she whispered, “hi –
for now i’m yours
to the degree i’m anyone’s.
and you’ll be mine
for such a time
as both may choose to stay.”
and low and long
we spoke and touched
and used –
the word is ‘used’, i think –
for each made each self useful
to the other
out of desire
the fresh creation
It is the power to transform the world’s ugliness, in any measure, that constitutes beauty; it is not a function of age, or size, or any other physical preconception – it is a spirit, an energy, a way of living, and a way of helping others to live such that the sum becomes greater than the parts, and the parts become greater than they were.
the gift that’s given, quiet, on the march
the moments spent spent in careless disarray
the me in you and me, the roman arch
of bodies made to bend and shape that way
the heart inside the man that seeks the heart
the soul inside of you that courts release
the gift that’s given, taken; whole, in part –
the constant striving, looking for
the things that i don’t know add up.
i must in humbleness unlearn
the many tropes i thought i knew
that were just lies, self-serving –
but not in silence to remain.
although i might be fearful that
i have not found the one sole source
among truth’s many flavors that
are now my heart unnerving –
for have i truly known
the weight of care
that others bear?
it seems unlikely, where i sit.
for truth, like peppers, has
its many shades, varieties, and purposes –
and i cannot remove myself
from the perspective which
defines the learner
this slow burner
this world-weary, bleary eyed, wage-earner
Oh, love, I’ve seen you autumn days
When hearts were less recalcitrant,
As leaves blew by in careless tumbles,
Lifted by the wind
Oh, love, I’ve seen you pensive, when
The heart grew fuller than the frame
Containing who and what we are,
These cans in which we’re tinned
For seldom truth we speak, although,
We claim to seek it all the time;
We vow it is our sacred right,
The one thing we would die for –
But as the rustling leaves blow by,
Our precious goals all go awry;
For what we’d have, we take as naught,
And shrink from what we’d try for
Oh, love, how do we lift this veil?
This covering of toil and stress?
I’d give you all I’ll ever have,
Except for my own selfishness
I’d hold you precious, all the time,
Except for my own
the street’s deserted here
at would-be bedtime,
the sky has laid its blanket
o’er my head
it tells a tale
of wonder and of splendor,
of tables made of stars
and as the wind blows chill
i dream of fireside,
and tales of castles,
palaces and kings
the world is empty, here
at would-be bedtime,
the perfect time for all
she’s lodged and stuck within his brain –
he cannot get out her out –
he knows it’s madness – folly – and
he curses at the day that he was born —
he runs at 4 am, and tries to sweat her out,
to breathe her gone,
but still she’s there, in elegance,
a brand that burns into his head,
a fire blazing in the night,
unwanted thoughts in daytime, and
a hopeless sort of sadness when he’s driving
for he’s known what it is to touch
and feel and be a part, to be as one,
then be apart again – as she in coldness
lapses into feeling her non-feelings
and he would take on anyone who might be there
to drive her out, her maddening indifference –
but she won’t go
and love has made of him
I sometimes walk towards Lord knows what
Because it’s where I’m headed;
I often fear the route I took
But still explore the dreaded,
The feared, the secret, the unknown –
These all have their allures –
For all the choices I have made
In no way me inures
To what misfortune my way waits.
This is the life we lead:
We’re driven by our opaque hearts
As much as any need
Might lead us to our destinies.
Seek not these paths to censure:
For such is human servitude,
The terms of our indenture —
We’re fated to know just enough
To know that we don’t know;
But gifted with such energy
That still we onward go
Round corners and down tunnels where
We meet our many fates —
The new experience we find
But never know awaits,
As passion fights with habit, and
We new paths will behold —
Just like the one I’m walking on
Before I get too old.
For I have no idea – I don’t.
But still, I do not balk:
For sometimes, we walk towards our dreams,
And others —
We just walk
A girl was born, a miracle;
She grew to know the lizards and the birds
That lined the quilt with which
Her mother covered her at night
When she saw the stars, they shifted
Into the same bright menagerie;
Dreams of dancing tropical stars
Keeping her warm and safe
Her mother wore her sadness soft;
There was no father – there had never been –
And when her mother’s footsteps slowed with sorrow,
Her daughter offered her the covering quilt
Oh, let love rain down like showers of stars,
Let flocks of birds carry you to sweet peace;
Let love cover us tonight, we just-two,
And take us to where many-colored dreams
Turn tears into pools of reflected wonder
For life is fleeting – life and time –
And love is just a season;
So hold to good where’er you are
You need no other
We walked beside magnificence,
And I was full of glory;
Of how the world itself would change
The day it heard my story –
She listened to me carefully,
And never raised an eyebrow,
But in her wisdom, waited; for
The truth would hit me, somehow —
A twenty-one, I owned the world.
But meant no harm so doing:
It wasn’t what I tried she feared,
But what I was eschewing
So she said finally to me
When she had heard my all:
“It’s better to give a little, than
To never give at all.”
It’s like she new the future:
Disillusioned as I’d be,
That I would court retreat when things
Did not work out for me.
But here, beside the same small pond,
Her words ring in my head;
They can’t bring back my innocence,
And cannot raise the dead
But I can add to happiness
As long as I’m still living:
It’s better to give whate’er you can,
Than just give up
We see as far as we can see
To know as much as we can know;
But what’s past that eludes our grasp,
And will —
No matter where
before the spell that winter cast,
i lived with autumn for awhile –
the days were twisted wide and vast
and there, upon a sudden smile
she looked at me, expectantly;
amused at all the raging bile
the news had likely fed to me –
a room in which she would not dwell,
a noise she heard, but would not heed,
although i found it just as well:
the ideas, words she didn’t need,
for all that came so loud had passed
and quiet on the autumn mile,
the few short months that we amassed
of my vain stretch, and her soft style
were all there was to her and me —
a picture snapped, a photocell,
a life, a time, a coterie,
a season down; a day that fell –
the itch you scratch until you bleed,
the open sore you see aghast,
the long regret that spans the screed
before the spell that winter cast
Perhaps there’s no one that you know
Who tells the truth the way they should;
Perhaps the world seems dark indeed,
With little left of what seems good —
But when the wind is blowing, you
Might find a place safe from the storm;
Perhaps it seems like little, but
To have a space you can be warm
Is more than many have, and more
Than you have had on certain days —
Perhaps the world is crazy, but,
It needn’t be – not here – always —
So build what love can build, and know:
No overnight can tame this curse,
Perhaps the world is cold, but we –
We can at least not leave it
i had some semblance, it wasn’t much of one –
just a tiny semblance, often
made fun of by the other semblances
people would confuse me for someone else;
i insisted i had a small semblance, at best
like my last vestige of sanity,
my slightest inkling what you’re talking about, and
my miniscule odds of recovery,
my semblance soldiers on,
wearing its meagreness as a badge of honor
in no small measure
When she found he lied, it was
A strange and fateful day.
She looked back and could see
It happened many times before —
Exactly why she’d missed it, she
Could not exactly say:
She only knew that this was it.
She wouldn’t stand for more.
The fall-apart was messy, but
It was necessity.
So, freed from all the hastiness
That she’d known in her youth,
She set out on the journey to
The woman she could be;
But with the awesome, fragile thing
She now knew was the truth —
It matters not what you’ve been dreaming of,
For love is only love
Song, then song, goes flashing by
And memories of every kind
Come pouring back like ocean waves
Upon the shoreline of my mind —
I was fifteen and playing ping-pong with
Three of the guys from school, and
We were all laughing.
We were taking our first trip together, and
This song was on the radio as we headed to Gatlinburg.
We held hands the entire way.
This song reminds me of the beach.
We heard it every day that one summer,
The one where your hair got so long.
We’d all go to that buffet place, and
The two of you would be singing in the back seat,
Mangling the words of this song.
But I loved hearing you sing it.
Oh my gosh.
This was the best slow dancing song ever.
Or at least, the best one out when we slow danced.
Wow. I love this song.
People used to sing about changing the world.
And they believed it when they sang it.
I still believe it.
I remember you, lying in the leaves, humming this song
Staring up at the sky and hoping for something
To come and take you away from all of this.
Only I didn’t know, what that longing meant, yet —
But I found out.
The memories that fill the air:
These things you thought no longer there —
The songs picked out from all this din
The right antenna can tune in.
The wonder that’s a human life,
The soul that’s born to run and sing —
The mystery that is ourselves,
The everyday that’s