The sun burn down into the resting arms of night
lights off; are now on
settling scene Scorsese, De Niro joint
eye of storm is over
restless youth appear from nowhere
baby vampires snipping dead eyes

save aged stories
to be told, written scripts a new Capote
how wise to let the vines ripen
as the Sabbath evening unfurl its wings

On an afternoon of rain and wind
thoughts go where they shouldn't stray
and wander forward to the end.
Who shall leave and who shall stay?

I don't think I could bear to see
my life's love lying cold and still.
So selfish as the wish might be
let me be first to top that hill.

But, should I be the one bereft
wait just beyond the crest for me.
I know my heart will soon be cleft
and I'll catch up to you shortly.

I tried to write a sonnet, like The Bard,
to apt describe my feelings for you, love,
but it's not easy - rather, it is hard -
the words seem trite when push comes down to shove.

Comparison to bright-lit summer day,
too hot for gold complexion to adore;
rough winds, thus startling darling buds of May -
one finds that it has all been said before.

I received a vintage bottle
of wine, from a time gone past;
each time it tastes much sweeter
erasing "quick"! The drop 'twas last.

~

At the present, I'm indulging
my parched throat to a stout, ale "gift";
'twas from my hairdresser/mechanic,
guess she thought I needed a lift.

~

As I "age" my own proclivity
has me leaning away from beer,
and wine's too tempermental
causing a melancholy tear.

~