San Francisco Fete - Co-Authored with Thvia Shetley

San Francisco Fete

Cornices, and Gargoyles with eyes turned low,

hold fast the passing in a frozen stare

as slow vapor rising from vents below

is churned by soles into thick city air.

Undeterred, the well-heeled leather bottom

wingtips fly past sandaled sloths at crosswalks

while clicking heels kick dead leaves of autumn

and wind their way through crowded city blocks.

Just above a breezy sidewalk café,

sheer fabric wafts a low-loft window sill,

two pair of empty vamps and laces lay,

removed in shameless haste and lustful will.

Beneath the sheets, a naked feet affair,

entwined, aligned, with dreamy souls laid bare.

Written by Michael Lewis and Thvia Shetley
Posted on 03-07-13

Sometimes life is like a can of Spam

Sometimes life is like a can of Spam,
You know exactly what you're gonna get,
And though you may not tell your friends,
(Somethings are best kept secret,)
Sometimes you crave that familiar treat,
It's so much more than potted meat,
Yes, Sometimes life is like a can of Spam.

Man...I'm glad I got that out of my head....next thought!
Hmm...Life is like Taqueria chorrizo....

Written by Michael Lewis
Posted on 02-13-13

So lightly

So lightly
Her hands dance
Her voice darts
Her pillow hardly knows she’s there
Her grace sings
Her eyes twirl
Her steps seem to skip through the air

So lightly
Her arms hold
Her songs fly
Her words are such delicate things
Her heart stirs
Her smile shines
Her love glides on whispering wings

Michael F. Lewis
2/6/2013

Where Are Your Teeth

Where Are Your Teeth

Berenice! Berenice! 
Where are your teeth?
And where did I leave my soul?
I had it yesterday before the lecture,
Where I took in so so much,
And I’ve never known so little since,
I ran for 30 seconds and became half a man,
And drank the great imperative,
Down black leaven country roads,
I’m sure this is the way…
If not I’ll get down on bended tree and fly away!
O’er the treetops I’ll resound,
Till Alfred wakes me and I drown.
Oh father’s heart achoo and achoo,
The black black heart of you,
The bluebird bites the hand that dares traverse the throat,
But I’ll win, when the next whores go ‘round the track,
With the fortune that I found in your eye,
Which bought my outcast state,
I visited the orange and dusty city with strong sweaty shoulders,
On whistling balloons tied to a dying light,
And down the length of a craggily arm
To his crooked pointing fingertip,
He was screaming from his wire-framed lips,
“O Thou! O Thou!!”
And there ended my dream and poetry.

Michael F. Lewis
12/25/2012

On poems that swim through my cranium before sleep.
Can you find the poems and poets?
Some of this is nonsense and posted unedited at the end of my glass...

My Greatest Wish

My Greatest Wish

If I should find myself beneath a stone,
To forever remember all my days,
I’d wish to think that ev’ry one I’ve known,
Or met or loved or maybe parted ways,
Knew my shoes could be filled by me alone,
And named no other who could take my place.

If I should find myself in hallowed ground,
I’d hope you don’t just mourn an empty shell,
Give cheers and pass the bottle all around,
See to it that I am remembered well,
And know my greatest wish is it be found,
I left each of you with stories to tell.

Michael F. Lewis
12/09/2012

posted on 12/12/12