• she pencil thin moments

    Byjucasso

    she pencil thin moments pack a present peace no stern feelings
    yet regard for something lean a miracle of groupings right off the
    starboard bow and hear the most fine tuning will get to her somehow in borrowed embargo a bless-ed vow-
    to lift the grip regretted strife to widen hugs as thoughts decide someway to shift so sweet survive I will not blame your milk white
    Pride
    perchance a dance a sweet amour would welcome you so soon
    the shore you much adore a wealth of health a fisher fly across the coast where boats
    boast of the tide
    around the bluffs near lies today the grasses long in languid sway
    there in the pockets of the banks then starlings nest as out to sea
    the daring tanks aloud I whisper off the pier come back to me
    I’ll harbor you my dear.

  • music for the muse

    Byjucasso

    barren beach below snow covered sand
    sun over the yardarm rue the stew Dinty Moore
    fish the fish wriggle worm lure the lurid splash
    diver bubble bends trouble murky brine
    old boats sail away never die
    fore aft Chris Craft hull and kisses
    cast the mast crow’s nest rest witches
    give it up for lent lofty wishes
    bent spent cent sense solitude
    watery green Goddess of Neptune
    hurl the world submerge submit
    an aging bloom
    beckon second seldom clouds
    rain a strain of Strauss
    music for the muse
    coming out of her blouse
    glassy eyes descend
    hide hidden harmonic heretic
    reduce speed delicate for the benefit
    of merriment
    let there be
    incredulous contentment
    white street of Gloucester by the sea.

  • a Januaury song

    Byjucasso

    saving days from raving crazy train wrecks dazed
    plodding the wobble of sadness sobbing
    increased the senseless sorrow that never seems to cease
    the sensitive sympathetic softly sighing silence listening
    soon the moon sweeps tides from wells of wishing
    the east end best for bottom fishing
    test lines fly the boats and brine the harbor sky misting
    tugboats call their foghorns blare
    a January song a winters tale.