Save A Whisper

Can you hear my voice
calling to you across the miles?
Can you read my face
populated with smiles?

Can you tell that I miss you
and the thought of you near?
'Tis a hell to be apart
I want to hold you, dear.

Your laughter and it's cadence
among the things I miss.
To say nothing of your magic
and the hopeful spark of a kiss.

I shout for you
during lonely nights.
I sob some too
as I loose my sights.

I reach for you
with just my voice
In hopes that you return,
to your only choice.

I shout for you,
you hear a blister.
My throat runs dry
spent, save a whisper.

I utter it,
a final chance,
It flutters beside you,
my wish to dance.

A Trip Not Taken

Oh, to be sailing
On a blue boat
On a blue bay
Wind filling sails and soul
Whisking us away.

Oh, to be working,
Slaves to the sea.
The journey takes some skill
Manning ropes and masts
We anchor in a cove, quiet and still.

Oh, to lay with you
Enveloped in salt air and mist,
To speak of great dreams
And little wonders
Lost time, temporary as a kiss.

Oh, to drift
And on purpose;
To leave the world behind.
To come back enriched
Heart, and soul, and mind.

Oh, a trip not taken;
Desires not pursued;
Just vivid imagination with sights
And sounds and smells; tastes and touches
Yet….still renewed.

I Pen the Songs

I pen the songs
between the dawns
but the melody
is never right.

I need your music
to my words
I need your voice
to give them life.

I reach for you
when I close my eyes
looking for your truth
to clear away the lies.

And there are days
when the music doesn't play;
times I don't think I can
but you take those worries away.

Still, I'm left with just lyrics
and no way to sing.
I think about the bass you play
but it doesn't mean a thing.

Voices start to haunt me
in the early hours of the night.
Images of you singing taunt me,
I reach to hold you tight.

But there's only air,
there's nothing there,
and my dreams
slowly fade away.

These Strong Women

Opinionated.
Secure.
Satisfied in the knowledge
they’re living life on their own terms.

Survivors.
Every one of them.
They have intelligence,
great humor,
charm,
sexiness and sass.

They never apologize,
unless with mock indignation.
They set goals –
have high expectations
and achieve much of what it is
they desire;
though never fast enough
for them.

They fiercely protect the
few things they love;
Whether it be a child,
a boat or
a belief.

These strong women
are not perfect
– but never tell them that.
So often…far, far too often,
these strong women
succumb
to a type of lunacy.

They have an Achilles’ heel –
a vulnerability they protect against.
But once pushed –
these strong women
temporarily crumble.

Some call it being human.
Some say, “Give me a break – it’s no big deal.”
But oh, how I loathe the idea of
these strong women
undermined,
dis-empowered
by a weaker man – or even worse,
their defending of a belief
that they do not themselves believe.

They offer so much
and in so much of their life
they enrich others…make the world better.

Frequently selfish –
except the few times
they really need to be.
They protect others
before themselves.

They let pride and ego
and the habit of being right
influence them,
when on this one occasion;
they would be better served
by the strength of others.

It is the only weakness of
These Strong Women.

Evenings End

Tresses bounce across her shoulders.
Heat radiates from her skin.

Goals and dreams filed in folders.
All actions planned, including sin.

Laughter fills the empty streets;
like bubbly bottles of champagne.

Quotes of Elliot, Emerson and Keats
when lightening strikes and signals rain.

She bites her lower lip and scans his face
contemplating with not so subtle eyes.

For down the hill there is a place
to sort out truth from lies.

For the entire day's been a dream
from which she loathes to wake.

A trusting heart, she does deem
and hopes to not forsake.

Spirit

I cannot hear your voice.
I cannot see your eyes.
Can't hear the melody that you sing;
or breathless sighs.

I cannot see your face.
I cannot smell your scent.
Can't visualize your smile;
don't know where you went.

I cannot smell candles burning.
I cannot touch your hair.
Can't find the brand of perfume;
that I imagine you to wear.

I cannot touch your fingers.
I cannot taste your lips.
Can’t hold you in my hands;
feel a soft brushing kiss.

I cannot taste the teardrops.
I cannot believe.
Can't keep going on;
with a life force I can't see.

But words they unfold before me.
Some not understood.
There's a spirit that pulls me;
changes can't into could.

You confound all my senses.
You bring me to my knees.
Fill me with inspiration;
rise me up above redwood trees.

You are like a spirit,
though you say you're flesh and bone.
Still can't get my head around it,
only know you when I'm alone.

Spirit please come to me,
show me, the things I need to see.
Spirit please, hold me,
tell me stories of how it'll be.
Spirit please come to me,
fill my heart with all you've got.
Spirit, oh spirit time for a new start.

Dandelion

Fingers dry
from winter weather.
Heaves a sigh
for he's still tethered.

Not with chains
or knotted ropes
but by loosened reins
and loss of hope.

No control
of thoughts or words
a heavy toll
for flightless birds.

Gusty gales
blown off course
heal what ails
go back to source.

Pray in darkness
for the light.
Hear a "yes"
in warm delight.

The voyage take
'cross several seas.
Memories make,
though none with me.

Float about
like a dandelion seed.
Never doubt
you fill a need.

Petal Pull

She loves him.
She loves him not.
The things uttered;
has she since forgot?

Separate world’s
lives lead apart.
She implores him to stay
and hug those near his heart.

Distant miles
too grand to cross.
Neither makes the voyage
and both are at a loss.

She pulls away
for closeness leads to pain;
and decides she much pick one
friendship, or a game.

She implores the truth;
vulnerability - don't be shy.
So he speaks his mind
then wonders if it'd be better had he lied.

For his truth annoys her;
perhaps builds a rift.
Caught between illusions
he feels they begin to drift.

Time undeterred
rolls forward as it should.
He ponders what he's loosing
and wouldn't trade the time if he could.

She loves him.
She loves him not;
but loves the things
together they've learned and taught.

He Imagines Her Mornings

He imagines her mornings,
and wonders how they play.
When the alarm goes off,
is she the type to leap right up
and and start her day...
Or does she hit the snooze
a few too many times,
and in her bed she stays?

Does she awake with a buzzing,
a ringing,
music
or with sunlight?
Does she recall her dreams,
did she get up at all in the night?

Does she awake with promise
and a song in her head,
or does she roll over,
and face the morning with dread?

Does she enter the shower,
or was she clean the night before?
Does she toss and turn,
or does she soundly snore?

Does she trip over laundry
and stumble for her clothes;
or are they sorted by color,
stockings and panties in delicate rows?

Does she linger over coffee
and the morning newscast;
or does she chug down a protein shake
and call that her breakfast?

Does she wear heels with joy,
or sneakers or flats?
Does she hold the mirror in contempt,
for in it she feels too fat?

Does her bed get made,
or do sheets get pulled down
like a waning tide?
Does she glance at the pillows and the creases
and long for someone else
to wake up beside?

Does she pass out any kisses
in the morning,
to a cat,
a lover
or child?
Is she harried,
or peaceful
when she notices her nails
should be filed?

Has she planned her day
and all that must be done?
Does she think just of the weekend
and the promises of fun?

He wonders these things
in a blink of an eye,
thinking of her and her morning routine
and then he wonders...why?

The Weakened Dance

Memories of those dances
and the distant foggy nights
haunt the souls that connected
and departed with vicious, vindictive fights.

After the dances
Ivory dreams fade to beige
and broken hearts
are placed gently back into their cage.

Moon matching moods
take their toll;
and when the music stops
both return to their role.

She smokes too much
a fact she knows;
it's how she faces the world
and snubs her nose.

He sets a stage
no actor can fill;
his ardent hope
one day, one will.

Again they departed
with too much yet not enough said;
and she lingered in her kitchen,
then the living room, before collapsing into bed.

Melancholy sobs
brought rain to the streets.
And she arose quite quickly
not wanting to be alone in those barren sheets.

Upon the mantle, she spied a note
next to a small token.
He had jotted down words
cowardly left unspoken.

She lit a cigarette
with the shiny new lighter
and turned on a lamp
to make inside a touch brighter.

"We can dance
the weekend dance
but it becomes
the weakened dance."

With that, the rain was matched
with salty tears
"What," she cried
"has become of my lost years?"

Outside her door
he still stood,
contemplating a knock again, to come in
but he didn't think he should.

We Go Together

I'm the clock on the wall.
You're the second hand.
I've got questions.
You understand.

I'm the streetlight.
You're the road.
I'm thinking frog.
You're saying toad.

I'm the riddle.
You're the clue.
I'm a stick of butter,
to your stick of glue.

We go together
like seagulls in the sand;
same planet;
one's alive;
the other's the land.

I'm the engine.
You're the spark.
I'm no day at the beach.
You're a walk in the park.

I'm the hot coffee.
You're the sugar and cream.
We mix together;
you're part of my dreams.

I don't know you well.
You know well enough.
You smooth out my sharp edges.
You're seriously tough.

We go together
like the moon and a tree;
strong trunk, droopy branches;
you're the light from above;
Illuminating me.

You're the horse’s legs.
I'm in the rear.
You really are too much;
And I love you so dear.

You're a work of beauty;
Have I told you so?
I laugh as I picture you making
angels in the snow.

You're the cap
that keeps my head warm;
the gloves, the scarf, the boots;
the coat pulled tight to ward off the storm.

We go together
like a mocha and flute;
fluttering music;
airy sounds, smooth flavor
bumped into and spilled all over my suit

You're a pair of skates
to my frozen pond.
You're the magician;
And I am your wand.

You're the present.
I'm just the bow.
You're the main event;
to my sideshow.

You're the glass
from which I view.
Darling, you're all of these things
and I'm so in love with you.

Spirit

I cannot hear your voice.
I cannot see your eyes.
Can't hear the melody that you sing;
or breathless sighs.

I cannot see your face.
I cannot smell your scent.
Can't visualize your smile;
don't know where you went.

I cannot smell candles burning.
I cannot touch your hair.
Can't find the brand of perfume;
that I imagine you to wear.

I cannot touch your fingers.
I cannot taste your lips.
Can’t hold you in my hands;
Or feel a soft brushing kiss.

I cannot taste the teardrops.
I cannot believe.
Can't keep going on;
with a life force I can't see.

But words they unfold before me.
Some not understood.
There's a spirit that pulls me;
changes can't into could.

You confound all my senses.
You bring me to my knees.
Fill me with inspiration;
rise me up above redwood trees.

You are like a spirit,
though you say you're flesh and bone.
Still can't get my head around it,
only know you when I'm alone.

Spirit please come to me,
show me, the things I need to see.
Spirit please, hold me,
tell me stories of how it'll be.

Spirit please come to me,
fill my heart with all you've got.
Spirit, oh spirit,
time for a new start.

Paint a Better Picture

Can you paint a better picture of me?
The hues you use,
they don't flatter.
Maybe to you
it doesn't matter.

Thanks for adding color,
my canvas was blank
and bare.
But could you ease up on the blacks and blues,
or do you even care?

The brush strokes you made,
far to broad,
features and detail diluted.
Don't mean to be a critic.
It's a role though, I seem suited.

Maybe you were angry.
Crystal clarity,
brilliant, but not lucid.
What's the meaning of it all?
Still quite elusive.

Orange skies
cast it in a different light.
A softer version to emerge.
No need for fighting, or for guilt
those feelings, time to purge.

The picture you paint,
it's what you see.
How others interpret another's art
is a reflection of themselves
and the world of which they're a part.

You're Never Alone

Oh, you think you’re alone
on your lonely walk home
with snow covered streets
and grey skies so bleak.

Your key in the door
your body still sore
from working at what?
So bad you forgot.

To the kitchen for tea
you dwell on what was to be.
The kettle cries loud
but not you, you're too proud.

You flip through the mail
news of bills and some sales.
The radio's on
and you're struck by a song.

You fall to your knees
"Oh, God," you pray, "please
make the music stop right now,"
you don't want anymore frowns.

You wipe at your tears
hands trembling from yesterdays fears
and you feel so alone
in your little empty home.

There's a buzz in your ear
a presences so near.
It's a whisper and a promise
from me to you.

You're never alone
if you recite this poem
for fire that stays lit
will warm you.

Of me you're a part
you've captured my heart
and although we can't touch
and the pain can be much
if you keep me inside
right next to your pride
I will warm you on cold winter nights.

If you do your part
stay true to your heart
know the walls,
you can break right through.

I'm just a memory away
In your memory, you can hear me say
just how much I care
about you.

Wipe off the tears
so you can see clearly.
Be not afraid
I love you so dearly.

Good Night, My Dreams

Good night, my dreams
I must awake
From this halcyon haze.

Good night, my dreams
Before I forsake
The love that fills my days.

Will not extinguish the flame
For me it burns
Deep and eternal.

Can not make the heart go tame
It still yearns
But now must keep it internal.

Too walk away
I’ve no desire
Your power is so complete.

To try and stay
To stoke the fire
Is to court heartbreak that will repeat.

To shut the valve of inspiration
Close it down
Make running waters still;

A hardened choice
Made with sobs and frown
To force a heart to chill.

Good night, my dreams
I must progress
Apply all that you have taught me.

Good night my love
Under head’s duress,
Might have been - had you ever sought me.

Our worlds are different
A fact I love
But we never let them collide.

So many differences
Though we share the moon above.
Pangs…I must allow them to subside.

Alarms they sound to wake me up
But please -
To dream some more!

With love and respect,
I fall to my knees
And summon every ounce of happiness
for the one I so adore.

Does She Sleep

Does she sleep
or does she lay awake?
Does she dream
or does she shake?

Cold from the winter,
cold from the ills.
Sick of solitude
and the bottles of pills.

Did a bird chirp
just the other day;
or was it a leaky faucet
turned too tight the other way?

Brittle branches
claw against the pane.
Claps of thunder
signal drenching rain.

Tears streak
along a soggy cheek.
Forecast on both sides
of the glass are bleak.

Will he come by
with flowers and smiles?
Would he brave the night
the storm, the miles?

Would she anger
if he saw her this way;
bloated face and feet
all blush faded to gray.

Could he warm her,
ease her mind and fears;
hold her in his arms,
wipe away the errant tears?

She nestled in the pillow
her tired, weary head
and found now some pleasant thing
to dream about instead.

Whispering Voices

Whispering voices
in the night
dreams of longing
arms held tight.

Whispering voices
straining to be heard
impossible to describe
how this all occurred.

Moonlit dances
are still craved
by midnight lovers
with places saved.

Glorious music
filling the air
places not visited
still long to go there.

So quiet in that
place so far
so alone you
know you are

but for whispers
in the night
telling you,
you are strong
and everything
will be all right.

When Was the Last Time?

Folded in a chair
in the corner of a cafe
face covering hair,
Lot's of thoughts,
not sure what to say.

When was the last time
he reached for your hand?
When was the last time
he shared with you his plans?
When was the last time
he held you in a tight embrace?
When was the last time
he ran his fingertips across your face?

Book is still held up
but no longer reading;
thoughts of last times
they keep
impeding.

When was the last time
you both said goodnight?
When was the last time
there wasn't a fight?
When was the last time
you slept in the same bed?
When was the last time
he understood what you said?

Agitated and a little sad;
thoughts of things
that are missing
making you mad.

When was the last time
you said, "I want to go"?
When was the last time
he told you, "hell no"?
When was the last time
you screamed in pleasure?
When was the last time
you felt like a treasure?

Gazing out the window,
past the setting sun
not sure if this is an
ending
or if it's just
begun.

When was the last time
your lips joined together?
When was the last time
he said, "I'll love you forever"?
When was the last time
a single tear drop fell?
When was the last time
your eyes began to well?

Shutting the book and
standing up fast
ignited with a mission
no more dwelling,
action at last.

When was the last time
you felt touch that was warm?
When was the last time
you felt cupid swarm?
When was the last time
you said, "this is the last time?"
When was the last time?

When Soon Lingers

When she's near,
he can not speak.
When she's gone,
the song is too.

When she's here,
she's who he seeks.
When she's there,
he's in solitude.

And what of the life she leads;
Does she soar above it all,
or does she take shelter
in the weeds?

He thinks of her throughout the day,
practicing the right words to say,
but when he sees her golden hair
his eloquence, just ain't there.

His head bows down
he adverts her glance
avoids her eyes
turns away,
he's lost the chance.

Hides in the crowd,
not seen but still there.
He's the one mesmerized
by her and her hair.

One time soon
he'll be brave and strong,
but soon seems to linger
on
and on
and on.

You are My Hero

You are my hero
With your grace and charm and ease.
The million little things you do;
The opportunities you seize.

You are a rock I can cling to
When storms battle my shores.
You are the twinkle in darkened nights,
And the boat that carries me;
And my ill-used oars.

In time the receding tempest
Will eventually come to pass
And you'll still be holding me
The worst of winds you help me to outlast.

You are my hero
In every shape and form.
You rescue me from myself
My bitterness and scorn.

And for it no medal
to wear with pride and cheer;
but my arms will wrap around you
and hold you ever near.

Evening Smoke

He fills the shadows of her mind
unexpected longings,
she thought she'd left behind.

Gentle voices whisper in the dark,
full lips moisten
and cheeks blush with his remark.

Moonlight rays illuminate his face;
with deep addiction
he always returns to this place.

She tries to charm with startled voice
trembling hands
she makes her choice.

Her own addiction, she strikes a flame
he tsk-tsks
and feels to blame.

If it were another place or time
their embrace would linger
and limbs would intertwine.

But tonight he sits along the sill
watching her puff her cigarette
while he remains stoic and still.

Could she hear his thumping heart?
It pained him, trapped in this dilemma;
not perfect together, less perfect apart.

And so she wondered about his next move;
would it be an passionate kiss
or would he scold her for things of which he does not approve?

She closed her eyes as she blew up smoke
when she opened them, he had vanished
her mind, yet again playing a vicious joke.

Moonbeams

Moonbeams pierce the night
illuminate clouds and sight.

Distant twinkling city lights
dull the sounds of internal fights.

Slight chill to the evening air
subtle breeze musses hair.

Inking darkness in the canyon there
steep slippery slopes and creatures to beware.

Simple silence at this late hour
ticking clock seems to overpower.

Clanking keys, this figure cowers
hunched over letters that fingers devour.

Head should rest on pillow, not in hand
must have missed the sleepy fellow with all the sand.

Enthusiasm and passion fires' fanned
can the moonbeams' light electrify the land?

Ever Thirsty

To be filled with uninspired duty
and obligation
is to be dead to life;
filled with dreariness
and frustration.

To be filled with desires unexamined
unexplained, misunderstood;
is to live an addiction
you wouldn't change it
if you could.

To be filled with thirst,
a yearning so clear and complete;
is the magic and the gift of living;
running toward greater things
never to retreat.

So Cold Tonight

She shivers in the night
The distance seems much greater.
He quivers at the sight
With insistence, he stays later.

Though he’s in paradise
With balmy winds and golden rays
He’d trade it all in an instant
To share in cold, bleak, winter days.

To wear a scarf again
Long coat and gloves
Slosh through gray streets
Racing to his love.

There may be no fireplace
And little heat to spare
But he brings soft blankets
And a full heart to share.

He covers her with his arms
And dances real slow.
A fire begins somewhere
As desire begins to grow.

He warms her neck with his breath
Holds her tight and secure.
Shivers heat to trembling.
How much can she endure?

With kind words and gentle hands
He warms her entire being
Arms and legs, head and heart
She can’t believe what she is seeing.

Alas, a dream – mostly his
Though, some warmth can now be felt.
Passionate thoughts, if not deeds
But with them, the frozen ice begins to melt.