New Book Excerpt: “Petite Beige Shoulder Purse”

While shopping at Lowes on International Women’s Day, I suddenly found myself trailing an awesome redhead woman within its cavernous expanse. Coincidentally, we ended up on the same checkout queue and had a brief conversation, but I, unlike me, didn’t keep it going, in order to get her number! OMG! I’m smitten and yet to be forgivin’. So yes, I submit this sonnet – which will definitely be included in my forthcoming book – to the universe, so it may, with the help of Saint Jude, assure that our paths soon again cross.

“My height redhead, you inspire me to write.
How I dug the way you shop Lowes walking,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the sleepwalking.

Let me compare you to a gorgeous arch?
You are more sexy, sensuous and right.
Light clouds dull the timely flowers of March,
And the springtime has your womanly slight.

How may I love you? In so many ways.
I loved your boots, olive green top and jeans.
Your petite beige purse reminds me the day.
I failed to think of what to say most cunning .

Now I must away with a lonely heart,
Remember my right words until we’re not apart.”

Book Preview: “Conflicting Conveniences”

“Damned smartphone!” lol

Pet Peeve number “5,000″…

Remember this?

My first “cellphone” and,

At least it did not intrude on my mood!

Neither did it remind me;

Harken to those days of sanity.

If you were born prior to 1989 you are saved;

Who can keep count these days?

Don’t you hate it when you text someone,

Then they call you right back before you finish?

If you wanted to TALK to them,

YOU would have called in the first place!

Or Don’t you get annoyed when

You are calling someone,

Their voice mail comes on and,

Just as you are wrapping up your voice-mail,

That person is CALLING you,

Without even having listened to your voice-mail?!

You could have just tex’d them!

What’s the use in their outgoing message?

I feel then like I should have hung up on myself!

Silly smart-phone configurations perpetuate,

Conflicting communications with intrusive settings,

Unfocused communication in the middle of calls!

With options to opt-out of the conversation,

Says Alexander Graham Bell,

“What the hell?”

Let us only hearken back to a Virgin who

Was my first lover;

Of flip cell phones.

I sent her a score of indigo flowers then ago,

When this instant communication didn’t happen

And a lonely “Blackberry” was the IN thing.

Even our cool beans President had one!

With the lack of annoyance,

He made leadership non-intrusive fun.

I’d rather hear your voice;

Email, sms/text or talking?

When I was a DJ on 98.7 KISS FM,

Our slogan slug line was,

“More Music, Less Talk”.

Today, it would be

“More texting, Less talk”.

[…to be continued to fix it…”]

Wandering Person; Solitary Failure

Head high shoulders straight,
Undressed and confess;
I messed-Up.
Thinking I would become good enough
To get paid for jocking the box,
Like my idol Frankie Crocker.
I am a loser sexagenarian;
Cannot even score
A female soul-mate
As planned with Inna in 2012 and before..

I fucked-up,
Chose the wrong path.
Higher educated and lower paid;
Can’t even seem to get laid!
The whole town of my college friends,
Is laughing at me.

“Dumbass! Shoulda got a REAL job!”

Now I am impoverished only child
Dependent upon maybe a lottery hit –
Or crowdfunding success.

I’ve disheartened desired
Ukraineskee number three.
First there was Inna,
Who found and funded me passport
I did not ask that favor!
She gave me hope like no other.

Then Tanya and Ala simultaneously;
I tried to replace her with.
More Tanya than Ala since 2015.
So (tak)I am fessing -up.

It is 2019 now.
Tanya created an excuse,
That her son was,
Troubled at the University in Kiev,
She had to travel to him;
Many miles in Ukraine to support!
Blowing-off her job,’
So she said;
That was three months ago.

Ala has written fewer letters
Via the dating site “Beauties…”
I am a Mickey Mouse loser;
Today she let me know,
She no longer believes also.
Inna said that too after waiting long too.
And Ala told she wants a baby –
Too for that shit, Heh.

I don’t blame them at all;
Why? I cry!! Real tears!
I am a contemporary American pauper cat.
Higher educated and less wealthy;
Current government and tech policies guarantee,
A failure relying upon a net of safety.

What gorgeous international lady,
That of my seven-year plan;
Wants to be strung-along,
In the lax company
Of a dreamer via internet,
Without any tangible gifts?

Who can latch onto,
The photo of a cool-looking
Long-distance guy,
Who seems to rent and never own?
Sounds so full of baloney I agree.
Now I’m in a new town
Trying again to throw-down,
Yet who knows how long I have to live.
A Baby Boomer representing all we are blessed to give.

I fucked-up all-in-all;
Wasted a university degree.
Nyet,”see-chas” I’m The Wandering Person,
Always making decisions to stay free.

Belonging punished to selfishly croon;
Unsatisfactorily home and alone;
With allergies killing me sans air conditioning!
Need to move and build my own space,
And will do it to it;
When and if my magic numbers from the Great Spirit grace.

Whipcrashed

WhipCrashed

Mild mid-January day,
Gift wrapping papered;
Clothed in Tweed birthday suit.
To shop for a treat;
Two new neighbors to meet,
Nearby a new watering hole to celebrate;
This one is a milestone!

Early evening now on the way.
A familiar route,
Around the corner from where I stay.
I cruise the usual way under the limit
When I spy small SUV begin to encroach,
From triangular gas station on my right.
I beeped as he entered the road;
It kept coming unbelievably fast!
Oh shit, oncoming headlights,
I tried to swerve to avoid it,
Then an explosive mid-ship crash!
Popping leather buttons on tweed jacket!
Like two laser robot eyes, they penetrate metal.

I couldn’t dodge it,
Now smoke, airbags and broken glass,
Windshield cracks like spider web.
More fumes permeate me,
Locked together in road suicide lane;
Oh My God! Then silence…will I die tonight?
Would flames be next? I pondered.
Panic attacks my chill,
Ignition won’t let key come out!
My sedan sad and totally demolished;
As was my left pollex wrenched trying to avoid him.

Days later neck pain persists;
Back out of wack.
I have had enough of this!
Weeks later, finding the gold side-view mirror,
In a pile of debris from my machine at roadside,
On the tri-point station property.
Months later I can still see
His oncoming headlights in my sleep,
And hear his bogus apology.

He claims it was me he could not see.
How about glasses and a pillow,
Little mister “failed to yield right-of-way”?
That is what his police summons say.
Now pray insurance, doctors and lawyers,
Awaiting his financial reparation sanction day.

Ode To Cha-Cha (“Sha-Sha”) A Sad Solitary Slow Dance

Fingers lovingly probe the letters of these keys.
Emotion tries to rescue me.
Where will they take me?
Like a Disc Jockey plays,
A rolling stone full of moss.

It is late, but the songbird of my life called me out of the blue earlier this afternoon,
In the daylight for a change,
We usually talk late at night.
She calls me unexpectedly,
Holla at a brotha excitedly to say she thinks
She was nearby where my mother lives.
Few have permission to go there.

An ongoing thing,
Is this fling;
I stopped it for twenty-five years.
Let the sap descend back to the roots;
Banned and then I forgave her
Upon shockingly returning as a caregiver.

Many a year it seemed,
I was just her chauffeur to parties
Nothing more afterwards.
I was in love with a ride-share client;
She spoke her love for me,
However it was never consummated,
While I could lay many others.

We are still both single,
Early sexagenarians who have not yet exchanged sexual generics.
Would it be worth it now having desired her for so long?
As uncharacteristic as a cold cactus on a desert night,
I still do not trust her to visit and be denied and teased again.

Therefore, and because she lives now in the dark of the Bronx,
Yet I did it to get it over with.
The tolls over the bridges,
Are also somewhat prohibitive nowadays from when it was a quarter.

Lay lady never laid,
Maybe on my new almost brass bed,
If only I could finally get her into it.
Never taking me seriously,
Thinking I was too skinny genetically.
That I can never control.

If now that we are older Baby Boomers,
She would perish before I do,
Would be the saddest day,
Save my own mother’s time before mine.

Her voice is still the same,
Except when she is loud street braggadocios.
Our octaves never change I guess,
Unless health issues do.
Once a songbird to my heart,
Always a special symphony singer into my soul.
She insists “last night a DJ saved my life”.

Thirty years I have known her;
Yet through it all never boned her.
No hook-up from the friend zone.
Nyet benefits – why?
This verse is masturbation alone.

Caring in-truthful conversations,
This time wasn’t our mind blown?
To have loved and to slice like a cherry tree;
Tasted tart fruit distantly from one’s own;
Now I know never there will we have sex;
Not a pie are we,
No French Vanilla-skinned ice cream;
Only a forever fly-by.
She is huge in weight and afraid of the freight.
It will slightly be morose to have lost the chance ,
When one of us soon goes “bye-bye”.
Thanks for the friendship dance.

Book Excerpt: “Men! What If Your Penis Could Speak?”

What if your penis could talk?
Or ladies, your vagina?

I can only speak to it, the penis;
So lets stick to the penis because,
We are full of double entendre now;
I know more about the former anatomy.

Guys, would your penis tell all the tales
Of the tails that you put it through?
What would it say?
Would it stick it to you?
Would it betray your manhood?

If your “wood” could gentleman,
Would it say why it stiffens in the middle of the night,
When nature calls?
And of its relationship to your balls?
The so-called, “family jewels”.
Or how COME it acts UP,
Without a female nearby?

If your penis could talk,
Would it explain those teenage wet dreams?
Or would it allow for a better elderly stream?
Suppose your dick could dictate?

If your dick could think quick,
Would he chronicle all the lays you gave him?
The tunnels of love you made him enter?
No toll necessary but the pleasure of the flesh..
Would he be like “Dick Tracy”,
Investigating the vagina chronicles?

If your penis could talk, when hard;
Would he allow you to walk the walk?
What would the “wood” say about Viagra or cocaine?
Would he want to go “See Alice”?

If Your Penis could talk,
He would likely laugh at erecting “over four hours damage”
Come-on, he can last much longer!
If the woman is sexy and fine!

If your Magic Johnson could speak,
He would be concerned about Lorena Bobbit!
Are they even still together?
Yes, unfortunately and likely in some trailer park,
Chopping meat.

If you named him “Jack Meoff”,
Would your penis explain how you are now a private “southpaw”?
Or all of the times it gave you a hard time for no reason?
Like when you have no companion next to you in the bed?

What would your penis say if it could talk from its tiny mouth?
Would he remember and reveal if you ever contracted an STD?
Or if you enjoy masturbation too much?
Would it brag as a slender, thick or a curved dick?

As you can see, this debate has many angles.
Including the calculation of the dangle;
From forty-five to a sturdy ninety silk degrees;
A silent partner in a three-way love affair,
Who you want to treat right,
Not just beat it.

Couldn’t help the analogy, lol!

Send your opinions! Thank you for reading my poetry.

Book Excerpt: “Kissin’ Kia”

Kissing a Kia was a nice ride,
A Pelvic glide;
Not a fender-bender no.
He drove a Pontiac at that time;
Then a Mustang.
She once wore horizontal back and white stripes,
They would make out sometime in his benzo.

Kissing Kia;
So how did that start?
Must have been those copious love letters,
Which I still find when looking for something else;
She penned them while in her class.
Giving her
Keeping her border secret
Impressed by my loyalty I guess,
Similarly needing a true friend was I,
She was not a drive-by.

Kissing Kia,
Coming, or better put,
Stopping-by my office to say hello,
Pulling me near in an embrace,
Very sexy she and I couldn’t avoid that face.
Well put-together by the love God Venus,
Body belied her age or another from the assembly line;
It was all I could muster not to think with my penis.

Kissing Kia,
How I wanted to hook-up,
Yet I couldn’t as I was older
While like the old Sam Cooke Song,
“She Was Only Sixteen…”
Only half of those lyrics applied;
She was one smart cookie,
To an intelligent older man drawn
While unsung will sensibly realize.

Kissing Kia was not fake.
Had she bragged to a friend however,
Would have been a Daily News headline cover,
I did not want to make.
Though her tender, well-built body
I yearned to take.

Kissing Kia drove to express her desires,
In no uncertain terms;
More mature than many ladies my own age,
And those guys of her generation;
Her flirtation taught me an important unknown page.
Why so blessed was I with this decision test?

Kissing Kia,
Upon a time of the whip-appeal era,
She is still Babyface alright with me.
A Kia with an Optima Sportage Soul,
French-kissingly Nero Forte,
Mashina I would still love to drive….

[from the book, “My God…U Practical Joker!” 2020 Amazon Books]

Check Me INN To Sleep Long And Deep

On-shore intentional,
(prayer)
Mid-week deep thought therapy meditational;
(Dependable incoming waves)
Positive, personal and focused,
(Stay)
Demons of Doubt cast away,
(Strong)
Settling Sea reinvigorates me.
(Tough)
Otis Redding watching the tide
(Disciplined music)
Mature enough to finally be an adult;
(Centered)
Still much of an only-child kid at-heart;
(Safety)
Keeping my head “on the swivel” on the stealth.
(Rebelliously streetwise)
James Baldwin’s “The Fire Next Time”
(Healthy)
Start my day with H2O Green tea,
(detox)
Vitamin and antioxidant augmented;
(Wealthy)
Pay myself first and I need another gig now!
(Banker)
Find a corner as ‘Aunt’ Nashville ‘second Mom’,
Della recommends I pray;
(Spiritual communication)
Alive so long as the sun rises and desires;
(Good habits)
Mama used to say.
(Timeless advises)
It is the calm-before-the-storm…again dammit.
(Cherish downtime)

Cicadas

Cicadas

You know its August

When you hear the Cicadas sing

Making that unique creepy sci-fi sound

As they flutter their wings.

Vibrating the air and buzzing in the trees.

In rural areas you see the holes

They emerge from underground;

Leaving moth-like carcasses

Frozen in time from which they escaped.

Their scary symphony is a reminder

A mid-summer night’s scream;

Cicadas remotely and sonic are

Pretty benign until you,

Notice one taking a ride

Upon your shoulder with

Them big, bugged-out eyes!

Oh my Gosh, they will shock you.

Cicadas, dog days of summer insect,

Orchestrating background noise;

Summer clicking and ticking;

Annoying Bugsy raiders.

In September the Crickets out-sing Cicadas.

 

 

Freezing My Frame ® Sharing on my blog with props to digitalhegemon

Photo post. “Hell-OOOO, Dolly” Speaks to the Sad state of my sex and love life, but this is more “tatas” than I have seen since 2013! lol Thank you for posting this. The closest to “Paris-dise” I have ever been… Heh

“Blond or brunette,
Shapely sculptured sublime sweet softness,
Everything I always desired since I was a boy.
Yes, I always “liked white girls”,
If that is the simple American way you want to put it;
Yet is more than that.
It is Asian, Caucasian, Slavic, European;
It is sharing ethnic culture,
Not a female vulture.
Nipples erect yet sweet as berries
I yearn to climb this grapevine.
When I finally attract a loyal one of my own.
It is the best quest for me.
Keeps me alive succinctly.
For to be facing the beauty above,
Money notwithstanding,
I want to wake up with those twins.
Would be like being in Paradise!”

…To Be continued…because I CAN and am a Man.

Source: Freezing My Frame ®