Pantoum

For Poetry Month

When he was a lad and a wee wee fellow
very very young and very mellow
when the leaves turned orange, gold and yellow
he hid under the branches of a willow

very very young and very mellow
for he was not brave but afeared enough
he hid under the branches of a willow
waiting to take on some of that grownup stuff

for he was not brave but afeared enough
and there he did lie under those branches
waiting to take on some of that grownup stuff
in those days afore he was a-taking chances

and there he did lie under those branches
when the leaves turned orange, gold and yellow
in those days afore he was a-taking chances
when he was a lad and a wee wee fellow.

Bolero

You loved me on Monday,
On Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
Come the weekend,
You didn’t love me anymore.

I dance with a stranger.
She is not you. She is not you.
The music is crying,
Tears run red, bleeding from her soul.

The river runs dry,
The river a river no more.
The bed beneath,
parched and praying for rain.

My heart cracks
a thirsty earth longing for drink
from the goblet el amor
The days, the nights, oh the nights.

You loved me on Monday,
On Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
Come the weekend,
You didn’t love me anymore.