About The Drama Queen

Petulant and studiously self-absorbed,
the veneer of her youthful sophistication
is dreadfully skin-thin. She poses and
preens, expresses anguish that she is so
little understood, sneers at her
presumed detractors; adults who fail
to take her histrionics seriously enough,
finding no humour in their wryly fond
observations about the Drama Queen.

Her response is revenge; swiftly unsubtle
and arrogantly brutal. A child's mind
in an adult image, struggling to find
herself in a world hostile to her unearned
expectations. She turns a cold eye, a
haughty demeanor on all who dare to
impugn her exceptionality; therein
lies the kernel of her survival, she feels.

Nature's Design

Neither lapsed time and trying intervals
of separation nor the relative but
inadequate yet joyful reunions can
quite compensate for absences that
love insists must be accommodated; that
ever-present dull ache oppressing the
psyche's acceptance refuses amelioration
finding itself instead in full rebellion.

Those brief episodes when I wait with
breath bated for your arrival and the
surprising, unexpected, visceral leap
of my heart reaching to touch yours
is rewarded by a smile only you emote
to melt the frozen longing set aside
in dutiful abeyance in your presence.

Our partings have many beginnings
that trickle through time to become
endings and you are once again away.
Your life once an integral part of mine
is now exclusively your own, a reality
to which you are happily adapted
through habituation and destiny. And
there I languish, incapable of
adjusting to nature's design.

Circling Gulls

The old engineering marvel, that
five-span bridge of hand-hewn
granite ceaselessly ferries
present-day conveyances over
the raging torrents of river,
that in spring eddies and foams
and drags down the unwary and
the unfortunate to death's cold,
wet arms in its watery depths.

Innocent in late summer, the
great stretches of limestone shelves
glaring bone-white in full light of day
the river languorously passing over
its rapids, no threat to those who fish
its abundant depths, taking little notice
of warning signs, circling gulls crying
the anguish of departed souls.

The Sun's Fingers Probing the Forest

To stride along a wooded, bowered
pathway during fall's season is to
experience a unparalleled adventure in
sensory perceptions. The crisp air of
autumn overtakes the discomfort of
warm humidity given to summer's
passing days, however treasured.

The autumn wood is redolent with
scents of our childhood, sweet and acrid.
Birdsong rings more transparent, the
atmosphere alive with winged insect life
celebrating the brief presence of their
existence as they fade toward winter.

Underfoot, we crush desiccated leaves,
the detritus of wind-fallen twigs, seed pods
and cones. Caterpillars hasten to spin their
cocoons, spiders to seek shelter in improbable
crevices. Furred creatures of the forest
diligently gather and cache winter stores.

The forest canopy, still thick with foliage,
shelters those striding below the branches
from inundating showers. Shades of red,
orange, yellow, absorb the brightness
of the sun's fingers probing the forest.

Those Sweet Red Orbs

Our garden tomato plants which
had so vivaciously flowered in
spring, bestowing upon us an
early delightful harvest of glowing
red, ripe fruit chugged along in
its unerring production, so intent
on the green turning to red, pluck-ready
for daily salads, they forgot to flower.

Those dainty yellow symbols
of future fruit simply were
non-existent and we regretted
the voluntary holiday these
hard-working green vines
decided to impose despite
more than ample rain and sun.
Contenting ourselves with the
bounty of daily sweet ripening.

Little did we realize we had
selected an especially bred cultivar
named "the tease", whose jocular
strain had been bred to stop short
of a full harvest. Now that the days
have become shorter, the nights
evolved to frost warnings our
perverse vines are ablaze with
yellow flowers; O wonder!

Our Woodland Traipses

A fussy little quadruped
he is, vexingly irritating
with his dainty, plodding gait,
resembling at times the
progress gained by a
woolly-bear caterpillar,
quietly grumbling at the
prospect of yet another
quotidian ramble in the
woods, so unfairly imposed.

He would simply so much
rather remain in indolent
comfort behind, engaged in the
delightful device of splaying
satisfactorily still in the
living heat of the sun's
probing rays. You feel like
a woodland walk, his brown
eyes tell us, depart: hail and
farewell. We shall be happily
re-united upon your return.

RANT(ing Intransigence)

As a reasonable human being
take care that the outraged umbrage
you are wont to express so passionately
and publicly, proportionately and
fairly reflects the gravity and actual
intent of the purported insults that
have wounded your self esteem;
that the incendiary heat of your
response does not overwhelm
reason and justice, else you mark
yourself as possibly psychologically
challenged to the point of imbalance,
stricken by paranoia, betraying
your deep-seated frailties by
your maliciously visceral attacks.