The Salty Tides of Fate

 

—Poetry by R. Gerry Fabian, Doylestown, PA

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of 

Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA

 

MUSTANG SALLY

Sparks fly
whenever you
double-clutch my heart
with your
fuel-injected passion.
A combination
of our points and plugs
ignites
a special-mixture fluid
in me
that vibrates your dual carbs
along our
drag-strip love.

 

 

 

 

 

DISTANT CLOUD COVER

I challenge off white shadows.
There is a darkening distance
of which I am keenly aware.
I am now a solitary spectator
as participation continues to ebb.
Footsteps are cautious and planned.
I use the clouds for cautious balance
between slow solid footing
and old afternoon dreams. 

 

 

 

 

 

CLUTTERED DESK

While cleaning
and rearranging
6 months of notes and files,
I come upon
a cell phone number
written in a woman’s hand
on the back
of a bar napkin.

I have no recollection
of this encounter.

Apparently
I need to clean up
more than this desk. 

 

 

 

 

 

WHEN PACKING FOR TOMORROW

don't be in a hurry.
Gather together those things
that will aid in comfort.
Suggestions that prove helpful
are as follows:
a good supply of crusty common sense,
an ample amount of jasmine facts,
a supply of crisp apple self-success,
at least three phrases of granite respect,
unlimited warm tea smiles
red liquorice flexibility
and
an ability to flow
with the salty tides of fate. 

 

 

 

 

DEAD-END ROMANCE

The sign reads,”No Outlet”
as I drive past it
hoping for a cul-de-sac.
There isn’t one.
She is standing in her yard—
Red Phillies ball cap on your head
as flowing auburn grey streaked hair
rides over her shoulders.
As she moves in her
red-black checked flannel shirt,
red skirt just below the knees
and Wolverine work boots,
I stop the car.
Gloved hands are holding
an old worn rusty shovel.
I want to use the driveway
to turn around
but she blocks my entry
and walks toward me.
“Well?”
“I’m a little lost.” I stammer.
A warm inviting smile breaks across her lips.
“Honey, we’re all a little lost.”

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

SPLASHING IN ARGON
—R. Gerry Fabian

You, third noble gas,
infiltrate me
with lost liquid air.
Light me beyond
your potassium minerals.
You—
a simple asphyxiant—
ice core me.
Gap me between
panes of glass.
Arc weld me
and cut slowly.

__________________

This morning we have another new poet in the Kitchen, this one from Pennsylvania! R. Gerry Fabian is an internationally published poet and novelist: books of his published poems include Parallels; Coming Out Of The Atlantic; Electronic Forecasts and Ball On The Mound. In addition, he has published three novels: Getting Lucky (The Story); Memphis Masquerade; and Seventh Sense. He lives in Doylestown, PA, and online he is rgerryfabian.wordpress.com or Twitter: @GerryFabian2. Welcome to the Kitchen, Gerry, and be sure to join us again soon!

Tonight, 7pm, The Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis presents Aaron Bradford and Tom Goff, plus open mic (4 min. or 2 items), John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis. Host: Dr. Andy Jones. “Comfortably distanced poetry reading”; vaccinated folks are invited to join us! To protect the safety of everyone in attendance, please bring and wear your masks. Find the Facebook event page for this event is www.facebook.com/events/197469059125790/.

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 R. Gerry Fabian

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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