Come Casual

                Tall and slender,
                  In white pants
            Sprinkled with sequins
      That sparkled without gaudiness,
              And a top to match,
          She moved with her partner
                  To the parquet
                In front of the band.

                Black, cropped hair
        Accentuated the white ensemble,
              She passed under the arm
                    Of her partner.
                Then swayed in time
                  With the rhythm.

      The music began pounding, pulsing
                    And she danced -
                Oh, how she danced!
                No spotlight was needed
                    For she radiated.
        Others served merely as bit players,
            Supporting cast for the diva.

            Her back upright and straight,
                A music box ballerina,
                    Chin up-tilted in
              Aloofness and confidence,
                  Lower back arched
                To emphasize buttocks,
                      An arm freed
                Of her partner stretched
                  In graceful extension,
                      Wrist flexed
                  To extended fingers,
                Held in place a moment
                  For our appreciation,
                    Then withdrawn
                In sweeping movement
            To flow into continuous motion
                  Of turns and postures,
              Performed by her svelte figure
    With hips and legs and arms and shoulders -
                  Harmonized beauty -
                    This Lady in White.

    We knew, in comparison, we would appear
        As plowboys plodding with bare feet
                So we sat, intimidated.
                   
                                            rlkilgore@chartertn.net

1.  A bad read cannot be overcome with a good putt.  Only a bad putt can overcome a bad read.

2.  Most golfers think they are a good putter having a bad day.  How many times do you hear someone say, “I can’t make anything today!”?  The fact is they couldn’t make anything yesterday or the day before or last year. 

3.  When a good shot occurs for us we think it is well deserved good fortune.
When it occurs for our opponent we think it is blind dumb luck.

4.  Giving golf lessons all day must be the equivalent of a psychiatrist’s listening to people’s problems all day.

5.  I have never understood, on the first tee, the hypocrisy of wishing your opponent good luck.

6.  I don’t understand how someone can derive pleasure from winning with strokes from his handicap.  If Carl Lewis gives you enough head start you can beat him in the 100 meter dash.  What does that prove?

7.  Other golfers truly care that you four-putted the third green.  They are glad you did.

8.  Making excuses for the way you are playing doesn’t make anyone think you are a better golfer.

9.  When does your true personality come out - after a triple bogey or after a birdie?

        rlkilgore@chartertn.net

Talking about oneself rivals baseball as the nation’s pastime. Much of poetry is a prime example. If “I” and “me” were removed from vocabulary, many would have difficulty speaking.

 A child is given birth by the parents and has nothing to give in return except love. An obedient, loving child is a joy. A disobedient, disrespectful child to the obliging parents ranges from disappointment to burden to curse.

 Perhaps life on earth is Heaven and Hell, the reward or punishment side by side. Perhaps life on earth is only Heaven (or only Hell). Most likely it is neither.

 Jesus told his disciples,”………..do this in remembrance of me.” because he understood that was the ultimate they could do for him after his death. Remembrance of those we love after they are gone, and perpetuating that memory in future generations, is the ultimate gift we can give them.

 Life is a chess match and time is our opponent.

 I have observed, with a few exceptions, the less hair a man has on the top of his head the more he wants in other places.

 The savior of religions is that they are able to take any thought or event and twist it to their own ends.

 The main difference between standing in the shower and the rain is that rain doesn’t come in the right temperature.

 Each man has more than one life, some he lived before and one where he straddles the line between then and to be.

 I always wanted to be recognized for my looks. I didn’t know it would come in the form of a senior citizen’s discount.

 I discovered today mayonnaise doesn’t readily spread on a slice of tomato.

 Have you noticed how dogs like to smell of each other’s rear ends but they don’t like for us to blow in their faces?

If we truly believe Heaven is as we say then why do we take medicines and treatments to avoid it and why do we punish murderers for sending us there?

I wonder who started the rumor Barack Obama is smart.

Capitalism is built on the backs of laborers and the laborers are better off for it.

The flaw of socialism - if the pie is divided equally no one will bake the pie.

The rich man may have more idle time but his air conditioner isn’t any cooler or his bed any softer.

The Republicans are not the party of “No”.  The party out of power is the party of “No”.

Prayer seems akin to having an imaginary friend.  There is nothing wrong with having someone to talk to, someone who will listen without interrupting.

 The veracity of the deity is not as important as the strength of faith.  Faith is the reality.

                                                                          rlkilgore@chartertn.net

Uproarious laughter filled our lovely party,
An ongoing din with no discernible source
Except one’s own voice.  The dance was crowded
With like kind souls who, feeling the beat, twirled
In unison while wings of time seemed furled.

Faces changed, their passing hardly noticed.
A fortunate, chosen few flaunted their gifts
And unearned beauty on a gilded stage
Surrounded by the rest who, unsung,
joined in refrain, “The night still is young”.

A chair, left like a door ajar before
A solitary empty plate and crumpled
Napkin coarsely tossed, as memorial
Stands, a lonesome cemetery stone
For one who was, in the end, alone.

And the dance goes on.

                            rlkilgore@chartertn.net

For some tomorrow is a distant thunder
Whose storm they cannot see,
For some tomorrow is a candy store
Whose shelves may be empty.

Some in a life will never know
The taste of a lingering kiss,
The brush of fingers across their cheek,
A moment such as this.

                            rlkilgore

rlkilgore@chartertn.net

If death were as peaceful slumber
Sailing on a gentle sea
With cooling warmth from summer breezes
And lying there were she with me
To fill love’s idyllic dreams,
Ambrosia for eternity,
Then hasten coming of that day.

Futility begs a minute glimpse,
By means worldly senses lack,
To dispel musings wary
Of conjecture’s wishfulness
Gauging immortality -
But certainty is today’s possession
And there reason enough to tarry.

                                      rlkilgore

rlkilgore@chartertn.net

 A pleasant seat of a sidewalk cafe
Over mocha coffee and a crème brulee
Amidst genteel ladies and white tablecloths
And, unobstructed, a view across
An elm studded park with closely mown grass
Nestled between urban concrete and glass -
Serenity in a turbulent sea.
Why then would young mothers draw their children near,
Not for cuddling but with presence of fear?

He shuffled up the walk with seemingly no mind
Of those around who avoided a sign
That would draw his attention and likely request
For money. (In order to lessen the chance,
Avoiding eye contact works the best).   

    The Downtown Salvation Mission Retreat
    Serves those of his ilk just down the street.
    By day their throngs disperse like flies
    In summer heat to shadows and shade
    And reappear as evening tides
    Pull them as cattle to trough,
    Obliged to give their souls in trade
    With prayer for another meal.

Between stocking cap and jacket collar
His face stained brown from dirt on dirt
And deep lined crevices dark from squalor
Gouged by wind and cold,
He fumbled at his pocket for a lone cigarette,
Fingers shaking with the paper matchbook,
Searching which end to strike,
Oblivious to the time he took -
A three minute ordeal for a ten second task.
And quivering lips sunken from too few teeth
Sucked as discreetly as obvious would allow
From a brown paper bag, the poor man’s flask.   

     Judge him and judge him harshly,
    Whatever loves he might have known
    Lie squandered in another life
    Through no fault but his own,
    And dread from fear of tomorrow
    And sorrow over times long now gone
    Extend no further than this hour.

He paused, unaware the blight he posed
obstructing the tranquil view of those
who sipped mocha coffee over white tablecloths
and spoke of coming weather          

                                      rlkilgore@chartertn.net    

                                           rlkilgore

rlkilgore@chartertn.net

They say love is sweeter

The second time around,

But that can’t be, you see.

Cause my ex-wife’s husband now knows why

He’s not a happier man than I.

                            rlkilgore

Was ever a man more enticed
Or held so closely bound,
With no shackles evident
Or prison walls around?
Could ropes be drawn less securely,
And no attempt of a heart to flee?
And could a bird, born to fly
Free of any remand,
Find more desire but to remain
In your open hand?

                rlkilgore

rlkilgore@chartertn.net

 (for one who held his Love’s hand
          as she passed away)

Sleep, my Dear - Sleep in merited peace,
Your burden freed of infirmity’s heavy cloak.
This moment entered opens a door revealing
What just prior was not ours to evoke.

Sleep, my Love - Sleep, and I shall stand
The watch, a hallowed vigil your sacred shrine.
In this consecrated slumber lies
Your comfort and in your comfort I find mine.

                                          rlkilgore

rlkilgore@chartertn.net

Party Time

Ballroom or Bar Room, no matter

When you think you are impressing someone you are usually having         

    the opposite effect.  When you impress someone favorably,

    if you ever do, it’s when you are unaware of being watched.

                                                             rlkilgore

The music you hear is from songs I have written (which no one wants to sing).

I would appreciate your leaving a comment on what I can do to improve my blog.  Thanks