OMENS(?)

Amid fireworks celebrating

the Fourth of July,

thunderstorms reigned

over the skies.

Streaks of Florida’s lighting

knifed the ground.

Thunder shaking the body

like no Cherry Bomb could.

The heavens in disarray,

as Roman Candles asked

for a reprieve.

Why would the gods

crash our party?

©TPuma-7/4/2020

H6-20b

In the theatre
of my mind,
only the Ghost-light
is lit.

H6-20-a

The Sub-Tropic rain
beats a somnolent
melody on the Porte-cochere.

Q-Time

Butterflies flitting around
the drooping fronds of a Palm tree.
(Mating season?)

Ducks skirting on the mirrored lake:
They fly, they walk, they swim.
(Amazing)

The resident murder of Crows
are jubilant as ever.
(Survivors)

Lake low. (Drought)
Energy low. (Bored)
Virus, viral, vulnerable. (Vita)

Alone on the Lanai
basking in the sun.
(Heat-good?)

Shuttered neighborhood.
(Shut-ins)

Waves of days mark,
“The Class of 1960.”

©TP/MMXX

Dog-Day Halloween

Dog-Day Halloween

Simon was nervous.

Each time a rap on the door
or a chiming bell was heard.
He would jump-up to see
what the fuss was for.

Answered amid qualms
to reveal this calamity.
A cacophony of costumes
pleading for sweet alms.

Vocal threats
of tricks if no treats.
Ransom paid with candy,
no regrets.

This Autumnal event to bring
smiles and Spirits alive.
So, lights-on, to welcome
dark apparitions with each ring.

An eventful day and night
as Simon is calmed to sleep.
He is barked-out on this
once a year fright

©TPuma:10/31/19.

New Year' Eve (2018)

A multi-murder of Crows
with a’fluttering wings
and flapping beaks,
in a dichotomy of whispers
and obstreperous cawing,
both pay me no heed and
annoying me with cavalier
condescension,
as they seem to multiply
exponentially,
like a surreal memorial to
Alfred Hitchcock.

This balmy last day of 2018
with its ebony-speckled sky,
as if this last day is the
“end-of-days.”

As I shout from my balcony,
to this base-natural group;
“It’s New Year’s Eve, you birds,
what have you resolved?”

I’m ignored.

©TP/12/31/18

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