Chrysler Bldg

Red Rose
Red Rose

The Ruins of Brunch
A Poem

by James Legare 1/29/2019


The garbling water
the babbling water
the undulation of
Aquas and Blues
in the light of

Oh, the lightness
of water, sunlit, dancing

Why linger, the patio?
The false sense, of being, just be

iron bistro, immobile
stark in its table
plateau my heart
falsetto, curvilinear
the Passion Flowers curve upward

Oh, Ruins of Brunch, The
and empty chair no less abandoned

I look a glancing shadow
cast and advancing
beside it
slant gradually increasing
the degrees of a planet

random energy
the pool undulates, watched
that from last
you swam so fast
furious and strong.

An image in the glass
a window
table-view for two


Grammatical train-wreck chalk it up to
our thoughts at cruising speed
that conversation of different versions.

It has been all left on the table for this afternoon,
those soupy thoughts,
sauce for occasional silence,
lying, garbanzo, and a potato mash,
like a broken cookie, countervail.

Before us, The Ruins of Brunch,
porcelain decanter, menacing in its rugged shape,
silvery fork glints softly recklessly
and a bit suggestively.

Aqua-esque surface enveloping the male form
The shape gives reluctantly, with broad resolution
sloshing water infiltrates the Tiger Lillies by the stone surface as
I look on, outward, at my place

Shaped like a human heart
Artichokes veiled and smothered
a vibrant pool of pleasure
kidney-shaped bean
a delight
gorgeous leg
the lightness of chicken

Spreading lightly solid
the tea-serving set
from the Victorian era
a china sheen illuminated by a thousand suns
meadow-dancing Monarch butterfly bliss


Duck Confit
my french prince bathing beauty
Tort, taste me, you say!
The odds are good!

Piano music lingers from our mutual past.
This secluded patio, deux hommes.
As I watch chandeliers of dabbled sunlight, baubles,
thoughtful gluteus cheecks
reasoning glow a skin tone more


of jelly, firmly tensing
a dinner plate of preserves, and a steaming
bland, cacophony of starch
in a tinfoil husk, with blazing sunlight
raining down as only Texas can offer
our new home in the Hill Country

mince-meat moments linger
mingling with the scent of chlorine
softly, the surface-tension gives
to receive
the pool splashes, as expected
outward, brazen and stroking
come-as-you-are party
upon your

stealthfull entry
lapping waves
of, resolute buoyancy
guarded insouciance just below the surface
delightful play of musculature

Eucalyptus leaves
brown with envy
I grow jealous having you
all to myself
around the squared
filled with dinner plates for lunch

earthly delight


A crystalline
of California Blue in West Texas
greets the eye

you tantalize me
soft water firm ware farm boy
the will to move grows in its lacking
from this sultry being
the art of being
this artist’s rendition of the pure male form before me

as you finish a lap
this Naked Lunch minus Burroughs
dessert that you art-thou
caress of chocolate
Mousse in August
with peach
barely small enough

A synergy of waiting
a discarded, disheveled past
and cake on a thine
of a fork

birdsong in the near distance
decanting enchantment and melody
I mesmerize


Our path unfolded
how to count the continents
The East Village of the narrow Manhattan
El Prado of Madrid
the windmills of Palm Springs
as Eiffel towers over Paris, France
Buenos Aires
The Girl From Ipanema of Brazil
and now for the Purple of an Onderdonk

“It’s all good.” – you smile wearing not so much as goggles
the edgy pool, incandescent eyes, matted hair, viewed from my vantage
un punto del cielo

our bodies


Have a conversation.
interruptedly twittering
deserts a branch
its opinion

“It’s all good.” -insert wry smile here

the sultry distance of time and memory
humid sunlight
an irrigated tree awash in blazing photons
a gale of meaning meanders from the Bluebonnets
lapping waves of recollection
the pool forgotten
and the air of mystery
a property in mild disuse

The vastness of a continent
these collecting weeds just beyond the prim patio
this unset table
those strewn meanings
the shorthand phrases we use
growing accustomed to the expected
disingenuously tossed
with only the honest birds
speaking their hearts


The destination
of the Rio Grande
and without resolve
besides the edge of

The State of Red
perplexing decomposition
and ants
as they make a home
of it.

A cottage
lean-to chimney
and brick-a-brack
shingled roof
basks in the
growing brusqueness

It occurs to Geckos to
scatter-shot with a similar Red
aglow in dirt, dust, decomposition, and clay
a stream of the trickle of life.


Proffered by a stream of Agua
aquatic bliss whispering her nonsense

Perhaps Blue is
more appropriate still
stillness of lizard

the cactus and its
splendor sentinel
raising its brute
arms to Mexico
in its gritty greeting.

Insouciance of desert life near
El Paso and passing
Santa Fe line
passing like a
painting of itself
within the bright walls of a closed museum
the contours a brush-stroke of a track

The desert is a deadly work of art.


Sublime peace
accompanied by incessant
whooshing of windmills
occasional Santa Fe barreling forward
from the West to the East of the continent.

The future, however
in its place
a line in the sand is drawn
decay draws near, and nearer

Not far
from the blooming cactus
a broken husk of a rusting motorist’s dream
Its spirit wandering through
the infinite
golden dust of sunlight
just gobs of it!

Life-long partners
a patio ritual
refuge behind garden walls


hand-fulls of melting peppermint
chocolate tea coffee
and a rare fluttering
Azul moth
fleeting energy, fleeing
and your tooth-full smile

as we wait
two upon the stones
of a sun drenched existence
retired from the
villa nearby
and the sole house
at the side of
incline gently upward
passes as a hill

slight skyward perspective
our eyes gave stratospheric-
munching seated in rhapsody
only cacti for company
outside of ourselves
and out of our minds
in love still


We guess -timate the time
of the spaceship’s arrival
charts on the kitchen table
the Tabby cat licks her

contemplating the possibility
should she attack?
The fleeting wind
space maps and kitchen curtains alike

Friends from outer space:
We greet you!
Green men with limbs like twine
glass noodles
Blue eyes, nascent pools of knowledge: techno-gizmo we’re saved!

like over-sized orbs dominating
a feline mask with inscrutable expressions
they look on our soulful existence and remark telepathically


Our past-lives
California memories
brightened our eyes

“This is the future. It is here.”

mists of the Bay Area,
the sloping Marin Headlands greets
the Golden Gate
and Angel Island
shrouded in the same mystery as


The mounting problems of Planet Earth,
the sarcophagus of Fukushima,
decanting its radioactivity,
millions of years,
into the Pacific
its deadly journey,
to the East, our West

globally shared global warming
brought to you by Carbon Dioxide
stratospheric levels
Venus is there

platitudes politicos do-nothing-ism
while resources dwindle, to
train-wreck future

Do we expect visitors, inter-planetary, saucer flying and all,
to solve our problems?

“Let’s wait and see.”

So they waited on the terraza, wearing tin-foil hats,
the two men, lifetime partners,
and the only one’s among their friends and neighbors doing something.

Doing something about the global problems. Population overshoot and the like.

“Well, don’t just sit there.”

with their heads in the sand.

– The End

Copyright Protected Work 2019


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The Ruins of Brunch


Amateur writer, pianist-composer, and denizen of Houston, TX. Email: -> I would be delighted to hear from you!

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