a poet,
he pens
fervent reminders.
she reads
clicking ‘like’,
collecting each one.
an inner
monologue.
their conversation.
pure, so
truly fragile
our whispers of love.
his poems
on a bracelet
her reminder each day.
Category Archives: Challenge
glide
what
benefit
has your love
so quiet and fearful,
dormant in its shrouded heart?
please
don’t believe
the pale vocabulary
of this ambivalant world,
silence its own sharp betrayal.
and what
benefit has my
abundant heart if
not sharing our pain?
i am
not afraid
of your fear.
reach then,
reach for my hand
the true sky is waiting.
couple these hearts together
and we can glide above this fray.
Written April 2013
cradle
how
did you
with so few words
and that infinite glance,
detour the world’s cruelties
never speak of forgiven mistakes
allay every fear and each lingering doubt
absorb life’s injustice in your enormous heart?
and the electricity of fingertips awakened my senses
yet i never thought once i deserved to be loved.
and now curling safely in it’s cradle embrace
how, is a question i hope has an answer.
but
how is
that question
i’ll continue to ask……
bloom
with delicate and
slow unfurling
let me savor
then, every
curl and
ruffle.
our
spring
is upon us
i’m here waiting,
an ear to your soil
and listening.
always.
in her eyes
she
told me
everything
in her questions
written April 2013
her last page
many thanks to Sky Vani, for sharing this song and beautiful video.
feel free to play it low as a soundtrack, as i did while writing this poem.
.
as early as her day begins, it ends
a sad memoir echoes an empty room,
and she breezes through her motions
without a care in this world.
as if her love never really ended
wrote the diary, it’s last page.
wide cupped latte’
a quick croissant
and her habitual daily stroll
to every place they ever met.
she’s hoping without a prayer
he’ll be sitting there as always
in his favorite, corner chair.
she chooses spools of woven thread
from the French village mercerie,
that suggestive red dress
he always loved
and it’s noticeable tear.
as if life never did really end
wrote the diary, her last page.
written April 2013
Through
Through that night
and from across a room
Through crowded strangers
and all my awkward shyness
Through every hurt remembered
and scattering debris of aborted plans
Through a slow death in every unloved soul
and that night, that miracle night
Through our infinity of eyes
and every hum and flutter
Through faith rewarded
and there was you
and every night
there was you
gentle brush
wash warm hues, gentle brush
across a heart forgotten.
it’s soft caress no sadness lingers
renew it’s every fray and tear.
create a masterpiece, my lovely
erase all coloring of fear.
nuance streamed light and shadows
our layered texture, sweet romance.
and devote each waking minute
as Monet with Lily Pads.
reach me
through
all of my life
i’ve hid inside shadows,
never willing to
believe
there was someone
like you
to
reach me.
.
please,
don’t give up
on who you think you’ve found.
because it’s you
and only you
will ever
find
me.
written April 2013
tiptoe
Amid this winter’s grey mist grip
our April mocks her Spring impression.
Rush hour red lights stop and start,
frustrated and my happened glance at
a waif like girl no more than nine,
she’s mouthing words of imagined rhyme.
I watch her whispering monologues
as she tiptoes boulders in the park.
Pure innocence her soft protection
from cruel worlds I suffer much too well.
I mouthed my thank you to the waif
and she tiptoed boulders until dark.
s.a.d.ness
Sunless skies, endless
grey clouded over grey crusted
snow, creating havoc for crocus shoots
struggling to make their stand.
Winter, a slow
death by its thousand windy cuts
and imperceptable emotional fade, now
so few words shared between them.
All purple and
orange in full bloom swathed across
front yard lawns stirring expectations, and
memories of their languid summer days.
Teal sky
days that start warm ending warmer,
their uninterrupted steady sun and their
sleeveless shirts and moist sweaty skin.
Sun, her kiss
once assured his unsteady heart. So many
purple and orange reasons to be hopeful but
March, always the cruel reminder.
written March 2013
revised FOR April 2013 :- /
that day
-
She arrives
looseygoosey
through the door
light on her toes
despite our
few days of
separation,
for years the
weekly ritual.
Our eyes meet
grey to grey and
her skin color mine,
though reaching down
to kiss her forehead
seemed easier that day.
Hands could always effortlessly wrap around
my fingertips meeting at her sometimes ponytail,
or mingling among those tangled golden curls.
And when did her head snug in at my chest when we hugged?
Like the kitchen door frame penciled ever higher in our old house,
maybe our bodies will mark those imperceptable passages now?
Time it seems to move so slowly until that day, when it doesn’t.
.
.
my first poem
written April 2012,
revised April 2013
renewal
and if i
sound wide eyed,
it’s because
i am.
i’m
a little
in awe of what
i’ve become,
so late
in my
day.
written April 2013
hush
He would trace the jagged map of cracks
smeared plaster wall aside his bed,
his ashen memory of their life imagined
‘How, how did it ever come to this?’
The signs were there trust and naive heart
believing every little late night lie,
the bills a bed and their sick calico Jane
‘Reasons? I don’t owe you anything!’
Now his grieving heart blindly traces cracks
blinds drawn closed on the summer day,
the life imagined all his dreams gone hush
‘How, how did it ever come to this?’
written April 2013
Courge to Cross the Line
He stood at the end of the trailer’s living room, yelling, cussing, throwing things, like he always did when he was angry.
She, of course, was in the hall by the washer, crying, her face speckled. red streaks, tears dripping onto her shirt.
“I’m so sick of your bitchin, woman!” he shouted from the doorway, ready to run out, after he had yelled his final insult, stomped and delivered his final accusation.
“Just step over the line and see what happens.” he yelled as he went for the door. As the line was crossed, he stared in silence.
