Photo by Jess Vide on

if we truly are-
then we may be familiar
you and I
embraced within the landscape

for eternities
pebbles on the shore- once
we were meant to meet
in this life
of that

my heart
my love
I am sure
if only that
I am sure.

notes… almost a lost love letters post which I am known for (well at least by three people or a little more) but this one… felt more general, I am thinking about pre life here… and after life… we are molecules, we have a physical component, so maybe we met before, on a beach, is that a reach? not to me, it makes perfect sense, maybe our attraction to each other is molecular… and ancient… and beyond what we think we know, we know so little, but don’t tend to really think about it… all stuck on this magic marble… spinning in some in•fin•i•tes•i•mal section of the universe… can we be that small ? no, we are that small, but that does not mean we have not met, a million thousand times before, why else do we coalesce now ??? your thoughts and comments are always appreciated… thanks.

Photo by Jorge Fakhouri Filho on

are we fibers
or just strings
or links in a chain
I wonder
as I hold you closer

I imagine
we begin to combine
at the molecular level
can we now pass through each other?
or simply merge
for a moment
two spun as one
no wonder
the separation
as this does

notes… lost love letters staccato style (as I call it), I am very aware of rhythm in my words and flow… maybe it is all in my head, sure, but those who get it are wired into my frequency, I do not expect that to be everyone, just you, so thanks for the time, any and all comments are appreciated

Photo by Daria Sannikova on

I think of you every day
like the sun rising
that simple-
that feel
a gentle warmth
on my cheek, on my eyelids,
as I see you with them closed,
I think of you every day –
the guilt is the passion of the poison
as I am a circled serpent bite embraced,
I think of you every day,
as I drive past, I drive
from the freedom tower to the empire state
as a made-up façade running along my side like a slide
as the sun glides rises up
like a passenger riding in a train
watching scenery pass by
yet, I’m in my car
almost a dream like state
I am so far – from, yes, so far from-
I think of you every day
and yet
sometimes there is grace
for even in this pit of despair
from which I still breath and draw all air-
for there
there was always the truth
there was and always will be love embraced
and for that
is all that saves me
most days… most days.

notes… I wanted this to feel like my thoughts, stop and go, and yet flow – at times, is that not more real than perfection sometimes ? I realize poetry can just be this amazing stream but sometimes I am trying to create life, real life, real thoughts, and that is never perfect, do I want to create some perfect things sometimes? yes… but not this time, this is being life on purpose…

Photo by Hiu1ebfu Hou00e0ng on

my beautiful flower
for what have I done
poisoned my garden
’till kingdom come

notes… since my father passed I have been posting photos on my facebook page daily, and of course I wound up running across photos of her, my true love, the major screw up I can never mend, well, I hope but that was many years ago, time is supposed to mend or heal, not so much here, I try not dwell but honestly it is always there, somewhere, some days just rise and it is all I can think about, just happened to coincide with V-day, I used to make her special meals, with red themes, heart shaped veg or the like, always something ambitious, I miss those days, but I am still here and there are days ahead, so that has to be my focus, but seeing those old photos, the closeness, her holding me and me her, in addition to my old dog, Chestnut, whom I loved so very much, and made mistakes like any first time parent, memories, of all the animals we had, practically a zoo, birds (amazon yellow front, parakeet, parotlet, monk parakeet), a degu, pacus, turtles (mississippi mud and soft shell), a mexican tarantula, a sugar glider and a texas ground squirrel… yeah it was pretty nuts, and I leaving out the scorpions and betas… retrospect always breeds romanticism, but who am I to argue with my own feelings? but accept them.

Photo by Johannes Rapprich on

as I might
that last moment
before I leave this plane
and wonder
my last thought
will I see you
oh lord
will I see my love
once more

on a beam of light
so singular in this life
left bereft of completion
longing to be whole again
the separation
and we pray to write, unite
a fabled ending

and I must confess
my faith wavers
doubt simmers
for I am just a man
but I look to the sky
to the sun
to the stars
to you
oh lord
will I see my love
once more.

notes... been awhile since I opined for my love (her), other things, life going on, I suppose, but it is always there, isn’t it? just under the surface, always there like a shadow beat to my heartbeat, like an echo to my every thought reverb, my love I hope you are well and content, wherever you are these days… (from a poem perspective this was me being deliberate and staccato, something I do sometimes to hear the timing in my mind) \\\\\ \\\\\

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on

perhaps this is causality
and I am the casualty of-
the rain
a grey veil of gloom over
even silver linings wane
not some days
not all days
today, one of those lingering
an insidious thought invades, breaks the levy
‘I have nothing’
or feel that way
perhaps only because I ‘had’
I can not stop the swell, the surge
the rush back, a rampaging flood now converges
that a bound fist in my abdomen confirms
my eyes well,
we all want to travel back, to rewrite;
and we do, in a way, down that path, in our mind
but know, always know the foundation
the truth is in the earth, hands clench this
the cruelty of the steadiness of dirt
support of life and burial of the dead roots
as far reach as heaven, up into the air
roots buried, anchors, always, memories
a library, a curated collection
rows and rows of known, wanton forgotten
I am alone-
most days this is not a bother
some days a marker, a visitor, my own host
I scrape for false shelter
draw out the homilies on my lips
all the words I left out
a mantra to my burden
to wait out the storm and pretend some more.

note… to any new people (as I am seeing more traffic), hello you (waving), my work is off the cuff, one off, unless otherwise noted, perfect? no way man…. but I post it… and here it is… when I write the thing it is visceral, you get me facial, that’s all… and if you like it … great, if not, also great, I appreciate the read, the time, your eyes, thanks… we are existing right now at this time…. which is a miracle, billions of the years of the universe have brought us together… for corn dogs… well, er, at least that or more I hope, so all your comments, recipes, thoughts, coherent rants and advice for my garden – are appreciated. I am the bamboo whisperer… I tell ya…

Sound of bow against the sky }}—> ~0~

Sound of bow against the sky }}—> ~0~

Photo by Manuela Kohl on

against the setting, purple rippling sky
in countenance shadow doth reflect
I dream of your form with empty hands out-stretched;
my body swells with starvation
in the famine of the death of sensation (your touch),
illusion bores and marks the eyes
falling on to moon lit-skin,
an ache born upon the conscience of time.

in distant mind voice reflects
to listen with my eyes
the song of your words upon my ear
(as I admire how they escape from the supple valley of your lips).
the many places of daily travel
warm (and light) with the presence of your candle’s glow
and yet
cold as the lands that separate live souls;
with hands entwine and walk the path
upon fantasy rides the thoughts of man,
Upon that gallant-fanciful steed might glide
the miles in memory; -but yet
what warmth does this night-shadow bring?
The song to sing in faintest past
and yet
all is owed, on to the future.

palm upon palm, (might I flourish for a moment in your scent)
falling hapless rather than to this lament
I drift to sleep amongst the fear of dreaming-
and do I deny what my mind decrees?
The ancient charm of dreams pulls so heartily at my ropes and binds,
dancing and prancing
logic and delirium
In all the cotillion-; embraced,
and all the body waits for the texture of her naked skin
baring against the dew that forms;
contours are the guide of hands
instinct as the guide of minds,
And sweet sufferance is this
bliss un-achieved in the day-light hours,
finds the night to write a script of wish,
a castle from which to survey and capture
lands beyond and afar from worldly reach,
and yet
lucid as the life
a picture framed in the eye of mind
a committed memory, in a curved line.

Notes… generally speaking my works I post are 96.2% off the cuff (a totally arbitrary number made up for this post, but you get my drift), this post is certainly not, this is something old, pre-me being the blog hound dog that I am these days, if I had to guess this is in the neighborhood of 15 years old, something I wrote and stowed in a box, with other poems, which I might reveal, given the feel, if I feel like it, and I might, I had this typed out and folded up stuck in an old book, it was always one of those I ‘liked’ straight away, the title, the whole darn thing, I am sure my fellow fellowship of writers/artists out there get that, there is always those that you just ‘love’ right off the bat, and this is such a dove, I did alter it a bit, given my modern taste and flair, or whatever I am doing these days. So, hope you enjoy it… As always your thoughts, likes, and adulating praise is always appreciated… any good non obvious habanero chili recipes are also warranted… (damn I love the hot chilis)

aerial photography of person surfing
Photo by Mudassir Ali on

take my hand
and listen for the song
for that which once was

take my hand
and let us sing
in the dream that which was before

so we may travel, hand in hand
over bridge, on a tune from past
to a familiar, but aged land
an island, an atoll
a paradise built for two
and rebuild our house there
plank by plank
a skylight to the stars at night
let the sands pass all our earthly sins
let time swallow us whole
together for always and at last
for I may gently pass
with my only reason
you my love, you, my love.

notes… I do not know why I so identify with life on an island, maybe it is my time in Florida and the Keys, such a magical place, why am I living here? I suppose if I had the means and the moxie I would move my ass down there for good, and I would, and I will, an island seems like an offering to the ocean gods and they rule most of the known world, those are my thoughts, but as soul calming as that would be, as amazing a life to live among that life would be, it would be nothing without her, but at least I still have the memory…

on a personal note I was at this show… with her… how these three guys sing and rock at the same time is one of the great mysteries of the universe, when the cam shifts to the front row the guy shooting was right next to me, HOB puts on great shows… totally top notch and hell the restaurant ain’t too shabby either….