What if?

Would I have loved her just as much,

Had her hair been less than perfect,

that evening or had autumn arrived

a day late? 

Had the warm, halogen glow  

cast an odd shadow

on her freckled face?

Would I have tickled her cat’s scruff,

Had it not purred and rolled  

like my own or had I missed the  black patch

on his left eye?

Had her bed smelled

of suds and dead roses, would I

have bid goodbye?

that night. Would she have noticed me ‘walking-by’,

through the limpid reflections on the pane,

had the smog set in early or had I

lit a cigar?

Had the knot around my neck,  

with the fresh mustard stain revealed

a deeper scar?

Would she have locked the door behind

and left the welcome mat askew,

Had I crossed the dingy alley and leapt over

the fence?

Had I turned the knob clockwise,

She perhaps would have answered

in morbid silence.

Photo Credits:

 Some rights reserved by Daniel Dionne

  

Ratings of a Rational Poet

Sanity, come back later! Let me be!

Let me for once, write in peace.

Take Newton with you, when you leave.

Let Galileo, Descartes follow thee.

  

Strip me down and search me well,

under my skin, within every cell.

Look, where, no light has ever been.

It is here that you hide, unseen.

Beyond the reach of rationale,

With light I look and hence I fail.

Return, when I have penned a verse

Wishing no glory or remorse.

Photo Credits: fotobaba under CC license

The Tram Ride

Today, the tram traveled backwards

The pantograph rope swayed, like her

cat, Misha’s tail, when he walks on

nail, glass and moss covered walls.

She pressed my hand every time,

the bell rang. It startled her, just like

the worn out rope tied to the bell.

Or when Misha stepped on a nail.

‘Two round trip tickets’, she said.

Or so I remember. We untangled

our fingers, to reach for change.

My cold hands still longing for hers.  

‘There he is’, she exclaimed.

 Pointed at two dull red dots  
 and pulled the chafed rope. The bell 

resonated, while she faded in the fog.  

As the empty shining wooden seats,

old bell and cabin door rattled in cold.

I found two laundried, sun dried tickets

in a deep warm corner of my pocket. 

Photo Credits: © Gerard Stolk