Wednesday, May 2, 2018

War and Peace


I was born during one war.
I came of age serving in another.
In between and for years after
I was at war with myself.

A mental insidious gnawing constantly
that I was QUEER.

A comedian once quipped:
“He was so far in the closet,
he was behind the Christmas presents.”

That was me.

Always in shadows, in dark corridors of
bath-houses, behind Glory-hole walls,
blow jobs in balconies.

I was always alone, lonely and afraid.


At age 62 I retired and shed my Madison Avenue
suit and tie and false pretenses and remarks about
my not being married.

I CAME-OUT.

No, it wasn’t that simple, it took me several years
to convince myself and confide in others of my
true self.

John Lennon wrote and sang:
“The war is over, if you want it, give peace a chance.”

My personal war is over.
I am at peace with myself.

©TPuma/MMXVIII


END












Saturday, September 30, 2017

Pangramian



Let us just go, you and I,
on this quiet Sunday morn
and trek the Tappan Zee;
to view the golden sunrise
upon Hudson’s blue waters:
exceptional freedom.

©TPuma/MMXVII








Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Contemplation (9/10/17)



I awaken to pelting rains
a cacophonous pitter-patter.
Droplets streak across panes
winds versus windows [shatter?]

Palm trees throw off fronds
branches whiz-by like arrows.
Golf course sand-traps now ponds
home lighting by tallows.

T.V. sits as a mute gent
its weather voices still.
Hurricane howls its intent
Mother Nature can be shrill.

My house is a Cloister
a retreat from the tumult outside.
NO, the world is not my Oyster,
I’m just here for the ride.

Well, that’s it for now,
not such a bad fix.
No rescue in a scow,
my boat is on the river Styx.

©TPuma/MMXVII



Irma (TP/MMXVII)



Waiting on Irma
clearing my lanai.
I’m getting a hernia,
Rush says “it’s a lie.”

Will my windows last?
A category 4.
a non-impact blast
glass strewn on the floor.

It’s just a murmur
but not a rumor.
This condition Irma
(we’ve been there)
this aging Boomer.

So, I sit and let this pass
as I notch this event.
In line for gas
my disposable income spent.

This season of angst und sturm
with life sad and funny.
This too shall turn
and leave my Eden sunny.

I watch the horizon
and ocean too.
Signs of Armageddon
water churned grey, not blue.

I will sit-and-stay
and ride this out.
count each day
until we shout:

Irma, bye-bye
your likes have been here before.
I’ll take a deep breath and sigh;
“Is this it?” Al Gore.
*************************








Friday, June 30, 2017

I Belong



I heard them croon, “I belong”
when I was all alone.
A haunting melody of one song.
How could I have known?

I kept my wits about me
as a closet shut-in.
No one really knew me,
neither kith or kin.

So, by a simple phrase,
proclaimed melodic’ly.
I can face new days,
in my new family.

For you see, “I belong”
is a mantra not a plea.
I too will sing one song,
as “I” becomes “We.”

(dedicated to the GMCSF)

©TPuma/MMXVII


Monday, April 17, 2017

Easter/2017



Rainbow Eggs/Hidden
Honey Ham/Basted
Chocolate Bunny/Eaten
Easter Parade/Watched
Pastel Bonnet/Wore
Purple Shroud/Lifted
Hallelujah/Sang
J.Christ/Risen.

TP.

Friday, March 17, 2017

Erin's Hope Pub/03/17/63



Thin ties and thick friendships.
A shamrock lilting in the neon.
Jameson spilled on mahogany and Burberry.
Danny Boys in tenor voices and adorable brogues.

Closeted with Ireland's twinkiest
and IRA wannabees.
Natural Gingers, play against a field of green.

Those Leprechauns, who “come-out”
after copious green beers and Irish cheers,
secretly go-out to the East Side Bath House,
to sober-up and cavort.

March 18th, would be a day to contemplate
March 17th, and rejoice in the memory
of liberation.

May you have the same.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

©TPuma/MMXVII