The hot bath I embraced at five
suggested... you.
Alive - and steeped in
perfumed accents
of your voice,
iridescence bathed me
in its hue.

From far-flung shores
a will was wrought
that steeled my eyes
to beauty as it lies - in you.
Now, lifted veil from eyes that fail,
youth left behind -
what irony this life has brought!

At six I sit in quiet thought
reflected in the blue -
of yesteryear - and roads once trod,
of paths explored,
explored anew;
forgotten now... the hour nears
to send my thoughts to you.

withered memories sustain
the gleam (the one that folks remark on);
miss mildred walks the country lane,
pale ghosts keeping company -
the lonely spot with gravelled ruts
feels like a valued friend -
one that you can count on
at journey's end
and all points in between

taken whole, she's wary of the
lonely stretch of blacktop
mirroring the pitfalls she has seen,
yet - part of her lives not today.
languishing in memory
of other stops
and vignettes she has seen

miss mildred walks in yesterday

.

Amazing grace,
the perfect 10 -
where hast thou gone
o' fickle face of then!

I believe

that flash across my vision
was the spectre of your smile;
a shadow presaging your
exit... and charter steps
on a long and sharded mile

foreboding cloaked me
and a malaise pervaded
simple daily tasks... until,
masking presentment
with a countenance of utmost
calm, I let you slip away -
though no one asks

I've seen that smile again...
at the bottom of a dumpster
heralding the minutia of my life -
a purple recollection - cached
in five-cent refundables and
dark brown whiskey flasks.

.

a fire
burning
in a sea of primal cries -
blithely
mocking the universe
the stumble -
the long, sure fall
clawing now,
the pit,
pain!
understanding...
life - a gift, squandered
truth appearing
too late
in smoke signals of the past

quiet
stolen moments...
become sacred rivers
through which mercurial
memories flow

forgotten dreams
flash-frozen in amber
under your scorn...
are coaxed to trembling life
and I rejoice
as uncharted, renegade landscapes
enfold me cautiously, not yet
trusting the veracity of
new-found independence

experienced in the art
of self-deception, I approach
with quicksilver resolve, reaching
through a veil of gossamer
for hard-won freedoms

Sometimes writing poetry,
or trying to, seems silly;
after all, who cares!
I usually survive the
moment by playing with
simple rhymes - like the
poem to the right - and
somehow the fun returns.
(H. Long - 28.09.98)

I'm not looking for a lover
but I sure could use a brother
Are you free? Speak to me!

Rome was built in many stages
but it's lasted through the ages
Are you free? We could try it just to see!

As dry-eyed as a parrot
see me holding out this carrot
Are you free? Do I need a university degree!

Might be times you need to hold me
or perhaps you'll want to be the referee
Are you free? I not asking you to be the cavalry!

I didn't put this in the paper...
worried I might get a faquir... or a nut.
Come on brother... you're startin' to look mighty good to me!