.

But as very nice as that is, and it is,

that is not really what I am getting at.

It is more like now you can fly like I fly,

and I can fly like you fly, and there

are special moments when we are

flying together in a wonderful new way.

14. Thinking Like a Mountain 

Aldo Leopold knew nature

like few before or after.

He enjoined who would listen 

“to think like a mountain.” 

Well, hell, I say, I am a mountain.

I am Storm King, here beside the Hudson

a sentinel with which to reckon.

From my shining east flank I

often heard Pete Seeger singing,

notes forming tunes and rising

from the bow of the sloop Clearwater

as it tacked through sharp winds.

From high on my top I’ve seen

many times, way past when, 

Clearwater and Pete were strongest

sailing upstream against the wind.

Pete sang to all the parts of me, 

not just my verdant slopes rising steep

from the fast-flowing river, but the parts that

move around me, rub brown fur against

the parts that sink deep in me and share

my waters and my nourishment.

I give it freely, as do critters too small to see.

They too are part of me, are big to me.

My many leaves shimmer in chartreuse

for spring I am bringing back now.

I want to hear the ovenbird again,

to help the goldfinch find its gold,

to see soon the evening grosbeak

dancing among my limbs and leaves.

When I am left alone to be just me,

all my parts work and work together,

and I am free.

If you want to think like a mountain,

you must come to see me whole.

Energy flows coursing through me;

life from entropy being stole.

Can you come to see me sacred,

all the beauty consecrated?

I am alive and fertile and fecund,

providing sustenance and refuge.

I know then what I am, 

what I do in this world,

how to weather many threats,

how yet to sing back to the river, 

how I am old, mainly that.

Pete is one of many gone.

But even now, I Storm King am not clear 

on all we mountains are suppose to think.

I have told what I believe Aldo meant.

Perhaps that is enough. It is plenty.

But there may be other thoughts,

things beyond time, more fraught,

buried deep, dark in my ancient rocks.

15. Old Model

I wish I could plug me in

and get me fully charged.

There is memory I need to access, and

messages I desperately need to send.

Old models need special care.

The interface still works,

but user friendly means

something totally different -

a slower response time

and more time asleep

are not the half of it.

The faces our cameras see

are not the old familiar ones,

but new ones creased and furrowed

by fruitless searches and terrifying crashes.

I fear another crash, another loss

of information and more far beyond data,

perhaps unrecoverable for all time.

One crash too many and

there’s nothing left to upload.

16. She Dreamed She Wore a Dress

She dreamed she wore a dress.

I asked if she were sure.

She said, yes, a dress no less,

the picture of demure.

Were you a young girl,

or dreaming what’s to be?

I wore earrings of pearl.

The 50s I’d say, said she.

The imagination unfurls,

good memories rush in:

Such a beautiful girl

I remember way back when.

17. Golden Okra

The golden okra hang in the window,

brought from Ocracoke where they

are sold as Christmas ornaments.

Ocracoke is lovely the way

little beach villages once were

and still should be today.

Yes, an island worth remembering,

a restful, pleasant place to stay.

But for me the objects in the window

are there for adoration and thanks.

I dutifully recall my first taste of okra:

too slimy to be high in the ranks.

But okra worship begins in earnest

with first frying in the big oil tank,

golden crisp and simply heavenly.

I don’t listen now to the okra cranks.

18. Old Sam’s Song

Did you know Molly?

It was new summer’s day,

bright and fresh that morning,

and she was in the garden

with her favorite flowers budding.

How she loved her roses,

almost as much as I loved her.

Now this longest day returns

and she is gone.

The sunset brings shadows

to untended blooms.

Bluebirds pause and float

from post to ground.

Everybody knew Molly!

And they loved her too.

She was a lady in full,

if I may say that.

She would look you in the eye

and you were in that moment

everything to her. 

Her daddy once said of her

Lord, Molly, you can charm

the lard out of a biscuit.

She charmed me every day.

And on this long endless day,

she is gone. 

Itching is between

the hurt and its healing,

and I am itching all over.

The loss of her surrounds me.

I am covered by memories

of her silver hair on my shoulder.

On this day she would have loved,

she is gone

and I am here, naked.

C.  In a Time of Trouble

19. Thought Police

Are the thought police around?

If so, please bring them in.

Have a seat, anywhere.  Some tea?

Once I thought my thoughts were good.

But now they cry out for policing.

My anger needs modulating.

My hopes need lifting.

My vision of societal decline

definitely needs a bottoming.

Do you have experience

with others in this situation?

Have you prescribed TV?

Perhaps House of Cards?

Or The Handmaid’s Tale?

Or On the Night Of?

The Wire and Breaking Bad

were more upbeat. Maybe them?

Buying things, you say. Shopping,

why I had not thought of that!

Do you provide money?

Okay. I understand.  Let’s move on.

You say hard work then.  Hum.

You mean like in the yard?

Or for pay, like a barista?

I’ve got my doubts about that.

I already work two barista jobs.

Can we settle on a puppy?

20. I Know You Want To Cry

There is failure all around me,

like a glass of cheap wine

spilled onto my crisp resume.

“Accomplishments”

blurring into the paper,

fading, disappearing.

I’m reeling.

Fifty years now of hard-striving

and the class moron is

erasing the blackboard.

It is not just that hundreds of

protections of our common home

and our fellow Americans

are under assault.

Just as depressing: the reality

that their loss is applauded

by a great many of our people,

people with whom I would

gladly share a drink,

go to the movies, laugh.

People I know because

I grew up with them.

And, even worse, I did not

see it coming. Not like this.

What is to be done?

Cry? Done that.

Tune it out? Tried that. Went to Ireland.

Smash the TV with a big vase. Maybe next.

But, really, really

the only actual answer

is to pull oneself out of grief,

regret, anger, resignation, whatever,

and in every way we know

fight to take back our country

while her lingering light still shines.

21. Pub Song

It's not true that an Irish village
is but a pub and a post
when often there are two pubs.

We saw two pubs side-by-side
on the water in Leenane,
one serving mainly Guiness,
the other serving mostly food.
None complaining.

The trad music in the pubs
in Galway, Clifden, Westport
can transport you to a different place
and time and clear your thoughts.
Until they sing about Annie Moore.

Annie was an Irish girl of 15
who was the first ever to walk
through to America at Ellis Island,
and so she enters our fractured hearts.
"Isle of hope, isle of tears,
isle of freedom, isle of fears."

Annie reminds what's possible, what's lost.
Are we walking with her today?
Can we take her hand
and lift a light beside the Golden Door?

22. Vision on the Beach

We were walking on the chilly beach this morning.

The sea calm, the small waves moseyed onto the shore.

Then, with a strange confluence of small breakers,

the surf shot skyward, and in the spreading spray

I saw the shape of Jesus walking on the water.

I let that sink in, and then I told my wife.

“What did He say?” she asked, seeming serious.

“Nothing,” I replied. “He was walking away.”

Did I notice a slight shrug of His shoulders?

Or was it just my imagination?

23. Not Far From the Tree

How far should we go       

to save a species?

Let’s consider some things

before we try to answer.

The philosopher noted

that humans invented

the concept of rights,

and then gave them

all to themselves!

Don't you think we

should have saved

a few for other species,

like the right to exist

amidst nature’s glorious

communion of subjects?

Jacoby, Jacoby, Jacoby!

He saw it coming,

saw the wreckage coming,

wreckage driven ever on

and on by the warming,

the rising and the changing.

Saw it early, decades ago,

and Jacoby cried out,

thinking they would listen.

He saw then that

it was the heart

that would decide.

He cried to a big world

from a small pulpit.

Young then not yet 40

and hopeful, hopeful

that words would matter,

could reach the heart.

And so he wrote

of our duty to exercise

a conserving restraint,

to extend that duty to

the whole life community

that evolved here with us -

life we did not create and

over which we are not lord.

Although our power

over Earth is near endless,

he pleaded from his pulpit,

our right to exercise it is not.

Jacoby, Jacoby, Jacoby.

Years later, now an old man,

he challenged his few readers

to imagine Earth without us.

When asked why he would

even think such a thing, he said,

consider the wreckage

gathering at your feet.

Does it not break your heart?

Now pause, he said, be still,

and contemplate

the beauty of such a world,

a world of majestic old trees,

with oceans brimming with life,

skies darkened by passing flocks,

and great herds moving across

cool savannahs, Earth thriving  

with inspiring diversity.

But without us. It’s a test, he said,

of our environmental imagination.

If we can imagine such a world

with feelings of awe and reverence

taking joy in its existence

even though we are no part  of it

nature for nature’s sake

then we are ready

to answer our question.

So what is a species worth,

perhaps just a small part

of nature’s tapestry?

It depends on what you value,

what is vital and alive to you,

where your heart takes you,

what your imagination sees.

See yourself, the old man urged,

not as superior to nature

but as evolution’s child

and close kin to wild things

part of nature’s flourishing

Then you will know the answer.

In memory of Thomas Berry

24. Holding It All Together

I can’t imagine

the world working

when I am gone.

The guidance I give

shouting at the TV,

cursing in the yard,

telling friends what to do,

 giving assignments to reporters,

they hold the world together,

such as it is.

Coping is what it’s all about.

Pissing in the wind,

whistling past the graveyard,

these are life skills

learned in lesser times

and invoked now.

As the proper order of the world

seems rather threatened,

and the supplies of comity,

discretion and common decency run short,

still, we will confound the world

with civility and thoughtful observation

while going berserk at home

where oaths echo

from wall to wall.

25. The Id Is

The Id is

and dwells among us.

It moves across the void

of moral reckoning.

It gathers light and

light vanishes.

It sheds truth and

truth vanishes.

It sees hope and

hope vanishes.

We say

See no evil

Speak no evil

Hear no evil

but evil spreads

all around us

as hate,  violence

and ignorance.

It  has no delight,

no joy, no beauty.

Can there be a reckoning?

A confrontation with evil?

A community says yes,

and then the others, more,

for there are still

domains of truth

shards of light

people of great hope

weary but alive in the world.

26. The Evening News

These days the evening news fills

my brain and other vacant spaces

with disgust and deep loathing.

Sometimes there is raw fury. 

All the decades of good work: 

How did it come to this? 

Next comes stunned disbelief:

Did that actually happen?

The evening news, of course, begins

at 8 a.m. with Amy Goodman.  Already

Amy has worked up a simmering scorn.

Then it picks up again at noon, when 

Andrea Mitchell is on and has 

steeled herself with incredulity.

Andrea is followed closely by

the irreverently bemused Jake Tapper.

Jake is great at spotting hypocrites,

of which he finds no shortage.

Then, there are the weather and other

catastrophes  brought to us on the 

actual evening news by poor Lester Holt.

Lester tries desperately to show us

the world is not actually falling apart,

even though it certainly seems that way.

And let’s not forget Ari Melber:

in the late afternoon, a bloodhound 

following the legal trail somewhere. 

Where does it end, and when?

All this negativity 

rattles my positivity,

sapping my old age strength. 

Perhaps I should just relax 

and turn on the late news. 

It may be time for Rachel.

D.  Theologically Speaking

 27. What We Have Instead

In this our world

if there is meaning               

we create it.

If there is community

we build it.

If there is justice

we forge it.

If there is providence

we provide it.

If there is love

we extend it.

Nothing is given

save life itself.

We have only

this speck of earth

and each other.

It is enough.

So let us pray

To fields and friends

And to the spacious sky.

28. Soul Searching   

Our souls are somewhere

waiting for us to find them.

Perhaps there is a way.

Such searched-for souls

embody the best of

who we are and can be.

We speak of lost souls:

what a tragedy to have

lost our better selves.

We speak of soulful music.

It moves our spirit deeply,

reminding us of the loss.

We say she has a big soul.

She is whole, then. Complete.

She has found the way.

The way is a path

that leads along the river

under the tall cypress

to a spot where you can hold hands

and wade into the current

watching the dark waters flow

and then heads uphill to

the big pavilion on the bluff

where the door opens

 to a place of memory

and old friends await and smile

on the other side.

29. Getting to Heaven

We are all capable of beautiful things,

things lifted up by loving dreams,

dreams we strive to make come alive.

And when we seek our goals

with our hearts and minds and souls.

we find we are in Heaven.

For what Heaven was ever made

but by beauty wrought in sun and shade.

E.  Funny Bone

30. In Bed

My dog has positional anxiety.

He awakes and moves quite quietly

around and around and around

making small circles on his bed,

searching for just the right place

to put first his rear then his head,

one that feels satisfactory.

Complicating the situation

is his friend on the cushion.

Once a pup barely tolerated,

she’s now too big a friend

to be pushed and relegated

to a small corner at the end.

If a dog can worry so

about taking the right position

and how to relate to another,

imagine then the human condition

when it comes to sharing the cover.

31. Weezie

My son’s dog once got in bad stickers

And quickly lay down in a heap.

Our dog went over to lick her

And pulled them out with her teeth.

32. Stuffy

My wife just said it‘s stuffy here,

she who likes it warm with piles of covers

and banishes breezes to the beach.

Should I worry then what she meant ?

Could it be the company’s stuffy,   

when it’s just me here with her?

I know I can be fussy and insist

on a few things like ignorance

about how the dishwasher works

and the quiet time to pretend

I am writing poetry, which

I admit can be pretty stuffy.

33. A Balanced Life

The soul is more important than the back

A child rushes towards you

Little arms outstretched

Pick up the child

The sun graces the morning beach           

It goes for miles

Walk the beach

The dogs insist on Frisbee

The motion’s like a hula hoop  

Throw it hard

The exercises prescribed

Awake real pain

Do them . . . sometimes

Your partner’s car arrives

With bags of groceries

Head for the bathroom

34. Black Flies

Black flies, black flies, here again.

You found my forehead and my chin!

Black flies, black flies, what a pest!

I think I’ll go inside and rest.

Black flies plotting

at the break of dawn.

God, how I wish

you’d all be gone.

Black flies, black flies

look for hair,

golden in the atmosphere.

Not a little girl’s, for sure,

But a man far more immature.

Black flies, black flies,

if only I could see

you as part of

biodiversity.

Black flies, black flies

go away.

Come again another day.

(I’d settle for that reprieve,

if today they’d only leave.)

Black flies, black flies, burning bright

in the lovely Vermont light.

At least I’m sure you voted right.

35. Doggerel

She wanted to hold it

But obviously could not.

We got home quite late

And there was . . . the spot.

But on the bathroom floor,

On the tile near the door!

I wanted to lift her up

And march her around

Shouting, hey you, take notice:

These creatures astound!

So I say this sincerely

With all of my heart:

There is nothing better

In which we had a part.

36. airborne

first bounce dogs

they are jumping

levitating defying

all constraints

they own the ball

a great catch

they know it

and hustle back

with a little swagger

scientists test to see

if dogs do have

human emotions

good lord

they would do better

to test humans

37. Happy Ending. Not!

The beach was fabulous,

and our feet got very sabulous.

We were feeling just glorious.

It could have been salubrious

for all us youngcoupolous,

but we drank superfluous.

Grip on reality got tenuous,

self-control became laborious,

hand driving car was tremulous,

skidding was furious,

so that was the end of us,

far beyond neosporious.

Remorseful now, all of us -

heaven not so bounteous,

food not really scrumptious, 

the lectures very ponderous. 

God makes fun of us.

He makes us abstemious!

We are just incredulous.

An ending ignominious.

F. Coda

38. Crepuscular Thoughts

Close readers will be asking

about the poem that’s in the title.

So I started again on the writing

with a draft that I’d put on idle.

I was thinking of a happy ending,

but took a break and went to watch 

the giant project of beach renourishing,

a project I would have loved to scotch.

Where the waves now lap at condo doors,

the poem slipped easily from my hand

and disappeared there along the shore 

then being covered with dirt brown sand.

Slurried ashore in three giant pipes,

the sand intended to shore up the beach.

That of course was all hype and tripe:

the new sand soon in sea level’s reach.