A Plastic Prayer
 (Inspired by Dream In Plastic)

Please grant me changing states and forms,
To master elasticity, 
Where friction won't erode, but warms,
So, surface fissure splits may mend.
May bonds once brittle yield and bend,
At pressure's push and weight's behest.
Resilient flux, fixed firm in place, 
Yet, purged from preset destiny.

Let all set figures be reborn,
To melt in soft uncertainty
So, my undoing shall transform
to other functions which transcend, 
Where nothing breaks or finds its end,
But only momentary rest.
Where souls remold and minds reshape,
And those who contort us set us free.

Letters
 (Inspired by The Beacon Post Office)

We scratch out simple messages, and shed our pale white, scribbled skins,
To leave behind remains of time. A brief percentage of ourselves.
Live on, these stains, immune to change, while those who bled them shall begin,
Like snails, outgrown cold stony homes, abandoning their paper shells.

Dry Cleaning
 (Inspired by Friendly Dry Cleaners)

The spot and soil of garments grinding through,

The slipping gears of fruitless interviews,

Of celebration's stresses, tears and  wine,

the stains of formal folly fixed by time,

From mourning loss, to morning workaday,

The cleaner's magic makes all marks erased,  

Our garden party armor shall return,

Without a memory's curse, with nothing learned,

All odors lifted- gone, crumbs of regret.

Our finest failings fade, and we forget.

And wrapped in plastic, clear protective skins,

Our chrysalis transformed, reborn, begins.

Zora Dora
 (Inspired by Zora Dora Paletaria)

The flaring sun obscured by radiance-
In pure distraction of a frozen treat.
With joyful, innocent, obsessiveness,
I sat in cooling sidewalk reverie.

Let not one drop fall wasted on my hand!
My sole concern, the next sequential lick.
Young summer days when I knew no demands,
And held the world aloft upon a stick.

Yankee Clipper
 (Inspired by Yankee Clipper, and featuring place-names referenced from their menu)

We breakfasted in Canada,

And grabbed a bite in Buffalo,

Manhattan gave us stamina,

As we proceeded south below,

Long Island, Philadelphia

Virginia, But we weren't through.

Louisiana, Cajun-lunch,

And Tex-Mex for some barbeque,

A quick repast in Mexico,

Southwestern, we passed Santa-Fe,

Up California's sunny coast,

Past land and sea we sailed away,

And grazed the fair Hawaiian isles,

En route to sample Asian fare,

We stopped in Greece for quite a while,

But still we didn't end it there.

The great Mediterranean,

Was just one course in our great feast.

Italian, French, Bavarian,

With Belgian waffles in between.

To Norway, before heading back,

Southeast, for some Roumanian,

To London for a midnight snack,

And nightcaps with our Irish friends.

Then off, across the ocean blue,

Eight thousand miles 'till we hit land,

Still far from home, we stopped to chew,

On something from the Rio Grande.

Now almost full, we headed home,

But led our northbound route astray,

To venture from our path and roam,

For Cuban take-out on the way.

New Yorkers waved as we flew past,

And traced the Hudson up the coast

Until Mt. beacon, home at last,

The one Main Street we love the most.

To now reflect, we'd gone around,

The world, while sitting in our chairs.

And though we never left the ground

The Yankee Clipper took us there.

 Car Wash
 (Inspired by Suds Car Wash)

Long years ago, when i had not yet grown,

And I had barely learned to talk or stand,

The greatest thrill that i had ever known,

Was riding through the car wash while it ran.

A tunnel, underworld of foamy hell,

Beyond a swishing veil of mystery

The spooky way the car would drive itself

Upon its slow approach to destiny,

The swirling brushes rushing from all sides,

Like buzzing saw blades, harmless in the end

Revealed as spinning bristles, soft and mild,

The monsters of the dark, emerged as friends.

And i observed from my dark bathysphere,

The threatening torrents and the violent sprays

Protected in a shell from harm or fear,

By these wet terrors, safely kept at bay

This was the tempest of my innocence

Where storms of life were free from painful rage,

The last time life would welcome ignorance,
The last time i and chaos kindly played.

  Hardware
  (Inspired by Nichols Hardware)

The world is fixed by tightened nuts and bolts,

Adhered in place by glues and dried cements,

The screws and nails repelling time's revolt,

And soft dismantlement by slow events.

The coats of paint and stain enclosing forms,

In armored skins to thwart harsh elements.

The things that insulate, preserving warmth,

And anchor us in placid permanence.

Essentials, found in local hardware stores,

All contents of construction and repair,

The world is fixed by these, yet something more:

The kindness found in those who sell such wares.

A calming word when matters go awry,

Adept advice, and willing expertise,

A patient ear which hears each question twice,

And offers guidance in response  to need.

As earthly works are hewn from wooden frames, 

And mastery is made of steel and stone, 

The world is fixed by these, but just the same,
The hand of friendship builds this life we know.

  Coffee
  (Inspired by Tas Kafé )

 An elixir of clear vision,

 God's great nectar of strong will,

 Pure Imbibe-able ambition,

 Liquid gift of lift instilled.     

Torrent flood of stimulation,

 Rushing wild expressive waves,

 Kind companion to creation,

 Through a never-ending day.

Warm intoxicating potion,

Levitating languished souls,

True alchemist's transmutation-

Heavy lead reborn as gold.

Rich kinetic breath of Venus,

Rides, inspired, through our veins.

In the wake of all known genius,

Must be left circular stains.

Wine

  (Inspired by Artisan Wine Shop )

If a passion could be captured in the instant of its prime,

And suspended, never ending, to transcend the throes of time,

If a moment could be opened years beyond when it occurred,

Resurrected, to affect us with the full force of its birth,

We would treasure this forever, hold this gift in high esteem.

Yet, believe, such wizardry exists in life, not just our dreams.

True and real, love may be sealed and held inside a cork topped flask,

To, years later, be so savored, and to join us with the past.

 Icarus on Wheels

  (Inspired by Beacon Cycles )

Poor Icarus, a victim of your flimsy, failing wings,
Wet wax and feathers, formed in fragile,false facsimile, 
Which, in your flight from prison and the vengeance of a king,
Dissolved in sunlight, plunging you to death within the sea.

To perish by this tragic transit seems such wasteful shame,
this sad misguided mechanism aimed unto the skies.
If Dedalus's genius could have gleaned a 10 speed frame,
You would have found you don't require any wings to fly.