You May Be Wondering Where I've Been: Well, I'll Tell You, and Share a Long Poem

The Front Cover of Moe Stanley Is Dead?

The Front Cover of The Doll

Yes, that is right. I have, not one, but two novels in the editing and proofing process. The first proof of the fourth novel in the Dewey Lynn series, Uncle Boog and the Dogfight, Aunt Charlotte's Crib, Dewey Lynn Gets Arrested, and now, Moe Stanley Is Dead? is in my hands and being reviewed and edited by Kellie and me. I have a lot of typos and minor changes that must be made to Moe Stanley Is Dead?, so don't expect it out in the next week or two, but it is coming soon. Also, the science fiction western The Doll has been sent to the printer for the first proof. I have not received the copy yet, but it is in the mail. Generally, between Kellie and me, we can get it reviewed and edited in about two weeks, maybe three, but it should be out within the next month or so. When the books are ready, please help support my efforts by purchasing the books. Please help all self-published, self-supporting artists by becoming patrons of their works. Thank you!

While you are waiting, you can read the following poem that I just finished revising today. Only five or six poems remain in Atheists and Empty Spaces to be revised, but at least three of those poems are really long. Today's poem is a long one and another oldie but goodie that I have revised at least five or six times. It is one of my favorite to revise and rewrite because it is a fun poem that is meant to be taken in a light-hearted manner. As always, ENJOY!

A Seven-Hour Love Song

The Prelude

The drowsy summer sun slips away

Into the scent of honey-suckled dew

Leaving its shifting watch over day

And shrouding itself in a curtain of blue.

Sun-bronzed revelers of water and sun

Fade also into the purple-grey hue

To bask in the dreams of a day well done.

As soon as the shine on the hills has faded,

Bonfires erupt like beacons of light,

Calling the hearts of the reckless and jaded,

Moth-like into the romance of night.

Here, young lovers bend and sway, kiss and part

To sappy guitars and songs so sentimental

That all sincerity is lost in their art.

For these youths, the words are incidental

As most trifles are that strike at the heart.

9:00 PM

The firelight on his ruddy face

Covered every blemish and trace

So that he looked like Lancelot

Before the fall from Arthur’s grace

When all was joy in Camelot.

And Guinevere, now, she was hot!

With the flames waving behind,

She was the image of Venus

Botticelli might bring to mind.

But the lady in that scene is

Naked, and Gwen was surely not,

So, reader, put aside that thought.

She was no goddess; this is true,

But so heavenly in his eyes

That when she smiled at him, on cue,

His piety began to rise.

10:00 PM

The odor of love is ticklish

When wafting on an evening mist.

If he smells like wine and licorice,

No woman can resist,

But even if he smells of beer

With a hint of cigarette smoke,

The scent of love will draw her near.

It did. He smiled. They met. She spoke.

11:00 PM

She said she was from Baton Rouge

Here with some friends from college

That Cajun boys were all just huge

Bores—and other offhand knowledge.

He told her of his father’s farm

Where more than childhood dreams are lost,

And then to show he had some charm,

He recited a poem by Robert Frost.

Now, readers, this is not to say

That the young man knew his writers.

He quoted Nothing Gold Can Stay

From the movie The Outsiders,

Which is based upon a classic book

That Lance has never read.

I warn you if you take a look

Johnny Cade will end up dead.

Please forgive this lame digression.

It serves our lovers none too well,

And neither child would learn a lesson

From the moral the book has to tell.

The following lines are not a quote,

But something like what Frost once wrote.

The words they spoke all lovers know

As seeds prospective partners sow,

Who never think of staying here

To tend the field where love can grow.

Yes, lover’s schemes seem somewhat queer.

They love what’s far and not what’s near.

As if one night, for Cupid’s sake,

Could fill an absence of a year.

A Nazareth song gave them a shake

And warned them of their big mistake,

Yet each heart was prepared to weep

For all the love that they could make.

“Love hurts, love scars,” and it cuts deep,

And promises are hard to keep

And prices lovers pay are steep

In restless nights of aching sleep.

“What? Nazareth?” you say. Why, yes.

The lyrics work as you can see.

“Some fools fool themselves; I guess.

But they’re not foolin’ me.”

The Everlys sang the song first.

My mind is not lost in a fog.

Before you think my choice the worst,

Do remember Hair of the Dog.

So…our lovers meet, though forewarned,

That their path may end in sorrow,

But, oh! With night, so well adorned

The devil can take tomorrow.

12:00 AM

The songs blaring from the radio

To float on the massing fog

And flow through the valley below,

Are like the call of the bullfrog.

They both make noise, but nothing’s said,

And both get stuck inside your head.

Gwen sidled near; Lance dropped his beer

And ran to the cooler for more.

When he returned, she let him hear

That if he but shot, he just might score.

And so, the lovers played their parts

In a dance of romantic turns

And felt the passions of wild hearts.

Domestic love never yearns.

Soundlessly, the moonbeams touched

Their senselessly smiling faces.

When shyness waned, their fingers clutched,

But coy hands have other places

To hide like handy front pockets.

Whether stoned on love, beer, or grass,

The pounding darkness quaked too much

To let another tremor pass.

His hand and hers were forced to touch.

Sparklers! Spinners! Pinwheels! Rockets!

1:00 AM

Only drunks keep the lovers company,

Staggering, reeling, standing much too close.

Some flirt with wit but are hardly canny

Or aware that they are too verbose.

Into the shadowed dampness, they

Wander past trucks with squeaky springs,

Past cars where practiced lovers play,

Past Paul McCartney and the Wings,

“What’s wrong with that I’d like to know.”

--I’m only telling what is so.--

Past squeaking skin on vinyl seats,

Past rashly discarded panties,

Past druggies sampling numbing treats

That cause cravings the taste can’t ease.

Down on the glowing, pebbled bank,

Near the quivering, moonlit stream,

Our hopeless, blameless lovers shrank

Into the arc of one small beam.

2:00 AM

Down by the creek on moon-baked gravel,

They sat to sort their feelings through,

But half-cooked plans will soon unravel

Cemented by shy passion’s glue.

With his body, he formed a chair,

And in this comfort, she reclined.

His heart was tousled in her hair.

His breath was tangling in her mind.

While stars fell from the sky, they talked.

As fog rose from the creek, they sat.

When reason smothered sighs, they walked

Till neither knew where they were at.

When skin touches skin, souls shiver

More from the heat than from the cold.

With one caress, couples quiver

If either touch would be so bold.

When moonlight shines on lucid streams,

The ripples clasp each beam and sway.

A kiss is easy then, it seems,

Unless his lips won’t seize the day.

As moonbeams danced and waters rippled,

He thought he felt her brush his thigh.

A breeze blowing across her nipple

Was stirring moisture in her pie.

She felt a hardness press her back.

She coyly bent to fix her sock.

But when she finished and leaned back,

He somehow had removed the rock.

He whispered, “I can wait for you.”

Her body tensed as though the door

Was opened now to let him through.

She told him that her butt was sore,

From sitting there an hour or two

And she could stand sitting no more

Without a sign of what to do.

No accident nor stroke of luck

Seemed destined to unite this pair.

It was quite clear they would not pluck

Erotic contact from the air.

Platonic love blooms where it may.

If he had kissed her, she’d have come

Around to a more sensual way,

But as it was, her legs were numb,

So she could neither come nor stay

And to her pleasure he was dumb.

3:00 AM

Poisonous Sun! Bane of Lovers!

Let love brew beneath night’s covers.

They’ve not had time to prime their piece.

Please loan them still a moment’s lease

To let lush Venus teach their hearts

To move on to the other parts—

Body parts, like lips and fingers

On necks and breasts and inner thighs.

Let touches burn so that heat lingers

And fires the vent of hungry sighs.

The consummation lies so near,

Guide his hand, Gwen, take it in yours,

Lead his lips to caress your ear,

Don’t let his shyness steer the course

Of the greatest love you may ever know.

Time flies by while he fights with fear,

The dread concern you might say “No!”

Carpe Diem! At least tonight

Grab this moment to fill your dreams.

This man, this boy, this country sprite

Can be the fantasy he seems

And then live on in memory,

Forever bright as certainty,

And never tarnished with what is.

Make him a dream and become his.

Well, my chance to warn is gone.

This tale is several eons old,

And my advice must be withdrawn.

The hottest fire leaves ashes as cold

As any slag refined from gold

When metal from its ore is drawn.

Yet there is more yarn to unfold,

Before we quit, before the dawn.

Though after three, the Sun still sleeps,

But up the quiet creek, light creeps.

The couple, who will curse their luck,

Observe the headlights of a truck.

With engine roaring, speakers loud,

Revelers rend the peaceful shroud

That cloaks the lovers in the night.

Out of the clamor comes a shout.

A drunken girlfriend bellows out,

“Hey! Hey! Ish everything alright?”

The end is near! I see! But hope

This storyteller is no dope.

A romantic poet worth a piss

Won’t leave his verse without one kiss.

And yet, of things one may describe,

A kiss is best to circumscribe.

Too many words leave little tongue

When that which might be said is wrong.

Lips purse and jaws open slightly,

Necks crane as if to seek a noose,

Hands clasp eager hips so lightly,

The pounding hearts will shake them loose.

Eyes close as if to fall asleep,

The noses twist each to other side,

(How awkward when both turn the same!)

Through dampened lips, probing tongues creep

As ravenous cavities open wide,

(Did you think that the kiss would be tame?)

Finally, arms pull bodies close,

Hands find those sensitive places

That only kisses can expose.

One rough finger gently traces,

The curvature under her breast.

She slides her hand down his belly,

And readers can assume the rest.

Their four legs quivered like jelly.

Kisses, though brief, live forever

When wet lips turn now into never

And never is the same as timeless.

(Some think I’m just being clever,

But without “never” I am rhymeless.)

Time might be fixed, but it will fly

And soar unfettered to the end.

The kiss is endless but “Goodbye,

I really must go with my friend.”

“Good-bye! Good-bye! Call me real soon.”

“Good-bye! Good-bye! Be back in June.”

Promises! Promises! Oh, but why

Are there no tears in any eye?

7:00 PM, August 31, That Same Year

“Hey, Lance, this is Dawn returning your call.

Gwen took a vacation early this fall

And didn’t have time to come back around.

She wanted me to tell you she has found

A new friend who, uh…goes to college here.

She is going to have a busy year,

So don’t be hurt if she forgets to call.

Maybe she can come up with me this fall.

We might party again if we can come.

Gotta go now.” Then the long-distance hum.

Lance goes to the couch and sits by a girl

Who wistfully twists a reckless curl.

It takes some time for the question to dawn,

At least until a commercial is on.

“Who was that?” she asks but gets no reply.

“It’s better,” he thinks, “To ignore than lie.”

He ignores her moaning all that night,

And lies more than once before it gets light,

But ponders the dreams that might have been lost

On that long summer night before killing frost.