Good-bye 2021
You Wile E. Coyote you.
My inner Road Runner flees
Those spiked Covid balls
you threw.
A 2020 redux?
I tried to remain calm
But, I got Acid Reflux.
We masked, vaxxed, and boosted
too.
We also had some good times
So, ’22 let’s renew.
And shout through our masks.
For all our friends to have,
“A New Year back to normal tasks.”
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
©TPuma/MMXXI
A
gift of two Turtle Doves.
A
holiday earworm
I
prefer leather gloves.
They
have two holidays.
But,
in America
We
search for double AA’s.
My
bar bereft of Cordials.
My
mailbox bereft of cards
My
accounts bereft of numerals.
In
rainbow laundry room.
A
day of rest and unrest
Clearing
wrapping paper strewn.
We
light a black candle.
A
day of Umoji
To
brighten our mantel.
The
Feast of Saint Stephen.
A
Martyrs death he
Stoned
by the heathen.
On
Octave Day of His birth.
A
gift of eight Beatitudes
To
quench a faithful thirst.
A
time to remember.
A
time for reflexion
This
end of December.
Memories
of Best and Least.
A
personal Renaissance
We’ll
celebrate a New Year’s feast.
Have a happy Christmas Eve
With gifts all wrapp’d under the tree.
A Christmas Carol on
T.V.
With cherished dated ornaments.
To reflect on these moments.
All and all we’ve been nice.
To the baby Jesus Christ.
With deep breaths of glee.
Have a Merry from David and me.
©TPuma/12/24/21
Scent of a roasted Turkey/
Is that a Yam or Sweet Potato?
No Ketchup or Mayo.
Debating white or dark meat?
Giving thanks for this treat.
A dollop of whipped cream.
No, this is not a dream.
Detroit Lions on T.V.
Thanking your deity.
Be it meager or plenty.
With your friends and family.
A steady downpour.
A melody of water.
A glow of lightning.
A mellow thunder.
The waterfowl huddle.
The lake ripples.
The hawk is delayed.
The sun is still east.
You sit and contemplate.
You shelter from Nature.
You been here before.
You’ll be hereafter.
©TPuma/MMXXI
The
doors of the Kinema theatre were open.
Cold
air was sucked outside onto the sidewalk.
The
August heat acting as a vacuum.
The
only respite for apartment residents
of
rooms where open windows and
fans
gave no respite.
Pitkin
Avenue, Brooklyn, working-class.
white-ethnic,
and (as the New York Times
described
it) “provincial.”
The
bunting hanging from the marquee
proclaimed,
“Air Conditioned Inside.”
The
sign was superfluous.
The
manager of the theatre was a young
blond
guy:
GAY
as could be, a bespoke Dandy.
The toughs in the neighborhood
labeled
him a “Flaming Faggot”
but
he was well liked as an anomaly.
A
blooming flower in a garden
in
need of weeding.
A
main feature, a second “B” movie, cartoons,
coming
attractions, and a newsreel.
A
pleasant way to spend 2-plus hours dreaming
of
adventure and/or romance.
The
cool-darkened theatre gave us a break from
the
egg-frying sidewalks.
Like
Summer, this escape was temporary.
reality
was past the open doors as we were
sucked
onto the sidewalk with the cold air.
©TPuma/MMXXI
A painted egg, to find,
A chocolate Bunny,
A bonnet, the Easter kind,
A day destined sunny.
A moveable feast-fare,
A festive parade,
A scene with Garland and Astaire,
A sunrise cavalcade.
A resurrection,
A Robin in Spring,
A faithful reaction,
A field Clovering.
A Spiral ham,
A family of olde,
A candied Yam,
A tale to be retold,
©TPuma/Easter
2021
