Jazzy Nights

Where the cats go

When it’s cold?

The cats, when it’s cold, goes

To a place nobody knows.

A place where only the finest and

Fliest cats converse.

A place where the

Melodic meow is of

Purrfect harmony.

Bplurrrr…. The bass.

Bplurrrr…. The voice.

Oh the sweet nectar

That bellows from

The belly.

Where the cats go

When it’s cold?

The cats, when it's cold, goes

To a place nobody knows.

A place so dingy and dirty

That even the crows wouldn’t crow

Or the bats even hang.

A place that is rodent paradise,

Where the knights of

Thievery reside.

Squeak, squeak…. The march.

Squeak, squeak, squeak…. The plunder.

Where the cats go

When its cold?

The cats, when it’s cold, goes

To a place nobody knows.

A place so hidden,

So obsolete,

So recluse that

Only a troubled

Soul could desire

To seek.

Walls

If these walls could talk

They would scream obscene,

Cruel things.

Words so harsh,

So mean that the only

Way to be fathom

Would be in my dreams.

They would say,

“Dear Child, don’t break

Me down.

Uphold to your crown

 And wait for now.

Guys, my sweetheart

Come by the pound.

So don’t waste your

Treasure on a

Decision that isn’t sound;

Respect yourself

For now.

Remember for only you

Can help

How your life

Is being dealt.”

If these walls could talk

They would continue to say,

“Go through with

Your virtues

And enjoy the

Presence of the morning dew

With a clear view.”

If only these walls

Could talk.

Rain Window Pain

With the rain dropping on the window pain,
I see with my young eyes the struggles of my parents.

With my undying love for Him,
I ask that He gives me the strength to take care of them.

No children I seek to spoil, no man I wish to desire.
Only thing I want is the 'striving' fire; the thrive to do better is what I acquire.
From us to both of you, a kiss we lay upon your cheeks.

Our simple way of showing your love was never obsolete.
With the rain dropping on the window pain, I see with my young eyes a reflection.

I see a determined child
working hard to make her parents proud.

Can I?

Can I experience

Spain with you?

Can I hold your

hand in the night

while strolling down the

alleys of El Sol,

searching for churros y chocolate.

Can I experience

Spain with you?

Can I wake up next

to you in your

arms, with drool

dried on our cheeks,

staring out the window

as the shine of the sun

lay upon us, as we

regret but relish

in the past night.

A night filled with

laughter, dancing,

alcohol, music,

churros y chocolate.

Can I experience

Spain with you?

Can I ‘siesta’ with you

in the middle of the

day, when the sun is the highest

and the streets are

the quietest.

And dream about the

crispy churros y the

thick, dark chocolate.

Can I experience

Spain with you?

Can we go to Atoche,

travel to Barcelona,

Run with the Bulls

through the defecated

streets, as we

meet strangers who

quickly become friends after

seeing death and life in

‘los ojos del toros.’

Experiencing laughter

over churros y chocolate.

Can I experience

life with you?

Can we go to Spain,

travel through the

streets of Madrid,

Barcelona, Toledo,

Ibiza, enjoying life,

enjoying each other,

with the only care

hugging our minds is

when and where we

will find and eat our next

churros y chocolate.

No Touch Thus Taken

He was just sixteen and she only twenty-one

but he rocked her world to galaxies unknown.

They barely spoke and never touched but

she knew he could see her soul.

In the day he approached her with ruses

disguised by roses so their bodies would be near.

But when night appeared his schemes once thought

foolish made her cracked life whole.

Their forbidden infatuation lasted for

only weeks of four. Victims of summertime lust.

Throughout the rhythmic heat their

sinsual sound was their only tone.

For a time being their desire was their home.

The years have passed and their tainted love

has gone. Him finding comfort with young beauty

and her with rugged handsomeness are

the lives they have sewn.

They barley spoke and never touched but even

with these passing times the sound of her

voice or the mention of his name

still makes their bodies moan.

Dear Jack

Dear Jack,

I received a letter from John

and nothing good comes from it.

He says he’s hurt;

the alcohol that formerly caressed

his throat now burns.

He says he’s sad;

the words he writes no longer

belongs to him, they’re

no longer his comfort.

He says he’s blind;

the life he dreamt so much

about is now dark, oblique.

He says he’s fallen;

he wants to die but

he’s too weak to move.

Dear Jack,

I received a letter about John

and nothing good comes from it.