By: Domonique

P & P

A painter the poet acquainted, a lovely woman, her name Leroux.
Her paintings were splendid, especially her works by the Sea.
The songwriter was a hungry poet; Leroux offered him some food;
The scent of the Blue World came to meet them with the breeze.

The poet told the painter of her talents;
The painter wished to tell the poet of her passions,
But never did.
The poet saw this, deciding to bid the painter farewell.
And boy, o boy, did the poet leave with class!

To this day,
The painter leaves her passions upon the canvas.
Her paintings are exquisite,
Though her heart lives in ruins.

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Candy

Scratch, scratch.
Itch, itch!
“You got any more of that good good, sir?”
I need it! I need it! I need more!
“Well, of course, come on through that door.”
Scratch, scratch.
Itch, itch!
“Would you like the usual dose, or shall I double down?”
“Just give it to me, man. I need it now!”
The good doctor filled the syringe with the juice.
Love was injected, the dose a deuce.
The junky’s inner smile nibbled on some sugar cane,
Life’s narcotic rained in the vein.

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Piano Man

I strolled into a room following a tune,
Stumbling upon a man playing his piano.
Lenny, I learned his name to be.
In the room alone,
Reposed ol’ Lenny and me.
His hair grey, His spirit gold
His fingers darting athwart the ivory fold.
I lit a cigarette to listen and enjoy,
His lined countenance sang to me his Joy.
Ol’ Lenny was blood of mine,
But I did not know the man.
As I left him, Ol’ Lenny,
I thanked him for his time.
I did not know the man,
But he was blood of mine.

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LLL

With a wan oar and bung knee did I finally come to see the light.
Then a splash!
A long-haired woman with a raving tail…
I turned my sinking boat toward romance, paddling with all my might to no avail.

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PURPLE SKY

Walking nowhere fast,
in between the future and the past,
the bowman’s arrow climbs and falls.

He walks a surreal road,
forever changing are the faces;
grown weary from his restless stride,
his eyes close to quondam places.

A collar curled upon jade,
the notes of summer fade,
a trumpet in a park,
music making life,
a train rattling bye.

Myriad beaks tucked in trees,
tobacco smoke in the breeze,
sculpted memories return,
twirl , depart , twirl again.

A strip of dancing boughs,
soft rain meets the leaves,
at the bridge he pays the toll,
and the jazz man plays his tune.

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