Conversational Looping and Ernest Hemingway

I so happened to be talking about the practice of conversational looping (a sub section of transitional phase shifting), which I am quite fluent in, and I thought I would share a prime example. What?!? You want to know more about transitional phase shifting? Later, babies, later.....we'll loop back to it later......
So, to me, conversational looping is the practice of starting a conversation, veering off in many different directions and then returning to the orginal conversation. Looping can occur once in a conversation or a loop can thread a conversation throughout a day or more...
I employ looping quite often. Example: Kids are talking about peaches, peaches make me want a bellini, which makes me think of Hemingway, which leads me to this blog about looping only to finish it with poems about Hemingway and then to the kitchen to get them their peaches because God knows they are not gonna get up and get them themselves!!
And without further ado or fanfare, here are some poems, some odes to Hemingway and another poet or two, because....well, you know...

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Today I was Ernest Hemingway.
I pulled on khaki pants
An old fishermans sweater
And leather strapped sandels.
If I had happened upon a can
I would have kicked it down the street.

It was a beach day.
Grey overcoat wrapped around the sky.
But at night it was warm and humid
And we could feel the salt in the air.

He and I keep trying
To wrap our arms around a ghost.
We pour the wine
Yet curse the drink.
And we delve deep inside ourselves
Just to get a glimpse outside.

Observation
How merrily you go along
With foot in mouth
And heart in song

Are you Ernest Heminway
Or Whitman in disguise
Or just another madman
With nowhere left to hide.

Young Lust
A drunken ego, buying another round
A swagger covered by a pair of jeans.
Your eyes betraying
Your thinly veiled lie.
Poor, poor fool.
Must be easy to be you.
Riding through life on your smile.
With a face that breaks hearts
And a heart to do the same.
Sampson with Deliahs fair hair.
The tale that no woman tells
Except on the bathroom wall.

Ode to the Poet
You held the words in your rock steady hands
And threw them down on the page.
Bruised and bleeding
barely breathing but still alive.
To fight and lose
And fight again
To win this battle
Of words and will.

Break the seal
Unwrap the bottle to feel the steady burn
Down deep in your gut.
No ordinary booze
But the stuff of love.
All wrapped up
in your vest of lust.

Wise weathered fisherman.
Brave young solider.
Soft gentle lover of love,
With bear trap hands
And a steel sprung mind.


Ok, lovelies, now I must go......can't forget the peaches!!!