POETRY - Out of My Mind

JOHNNY RUMBA

"My name is Johnny Rumba and I was born to dance.
I'm here to find a partner, you just might have a chance.
Across the room I saw you, undressing me with your eyes,
I like that in a woman - and the message it implies.
The wife and I don't get along, she treats me so unfair,
She doesn't understand me and the kids don't really care."

"I'm known as Dark Bandoneon in the Argentine,
Where my name is legend and I lead the conga line.
The women send me flowers and grovel at my feet,
Vying for my favors, they pursue me on the street.
I've decided that I'll let you have a dance with me,
But remember, only this first lesson will be free."

"They call me Stella Stiletto, that's my dancing name,
On this barroom dance floor, I've earned a certain fame.
Let's see if you've got rhythm, can you keep up my pace?
We'll start off with a tango and then burn down this place.
You're arrogant and cocky, I like that in a man,
Now step into the spotlight and catch me if you can."

Sizing up each other, they circled around the floor,
Like the French apache dancers of a time before.
Aware of no one else, they locked their hands and eyes,
Then began a rhythm of the devil's own devise.
Steam rose up around them in clouds of hellish heat,
As they battled on the dance floor to a samba beat.

Mesmerized by the two dancers, the crowd held its breath,
For each one feared this tango might end in sudden death.
The tireless concertina compelled them with its song,
In a frenzied exhibition for the watching throng.
Cheek to cheek, and hip to hip, they tangled through the night,
To a primal Latin beat, a dazzling desperate fight.

Until the dawn they danced, neither willing to give in,
For this competition both determined they must win.
When the smoke and steam cleared, only one was standing tall,
Triumphant in her victory and laughing through it all.
Leaning over his bowed body, with a scathing glance,
She whispered, "Don't come back, John, until you learn to dance."

C. M. Russell

CHASING THE SUN

Oxen called and cattle bawled as the big prairie schooners lumbered west,
Chasing the sun until the day was done before they could camp and rest.
Under the watchful eye of the wagon boss, they walked and rode the trail,
Full of dread for the journey ahead, more afraid to turn back and fail.
The promise of free land and a better life had set them on this road,
Following dreams and nurturing schemes that would rival the Comstock Lode.
Skillets tied onto the wagon sides clanked against coffee pots of tin,
Spooking steeds who broke their leads, their wild-eyed neighing adding to the din.
Hardened to endless days of plodding in shimmering waves of hot light,
They thought first to quench their thirst and then thankfully circle for the night.
Around the cookfires they gathered to tell the tales of the trails again,
Of streams filled with gold, outlaws grown bold, and merciless wandering red men
Who wore trophies of their brutal battles tied on their murderous spears,
And chose to fight only at night brandishing strings of blood blackened ears.
Asleep under the covered wagons, they dreamed of the land they would find,
Of verdant fields, rich harvest yields and the loved ones they had left behind.
Long before sunup they rose from their hard beds at the sound of the wakening bell,
To face another day along the way toward heaven on the dusty road to hell.

MY ROSES

The roses in my garden always make me think of you,
They stand so tall and handsome dressed in early morning dew,
But when I least expect it, their sharp thorns come into view,
And I get a little prick which reminds me, dear, of you.

REBIRTH

Deep in the patient forest I waited and quietly stood,
Longing for release, for my body was made of singing wood.
My feminine shape lay hidden, impatient to be reborn,
Wanting the artist's hand to find and free my musical form.
In a workshop in Cremona the craftsman searched my burled grain,
Then he slowly began to work with an ancient wooden plane.
My pegbox was deftly patterned, my fingerboard was sounded,
My grooved bridge was then created and my belly was rounded.
His cuts were true and gentle when he formed my long neck and base,
He carefully fused my layers and then carved my perfect face.
A strong bough of the best pernambuco was then found and brought,
For a sturdy horse-hair bow that was finely fashioned and wrought
To draw across my strings and finally set my spirit free,
So heavenly music could come from a simple maple tree.

Braldts

BASSO-PROFUNDO

Have you ever wondered why frogs have those big bug eyes?
Maybe it's because they eat so many dragonflies.
The bugs dart around the frogs, never making a sound,
Like tiny helicopters, flying low to the ground.
Camouflaged by lily pads, frogs slurp their flying prey,
And then replete, they ribbit at the end of the day,
Basso-profundo stanzas make up their serenade,
A chorus of croakers singing in the forest glade.
How clever and efficient to act upon their whim,
And simply eat the very things that are bugging them.

California - Live it or Leave it

I know what's coming when I feel that tingle in my feet

Which travels up my body and propels me from my seat.

Gasping, I feel the rolling waves of nausea begin

And in my mouth there's the bitter taste of adrenaline.

Two or three seconds later comes sharp movement of the ground,

A prodigious shudder I find intense and quite profound.

Like a daredevil, I throw my arms high up in the air,

Enjoying this new adventure in my rollicking chair.

There's a seismic seiche in the pool that always gives me pause,

When I see the water dancing with no apparent cause.

I'm lucky to live in California and to reside

In a state that gives its citizens such a thrilling ride.