My old friend

There is a forgotten point in the past,
when first our paths converged.
We were far too young to know it,
as threads of friendship bound us.
Destiny set us on our separate journey,
stretching those golden fibers.
But, they were always there, unbroken,
tugging at the heart’s memories.
Whenever life becomes contrite and mean,
I often think of you and smile.
Remembering your laughter and joy,
we are sixteen again, singing Doo-wop.
Possessed by Brill Cream and Juicy Fruit,
Rock ‘n Roll knights charging forth.
Shod in Penny Loafers, armored in Old Spice,
we had swallowed the pill of innocence.
A marvelous foundation on which to stand,
God-smacked, age replaced it with reality.
Our dreams the glue to a kismet’s circle,
each step through time has led to today.
Through it you have always been my brother,
eternity can never change nor take that away.
If I find no other fortune, you are a treasure,
unblemished, shining, uncounted and valued.

©2021 Donald C. Harbour

Simba

Watch carefully the path you casually tread,
for silently, I am intently watching you,
each step you take heard, and noted.

You may hide in a rustling grove of trees
however that will do no good for you,
nor will the gently waving grass hide you.

There is no help to call, no savior,
to rise up and thwart my advance,
there is only you and I, soon to be one.

That tawny ripple in the midday sunlight,
it is I devouring the seconds and minutes
until our journey meets in the dust of today.

You should know I have waited for you,
it is on the gentle breeze your musk rode,
a tingling arousal of my senses announced you.

Do not fear me, give in to this chance moment,
opportunity made us companions for our dalliance,
desire’s craving the hunger that feeds this kismet.

We each have a place in this life, to give and to take,
defined by an evolving chain of living and dying.
I feel no malice, we are both prisoners to our birth.

You will be an honor to my ancient royalty,
For I am Simba, King of the Jungle, and you,
are a delicious irony for my kingdom’s table.

©2018, Donald Harbour

 

 

 

You know he is watching

Yeah I like watching pretty girls, but what was that other thing we used to do?

You can not avoid it!
You are tied to the tracks
of time by the proctor of life.
That distant light, that rumble,
that incessant movement toward you,
it is not probability, it is
destiny. Somewhere on our
life’s plain, a moment will
arrive, you will not know it,
it will just occur. It will not
announce itself, nor will it
rustle the curtains of your
soul’s cathedral. It is a
charmer festooned in the
cloth of another, bringing
a gift tied in bright paper,
gaily colored balloons,
and sweets. There will be
love, that all-consuming
warmth of family and friends.
But, hanging over the joy is
the Joe Btfsplk cloud
dressed as Stupefyin’ Jones,
you see it because you have
passed the point of no return,
the downhill slope, the realm
where the invigilator keeps company.
You know he is watching, as
he has been since the day you
drew your first screaming breath,
and you come to the realization;
This may be my last birthday, enjoy.

© 2010, Donald Harbour