Trauma and drama

crowd out creativity-

what’s a poor poet to do?

~

When the heat dies down,

the poet reignites his

fire and begins to write.

Not a day goes by,

 it seems, without May weeping.

Why all these histrionics?

~

Perhaps, like me, she’s

been holding, subjected to

lachrymatory Muzak!

June is knocking on

May’s door, telling her to stop

her torrent of tears and leave.

~

Let us all just hope

May refrains from telling June

her tales of woe as she leaves.

Being short of breath

and, shorter still, of temper,

conversation is unwise.

~

So we take up our

pens and mondo converse. Take

heart; it could be worse.

We got another

to be continued notice

from the rain filled clouds on high.

~

Again, the Monsoon

moves from the tropics, northward,

into this, once temperate, land.

A joy filled morning

on this Graduation day!

Now to unwind and relax.

~

Let’s take a moment

and soak in happiness shared,

 achievement celebrated.

Your son is about

to graduate. Can the same

thing be said for you?

~

This graduation

is, yet another, etching

upon this life’s meter stick.

One abducts grandma,

one sits naked in the road;

just another day at work.

~

And your presence there

brings reason and compassion

to those who need so much.

These days if you leave

home without an umbrella,

you must be an optimist.

~

Perhaps. Or perchance

you are less the optimist;

rather, more the masochist.

That pointless prattle!

Do these kids believe this is

really meaningful discourse?

~

Maybe there’s no point

beyond connecting and who

can argue with that?