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- you, 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…
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.
you are my sunrise the realization of the dawn my reason to awaken, my eyes travel over – to your pillow tracing down your sleeping form and I answer an angel at my door sleeping-soft-pose I wonder of what you are dreaming or, am I ?
as I might contemplate 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)
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…
against the setting, purple rippling sky reminds, 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)
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….
as once the sphinx asleep in the sands so clear now upon excavation my mind wanders a, lone, last, resident, heart incoherent, time travel to a place, a palace of emptiness a tomb, once resplendent in the adornments of love a blooming garden in the sun, long gone – dilapidated ruins, strewn columns, passing uncaring tourist feet wanton blind, I travel the path, to the lost oasis, armed, with no reason a fool’s journey of temporary reprieve or warm habit had but old empty hands itch for anything to grasp and so this goes my fantasy, once reality, my past a proud worn marker once, leans down broken, half buried in dirt once mud, discarded, on a side road forgotten by some haunted by others tethered by one
notes… Of course I am fascinated by the pyramids and such… the sphinx was buried until pretty recently, so imagine the sphinx sleeping for a time, where the meaning maybe was forgotten, but have I made a monument in my mind? to my love… yes, maybe, and then the years pass and you forget, for a time, but then maybe revisit that monument, that love, buried a bit, worn, but never gone, that is what I was feeling here, and the gist of the thrust of the poem… as usual it came up upon me and just wrote, the first few lines just popped into my head.
how long how long did you wait for me to come home to come back. alone.
she is always in there somewhere, entwined with my DNA, never far from the surface, even under the weight of the undergrowth of so many years, there are times I forget, but there are more times I remember, this is a lost.love.letter.
to remember contours, lying naked together in bed moonlight penetrates sliding through the window slits onto your exposed skin the base of my palm begins in the small of your back tracing upwards curling my fingers slightly so the tips track between your shoulders until they breach the rise of your neck pausing at your hairline turning to cradle your head towards mine no eyes as lips guide and we are one for a moment in time.
Shades of My Garden 