There she danced
in a flowing gown
and flowing hair
that also danced
as she spun around.
Her eyes were locked
clearly in love.
To those around
the couple fit together
like hand in glove.
She dipped and glided
in a ghoulish figures' arms.
Who could blame her?
For no one was immune
to his darkish charms.
The music reminiscent
a soundtrack to his dreams
of she and he dancing
in a Newport mansion
across orange sunset beams.
Yes, he saw this couple
in all their grace.
The look of love
and stories untold
animated her lovely face.
He smiled and sat
and sipped his drink.
He was happy for them
and for her
though started to blink.
What was this habit
he seemed always bound
of witnessing the women
he cared about
paraded around?
He knew too of his dear friend
on this very night
Who too was off celebrating.
Gone clubbing
in attire so tight.
She too loved the music
and the attention from eyes.
The rhythm, the lyrics
would induce her
to hypnotize.
And for she he was happy
for all her troubles, to still smile.
It gave him great strength
and made passing pain
worthwhile.
Was he like a teacher
whose students all leave?
The sign of success
when they go forth
and achieve?
Was he the one held back?
Not by grades or behavior
but by thinking he was
Superman
or some grand savior.
The music soon faded
the last dance
was then called.
He sickened himself.
He felt so appalled.
For he had a lover
for whom his life was built.
His soul mate
and companion
Now he wore a blanket of guilt.
He summoned his driver
with a flick of his wrist.
Settled and sleepy in the backseat
he dreamed of each woman
he wished he had kissed.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Mr. Swanson
Mr. Swanson was a man
who had lots of love,
and he wore his money
like a groomsman a glove.
Reluctant but dapper
never photographed with a frown.
He took his love and his money
and spread both all around.
He bought Betty a flower stand
and Rose a salon.
Tara sold linens and other things
to lay upon.
He gave Jewel a cafe
in the heart of the city;
and Kendra sold vases
and small things so pretty.
To Laura a bookstore,
up on a hill
and Candy a dress shop,
to help with her bills.
He bought Annie a farm,
for romps in the hay.
and Shelly gave tours
on a boat in the bay.
who had lots of love,
and he wore his money
like a groomsman a glove.
Reluctant but dapper
never photographed with a frown.
He took his love and his money
and spread both all around.
He bought Betty a flower stand
and Rose a salon.
Tara sold linens and other things
to lay upon.
He gave Jewel a cafe
in the heart of the city;
and Kendra sold vases
and small things so pretty.
To Laura a bookstore,
up on a hill
and Candy a dress shop,
to help with her bills.
He bought Annie a farm,
for romps in the hay.
and Shelly gave tours
on a boat in the bay.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Another Early Morning
Another early morning.
Gray light and whispers.
Another dream
eking to get through.
She stretches 'cross the covers
pulls back the sheet,
feels the cold floor
slam against her feet.
She lingers by the mattress,
thinks things better left unsaid.
Wonders if she should bother
to even make the bed.
Reflected in the mirror
it causes her to pause.
"Not half-bad" she murmurs
before uncovering her flaws.
Soon the tepid showers
drip across her skin
as she thinks about future battles
and which one's she'll win.
A thirsty towel
with worn and ragged ends.
Oversized, it folds around her
and dries her as she bends.
She forgoes the coffee,
the cottage cheese and toast.
Combs out her hair, dabs on some makeup
and lip gloss at most.
Where is she headed
what will she do?
Does she have any idea?
Is she thinking of you?
Gray light and whispers.
Another dream
eking to get through.
She stretches 'cross the covers
pulls back the sheet,
feels the cold floor
slam against her feet.
She lingers by the mattress,
thinks things better left unsaid.
Wonders if she should bother
to even make the bed.
Reflected in the mirror
it causes her to pause.
"Not half-bad" she murmurs
before uncovering her flaws.
Soon the tepid showers
drip across her skin
as she thinks about future battles
and which one's she'll win.
A thirsty towel
with worn and ragged ends.
Oversized, it folds around her
and dries her as she bends.
She forgoes the coffee,
the cottage cheese and toast.
Combs out her hair, dabs on some makeup
and lip gloss at most.
Where is she headed
what will she do?
Does she have any idea?
Is she thinking of you?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Can I Keep You Warm
Can I keep you warm
on a cold, cold night?
Can these arms turn away
the awful fright?
Do you miss me
like I miss you?
Are you caught up
and confused?
Do you let your mind
wonder about us?
Do you think it's strange
there's so much we don't discuss?
Can you feel my hand
brush up against yours?
Do you think we'll ever
unlock those doors?
Do you catch yourself
through the day
dreaming of me
and the words you'd say?
Do you live your life
as though I'm not there?
Or do you learn new things
with hopes to share?
Do you like my songs
and hear me sing?
Is it all forgot?
Can we do anything?
Have you found that man
you've been searching for?
The one who brings you joy.
The one I abhor?
When you touch his face
and feel his kiss
do you ever think of me
and times that we missed?
Do you blame me now
for how you feel?
You thought you were dreaming
but your dreams are real.
Will you dance with me?
will you hold me tight?
Even if I'm not there
on a cold, cold night.
on a cold, cold night?
Can these arms turn away
the awful fright?
Do you miss me
like I miss you?
Are you caught up
and confused?
Do you let your mind
wonder about us?
Do you think it's strange
there's so much we don't discuss?
Can you feel my hand
brush up against yours?
Do you think we'll ever
unlock those doors?
Do you catch yourself
through the day
dreaming of me
and the words you'd say?
Do you live your life
as though I'm not there?
Or do you learn new things
with hopes to share?
Do you like my songs
and hear me sing?
Is it all forgot?
Can we do anything?
Have you found that man
you've been searching for?
The one who brings you joy.
The one I abhor?
When you touch his face
and feel his kiss
do you ever think of me
and times that we missed?
Do you blame me now
for how you feel?
You thought you were dreaming
but your dreams are real.
Will you dance with me?
will you hold me tight?
Even if I'm not there
on a cold, cold night.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Needing Boston
Sullen and searching,
missing her
with a rediscovered yearning.
A long and sorted history
runs through his veins
as he reminisces
about her knowledge
and sarcasm;
her wit and way of making
everything urgent
yet making time;
forcing you to meander;
to smell spring roses
or marvel over winters’
twinkling lights.
He longed for her,
recalling the things she taught him
as a younger man.
With hubris he remembers,
wanting to control her.
In time he learned
no one man could.
His heart began a familiar ache,
anticipation replaced with anxiety,
for he knew it was impossible
to be near her.
He would have to be content
with pictures,
mostly in his minds eye,
imagining the pleasant scent
she lavished on those who came near.
His eyes rolled back
as he recounted the succulent taste of her
and all she had to offer in the evening hours,
and indeed throughout the day.
He grinned at her athleticism,
her competitive heart of a true champion.
He would be in awe of her innovation
and find irritation in her seemingly old fashioned ways,
yet she never failed to amaze him
with her entrepreneurial spirit.
He missed her in a way inadequate to express.
She pulled at him.
Though she would never cry for him,
he felt,
believed,
hoped,
that she missed him too,
and that the longing that he was feeling
was not habit,
the season,
or weakness,
but the mutual pull.
Her subtly, yet undeniably
calling him back to her.
He missed her,
he would never deny it.
It sometimes still lead to tears.
Could he ever return to her?
Would she welcome him,
or shun him with indifference?
The passion he felt was useless to resist,
he knew he was only delaying the inevitable.
Perhaps the time was not yet right.
Perhaps he needed more distance from her,
to gain a perspective.
He wished she wasn't so cold sometimes,
but that too was inevitable.
He watched from a distance,
to learn what she was doing;
how she was evolving,
but the distance often grew maddening.
He felt like a prisoner - exiled.
It was too much to bear.
He had to find a way to reunite with her,
to regenerate in her embrace.
He needed to get back to her.
He needed to return to his beloved city.
He needed Boston.
missing her
with a rediscovered yearning.
A long and sorted history
runs through his veins
as he reminisces
about her knowledge
and sarcasm;
her wit and way of making
everything urgent
yet making time;
forcing you to meander;
to smell spring roses
or marvel over winters’
twinkling lights.
He longed for her,
recalling the things she taught him
as a younger man.
With hubris he remembers,
wanting to control her.
In time he learned
no one man could.
His heart began a familiar ache,
anticipation replaced with anxiety,
for he knew it was impossible
to be near her.
He would have to be content
with pictures,
mostly in his minds eye,
imagining the pleasant scent
she lavished on those who came near.
His eyes rolled back
as he recounted the succulent taste of her
and all she had to offer in the evening hours,
and indeed throughout the day.
He grinned at her athleticism,
her competitive heart of a true champion.
He would be in awe of her innovation
and find irritation in her seemingly old fashioned ways,
yet she never failed to amaze him
with her entrepreneurial spirit.
He missed her in a way inadequate to express.
She pulled at him.
Though she would never cry for him,
he felt,
believed,
hoped,
that she missed him too,
and that the longing that he was feeling
was not habit,
the season,
or weakness,
but the mutual pull.
Her subtly, yet undeniably
calling him back to her.
He missed her,
he would never deny it.
It sometimes still lead to tears.
Could he ever return to her?
Would she welcome him,
or shun him with indifference?
The passion he felt was useless to resist,
he knew he was only delaying the inevitable.
Perhaps the time was not yet right.
Perhaps he needed more distance from her,
to gain a perspective.
He wished she wasn't so cold sometimes,
but that too was inevitable.
He watched from a distance,
to learn what she was doing;
how she was evolving,
but the distance often grew maddening.
He felt like a prisoner - exiled.
It was too much to bear.
He had to find a way to reunite with her,
to regenerate in her embrace.
He needed to get back to her.
He needed to return to his beloved city.
He needed Boston.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Oh Me, I'm Fine
Staring out.
Out at you.
Sitting over.
Over there.
Hear your laughing.
Sounds like
Cackling.
Oh, how it brings
Such despair.
Ever reaching.
For the lighter
Or a match.
There’s your lover.
Ever present.
Such a catch.
Start their billow.
Shake my head.
We shared a pillow.
That you’ve been driving.
Not shocked you have it.
With all your conniving.
Your contemplating.
So glad to see
You’ve started dating.
And so’s your face
Erased all the ugly
Not a trace.
Those jeans are tight?
Oh me, I’m fine.
I’ll be all right.
Did She Hear You?
Did she hear you
when you called out her name?
Did she hear you
when you cried out in pain?
or did she ignore
the way you did
when you walked out her door?
sitting on your bed.
Lonely
but with voices
screaming in your head.
If only
things were left unsaid.
and drafty doors
laughing people
and open sores.
Magic wonders
that never cease
a band of drummers
who can't find peace.
and cry in showers
you drink alone
for what seems like hours.
a familiar tune
but you don't answer
it’s too soon.
on display
and beg to remember
what you want to say.
when you called out her name?
Did she hear you
when you cried out in pain?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Across the River
I set my sights
across the river.
I know my dreams,
and prayers will be delivered.
At night I sit
on the rooftop,
gargoyles and cherubs
my only friends.
I breathe the air
from across the river,
the stirring in my stomach
never ends.
I’ve seen those people
across the river
seen their towers
that scrape the sky.
I want to be
with those people
across the river
I cannot lie.
To meet those people
across the river blue,
to visit their museums
and act as the educated do.
To dance in ballrooms
people swept across the floor.
To take stolen glances
and find the one I adore.
They’re across the river
so we’ve yet to meet
but once I cross that river
my heart will be complete.
Yes, one day I’ll cross that river.
The Rubicon will fall.
Just need to get off this rooftop.
That is all.
across the river.
I know my dreams,
and prayers will be delivered.
At night I sit
on the rooftop,
gargoyles and cherubs
my only friends.
I breathe the air
from across the river,
the stirring in my stomach
never ends.
I’ve seen those people
across the river
seen their towers
that scrape the sky.
I want to be
with those people
across the river
I cannot lie.
To meet those people
across the river blue,
to visit their museums
and act as the educated do.
To dance in ballrooms
people swept across the floor.
To take stolen glances
and find the one I adore.
They’re across the river
so we’ve yet to meet
but once I cross that river
my heart will be complete.
Yes, one day I’ll cross that river.
The Rubicon will fall.
Just need to get off this rooftop.
That is all.
Insensate Murmurings
Careless mutterings
fall from lips
like foliage whisked from a tree
Insensate murmurings
hands on hips
and calls of insincerity
Sips of tea
as hours turn
from two digits into one
and bleary eyes
squint and yearn
to comprehend what is done
Moonlight gives
but little aid
to darkened paths once tread
and courage is
the debt that's paid
for avarice turned to greed and dread
Simple times
may return
and comfort fill the purse
until those times
the rest will burn
crestfallen with this curse.
fall from lips
like foliage whisked from a tree
Insensate murmurings
hands on hips
and calls of insincerity
Sips of tea
as hours turn
from two digits into one
and bleary eyes
squint and yearn
to comprehend what is done
Moonlight gives
but little aid
to darkened paths once tread
and courage is
the debt that's paid
for avarice turned to greed and dread
Simple times
may return
and comfort fill the purse
until those times
the rest will burn
crestfallen with this curse.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Where is the Voice
Where is the voice
that melts and soothes?
Where is the voice
the seduces and excites?
Where is the voice
that brings warmth and caring
and well-being, a knowing
that it will all be all right?
Where is the voice?
Only the sound of wind
no birds
no traffic
no buzzing of bees;
no sense
all lost
you fall to your knees.
Where are the whispers
that ring in the ears?
Where is the passion
that brings one to tears?
Where is the laughter
that eases the pain
Why only silence
even in this rain?
Where is the medley
promised long ago?
Where is the goodnight story
told with lights dimmed low?
Where is the voice
that brought comfort and peace;
enthusiasm, and renewal
of life's short lease?
that melts and soothes?
Where is the voice
the seduces and excites?
Where is the voice
that brings warmth and caring
and well-being, a knowing
that it will all be all right?
Where is the voice?
Only the sound of wind
no birds
no traffic
no buzzing of bees;
no sense
all lost
you fall to your knees.
Where are the whispers
that ring in the ears?
Where is the passion
that brings one to tears?
Where is the laughter
that eases the pain
Why only silence
even in this rain?
Where is the medley
promised long ago?
Where is the goodnight story
told with lights dimmed low?
Where is the voice
that brought comfort and peace;
enthusiasm, and renewal
of life's short lease?
How Do I Get to You?
How do I get to you?
You always seem to get to me.
I stare at maps
and daydream of flights.
I stare at stars
and imagine nights
spent alone with you.
You pull me closer,
closer still.
You tend my wounds,
restore my will.
Nurture beauty
with your grace.
Wipe the tears
that streak my face.
You lift my chin
with your easy smile.
Soothe my tremors
for just a while.
We praise the night
and what shadows hide.
The chilly city lights
hurry us back inside.
A life full of words
none of which empathize
until you see them
spoken with my eyes.
You always seem to get to me.
I stare at maps
and daydream of flights.
I stare at stars
and imagine nights
spent alone with you.
You pull me closer,
closer still.
You tend my wounds,
restore my will.
Nurture beauty
with your grace.
Wipe the tears
that streak my face.
You lift my chin
with your easy smile.
Soothe my tremors
for just a while.
We praise the night
and what shadows hide.
The chilly city lights
hurry us back inside.
A life full of words
none of which empathize
until you see them
spoken with my eyes.
Whisper
I heard a voice;
a fairy's whisper;
calling in the night.
It was fleeting;
just this whisper;
but I knew things would be alright.
I couldn't see;
'twas just a whisper
unfolding in my ear.
Unmistakable;
this tiny whisper;
undeniably clear.
It brought a smile;
this wispy whisper;
and renewed my hope once more.
Oh, to hear it;
this imagined whisper;
no longer a thing of lore.
a fairy's whisper;
calling in the night.
It was fleeting;
just this whisper;
but I knew things would be alright.
I couldn't see;
'twas just a whisper
unfolding in my ear.
Unmistakable;
this tiny whisper;
undeniably clear.
It brought a smile;
this wispy whisper;
and renewed my hope once more.
Oh, to hear it;
this imagined whisper;
no longer a thing of lore.
Wrinkled Bed Sheets
Looking at wrinkles in the bed sheets
a signal you were there.
Dented pillow still filled with your scent;
lost in thought, I stare.
Sun streams through the gaps in blinds;
piercing the darkened room
like bullet holes in a war torn land;
a quiet peace mixed with impending doom.
Your fingertips escape me;
there's only remnants of your hair.
No morning kiss to greet you;
no midnight dreams to share.
Quiet in this lonely room;
no music, laughs or sighs;
just the haphazard breathing
while rubbing sleep from my eyes.
I lick my lips to taste you;
but your flavor has long since faded;
and the absence of it, and of you
has left me raw and jagged.
a signal you were there.
Dented pillow still filled with your scent;
lost in thought, I stare.
Sun streams through the gaps in blinds;
piercing the darkened room
like bullet holes in a war torn land;
a quiet peace mixed with impending doom.
Your fingertips escape me;
there's only remnants of your hair.
No morning kiss to greet you;
no midnight dreams to share.
Quiet in this lonely room;
no music, laughs or sighs;
just the haphazard breathing
while rubbing sleep from my eyes.
I lick my lips to taste you;
but your flavor has long since faded;
and the absence of it, and of you
has left me raw and jagged.
Throw on Your Coat
Throw on your coat
this cold winter-like eve.
Meet me at the corner cafe
the one that's open late,
so no rush to leave.
We'll share hot chocolate,
biscotti,
and laughs.
Look at you
sitting there
radiant smile as you
toss your hair.
Giddy and expectant,
cautious and aloof.
There is chemistry,
but you want more proof.
Put your hand inside mine
And I’ll warm you with my eyes.
Should know by now
I'm unlike the other guys.
We could stay here
in this trance,
or split the bill
and go our separate ways.
Or we could brave the cold
and our fears,
and awake with morning rays.
Where I'm staying
is not too far,
there's a fireplace
just off the bar.
It's not too crowded
and the music's just right
for a late evening rendezvous
like tonight.
Throw on your coat
we'll be bold.
Race down city streets
brisk and cold.
Your cheeks bloom rosy,
you stop and stare.
You hesitate,
do you dare?
"Let's skip the bar
and fireplace;
there's enough heat here,"
you touch your face.
"Take me to your suite instead."
Throw off your coat
and other clothes.
We become entangled
across the bed.
this cold winter-like eve.
Meet me at the corner cafe
the one that's open late,
so no rush to leave.
We'll share hot chocolate,
biscotti,
and laughs.
Look at you
sitting there
radiant smile as you
toss your hair.
Giddy and expectant,
cautious and aloof.
There is chemistry,
but you want more proof.
Put your hand inside mine
And I’ll warm you with my eyes.
Should know by now
I'm unlike the other guys.
We could stay here
in this trance,
or split the bill
and go our separate ways.
Or we could brave the cold
and our fears,
and awake with morning rays.
Where I'm staying
is not too far,
there's a fireplace
just off the bar.
It's not too crowded
and the music's just right
for a late evening rendezvous
like tonight.
Throw on your coat
we'll be bold.
Race down city streets
brisk and cold.
Your cheeks bloom rosy,
you stop and stare.
You hesitate,
do you dare?
"Let's skip the bar
and fireplace;
there's enough heat here,"
you touch your face.
"Take me to your suite instead."
Throw off your coat
and other clothes.
We become entangled
across the bed.
Coffee Tails
Out drinking coffee
contemplating life.
Sat near a lesbian,
her son, and wife.
The son played with a teddy bear
while a Kitchen Designer droned on.
Unmistakable to this scene
was a too tight black thong.
Whale tails may excite some.
They can tantalize and tease;
but if you insist on wearing one
ensure it fits, dear God please.
contemplating life.
Sat near a lesbian,
her son, and wife.
The son played with a teddy bear
while a Kitchen Designer droned on.
Unmistakable to this scene
was a too tight black thong.
Whale tails may excite some.
They can tantalize and tease;
but if you insist on wearing one
ensure it fits, dear God please.
And Here We Sit
And here we sit
with the passage of time
four seasons or more
we're two of a kind.
Dashing and desirable
vices and misunderstood
souls with a bad streak
that feels so good.
Oh, what we've been through
things that tear us apart
but a thread we still cling too
that tugs at our heart.
Fantasies ruminate
some unfulfilled
realities ruin it
the mood, it gets killed.
Laughter and teardrops
we've shared both of each
imagined busy nightclubs
and solitude on a beach.
Nursed wounds
self inflicted and otherwise
Soothed tempers
when poor notions were realized.
Words often shared
by voice or by pen
pleading for commencement
and not the end.
Reclining and reflecting
on emotions present and past.
Remembering the effervescence;
who thought this would last?
with the passage of time
four seasons or more
we're two of a kind.
Dashing and desirable
vices and misunderstood
souls with a bad streak
that feels so good.
Oh, what we've been through
things that tear us apart
but a thread we still cling too
that tugs at our heart.
Fantasies ruminate
some unfulfilled
realities ruin it
the mood, it gets killed.
Laughter and teardrops
we've shared both of each
imagined busy nightclubs
and solitude on a beach.
Nursed wounds
self inflicted and otherwise
Soothed tempers
when poor notions were realized.
Words often shared
by voice or by pen
pleading for commencement
and not the end.
Reclining and reflecting
on emotions present and past.
Remembering the effervescence;
who thought this would last?
Three Days Alone
Three days alone
back to my home
and a chance to write with you.
Morning brew
corn muffin too
and a leisurely start to the day.
Streets below
beckon us so
we're energized by the pulse of it all.
Fresh food at the corner shop
we climb the stairs to the top
and cook a meal for two.
Wine and conversation flow
Dancing under the moonlight glow
skin touching, tender and tentative.
A warm fire cuts the chill;
light rain hits the window sill;
laughter of stories yearning to be told.
You read in an easy chair.
I shuffle through papers, and long to be there.
Your sigh, a moan that woos.
I lift a pen
it's why I've come back again
to get it out in ink.
You gaze at me, and I at you
we look away, us childish two.
Your lips they purse in wonder.
Do I rise to my feet
and cross the room for us to meet
and kiss those lips completely?
Or instead,
do I clear my throat and then my head
and stack my papers neatly?
Two rooms with doors, we both make note
as wee hours appear between passages wrote
and we awkwardly talk about it.
Do we share a room, and the covers.
Do we cross the line to be lovers
or are dreams just to be written?
We both have charms
that sound alarms
and both, a wee bit smitten.
Do thoughts prevail, passions kept in check?
Loosing focus as my fingertips run along your neck.
Perhaps it's time to sleep.
Three days alone
back at home
and a pen has barely been uncapped.
back to my home
and a chance to write with you.
Morning brew
corn muffin too
and a leisurely start to the day.
Streets below
beckon us so
we're energized by the pulse of it all.
Fresh food at the corner shop
we climb the stairs to the top
and cook a meal for two.
Wine and conversation flow
Dancing under the moonlight glow
skin touching, tender and tentative.
A warm fire cuts the chill;
light rain hits the window sill;
laughter of stories yearning to be told.
You read in an easy chair.
I shuffle through papers, and long to be there.
Your sigh, a moan that woos.
I lift a pen
it's why I've come back again
to get it out in ink.
You gaze at me, and I at you
we look away, us childish two.
Your lips they purse in wonder.
Do I rise to my feet
and cross the room for us to meet
and kiss those lips completely?
Or instead,
do I clear my throat and then my head
and stack my papers neatly?
Two rooms with doors, we both make note
as wee hours appear between passages wrote
and we awkwardly talk about it.
Do we share a room, and the covers.
Do we cross the line to be lovers
or are dreams just to be written?
We both have charms
that sound alarms
and both, a wee bit smitten.
Do thoughts prevail, passions kept in check?
Loosing focus as my fingertips run along your neck.
Perhaps it's time to sleep.
Three days alone
back at home
and a pen has barely been uncapped.
Dancing in Fog
Not an angel, but wearing white.
Swept him off his feet in the midst of the night.
Indigo skies with stars below.
A dreamscape horizon, twinkling and aglow.
Hand rests upon her waist with electric charms.
She looses sight of reality when folded in his arms.
Music streams through darker skies.
Teardrops linger in both their eyes.
The wetness causes stars to streak.
And they hold each other as both go weak.
For careless phrase or foolish act,
They callously break their solemn pact.
Pulled together like the moon and tide.
They break apart and try to hide.
Always seeking a fault to blame;
Always pleading, the heart does strain.
Clarity, not of crystal, but of fog.
In this scenario, their dancing feet are bogged.
Only seeing now with eyes that are closed.
For the king, the queen, the princess and knight - all have been deposed.
Left only with the jester, feeling very much the fool.
'twas easier to live without all the broken rules.
Swept him off his feet in the midst of the night.
Indigo skies with stars below.
A dreamscape horizon, twinkling and aglow.
Hand rests upon her waist with electric charms.
She looses sight of reality when folded in his arms.
Music streams through darker skies.
Teardrops linger in both their eyes.
The wetness causes stars to streak.
And they hold each other as both go weak.
For careless phrase or foolish act,
They callously break their solemn pact.
Pulled together like the moon and tide.
They break apart and try to hide.
Always seeking a fault to blame;
Always pleading, the heart does strain.
Clarity, not of crystal, but of fog.
In this scenario, their dancing feet are bogged.
Only seeing now with eyes that are closed.
For the king, the queen, the princess and knight - all have been deposed.
Left only with the jester, feeling very much the fool.
'twas easier to live without all the broken rules.
Have You Met The One
Have you met the one?
The one you didn’t know you were longing for?
Do you connect on every level?
Is this the one you adore?
Have you met the one?
The one who stimulates your mind?
Makes you think and feel?
Are they one of a kind?
Have you met the one?
The one who offers a great escape?
Do you journey to far off places?
Cast your view of the world into a new shape?
Have you met the one?
The one who shares your humor?
Makes you giggle and smirk and gasp,
As you share a rumor?
Have you met the one?
Fills you up with warmth and desire?
Lifts your spirits up?
Higher, and higher, and higher?
Have you met the one?
No matter what you can’t shake?
You’re addicted to them,
And worry about heartache?
Have you met the one?
Not a care in the world?
Life is meant for living,
Flags fly best when unfurled.
Have you met the one?
The one who has changed your life
They could be yours, or someone else’s
Lover, or husband, or wife.
Have you met the one?
Who will ease your pain?
Just by meeting them
You’ll never be the same?
Have you met the one?
The one you didn’t know you were longing for?
Do you connect on every level?
Is this the one you adore?
Have you met the one?
The one who stimulates your mind?
Makes you think and feel?
Are they one of a kind?
Have you met the one?
The one who offers a great escape?
Do you journey to far off places?
Cast your view of the world into a new shape?
Have you met the one?
The one who shares your humor?
Makes you giggle and smirk and gasp,
As you share a rumor?
Have you met the one?
Fills you up with warmth and desire?
Lifts your spirits up?
Higher, and higher, and higher?
Have you met the one?
No matter what you can’t shake?
You’re addicted to them,
And worry about heartache?
Have you met the one?
Not a care in the world?
Life is meant for living,
Flags fly best when unfurled.
Have you met the one?
The one who has changed your life
They could be yours, or someone else’s
Lover, or husband, or wife.
Have you met the one?
Who will ease your pain?
Just by meeting them
You’ll never be the same?
Have you met the one?
Hellos and Goodbyes
Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes.
For each there may be excitement, apprehension or dread.
Hellos starts early, and for some not frequent enough.
Goodbyes stick with you, right up until you are dead.
Both hellos and goodbyes can share common traits.
Depending on your attitude, a thrill, a relief, a concern or fear
We've all felt the heart race when someone new
and interesting, suddenly came near.
And hellos and goodbyes may have opposite goals
Hello to the fear, the courageous ones speak
Goodbye to the potential, the unknown wonderment,
say those who are too weak.
Hellos are unexpected,
Some goodbyes are too
Both can linger endlessly
and drain you like the flu.
And once they are over,
No more hellos or goodbyes
Then the true mourning begins
and tears fall from squinted eyes.
No more good mornings from,
the child who was ill.
No more goodbyes on the phone
from the parent, who loves you still.
Email greetings that were silly,
Sign offs with such flair.
Deleted from address books,
You want to reach out, but do not dare.
Gone, a lovers lips,
that brushed so close.
Welcome the loneliness
the things you fear the most.
It doesn't have to be that way,
Life needn't be as cruel.
Adjust the way you look at things
Make exceptions to the rule.
Let enthusiasm greet each hello,
Show appreciation with each goodbye,
Gratitude for them both,
Then move on with a satisfied sigh.
For each there may be excitement, apprehension or dread.
Hellos starts early, and for some not frequent enough.
Goodbyes stick with you, right up until you are dead.
Both hellos and goodbyes can share common traits.
Depending on your attitude, a thrill, a relief, a concern or fear
We've all felt the heart race when someone new
and interesting, suddenly came near.
And hellos and goodbyes may have opposite goals
Hello to the fear, the courageous ones speak
Goodbye to the potential, the unknown wonderment,
say those who are too weak.
Hellos are unexpected,
Some goodbyes are too
Both can linger endlessly
and drain you like the flu.
And once they are over,
No more hellos or goodbyes
Then the true mourning begins
and tears fall from squinted eyes.
No more good mornings from,
the child who was ill.
No more goodbyes on the phone
from the parent, who loves you still.
Email greetings that were silly,
Sign offs with such flair.
Deleted from address books,
You want to reach out, but do not dare.
Gone, a lovers lips,
that brushed so close.
Welcome the loneliness
the things you fear the most.
It doesn't have to be that way,
Life needn't be as cruel.
Adjust the way you look at things
Make exceptions to the rule.
Let enthusiasm greet each hello,
Show appreciation with each goodbye,
Gratitude for them both,
Then move on with a satisfied sigh.
Take the Wonder Away
Still finds himself thinking about her,
Random moments throughout the day,
He wonders what she’s thinking, or doing
And he wants to take the wonder away.
He can see her sailing;
The wind wrestling with her fiery hair.
He can see her cooking;
Humming over a new recipe, adding her own flair.
He can see her browsing for greeting cards;
Even though it’s rare for her to do.
He can see her throwing snowballs;
While strolling down a wide wintry avenue.
He wonders what she looks like
When struck by a big belly laugh.
Wonders how it sounds;
And what it takes to bend her in half.
Wonders too, about her giggles,
Her shouts, trembling and cries.
Wonders how easy it is
For a man to get lost in her eyes.
He wonders what she’d wear at night
If they ate dinner in the city.
Jeans and a sweater, maybe decked out in leather
Or wrapped in a flirty dress, prim and pretty.
He wonders how she folds her laundry,
And pictures her washing her face.
He can see her on the phone with family or friends.
Thinks about her collection of linens and lace.
He wonders how he’d say goodnight in front of her door.
Both knowing if it happened, he should.
But still, he finds himself wondering if once seeing her,
Will “could” be tempted into “would”?
He grins over his wondering
And the magic she brings each day
Doesn’t fear loosing any mystery
Just wants to take the wonder away.
Random moments throughout the day,
He wonders what she’s thinking, or doing
And he wants to take the wonder away.
He can see her sailing;
The wind wrestling with her fiery hair.
He can see her cooking;
Humming over a new recipe, adding her own flair.
He can see her browsing for greeting cards;
Even though it’s rare for her to do.
He can see her throwing snowballs;
While strolling down a wide wintry avenue.
He wonders what she looks like
When struck by a big belly laugh.
Wonders how it sounds;
And what it takes to bend her in half.
Wonders too, about her giggles,
Her shouts, trembling and cries.
Wonders how easy it is
For a man to get lost in her eyes.
He wonders what she’d wear at night
If they ate dinner in the city.
Jeans and a sweater, maybe decked out in leather
Or wrapped in a flirty dress, prim and pretty.
He wonders how she folds her laundry,
And pictures her washing her face.
He can see her on the phone with family or friends.
Thinks about her collection of linens and lace.
He wonders how he’d say goodnight in front of her door.
Both knowing if it happened, he should.
But still, he finds himself wondering if once seeing her,
Will “could” be tempted into “would”?
He grins over his wondering
And the magic she brings each day
Doesn’t fear loosing any mystery
Just wants to take the wonder away.
Head and Heart
“What’s that noise,” Heart asks.
“Oh, that’s me,” Head says.
“Well, quiet down,” Heart says.
“I can’t,” Head says.
“Hmm,” Heart says.
“What’s that ache,” Head asks.
“Oh, that’s me, Heart says.
“Well, cut it out,” Head says.
“I can’t,” Heart says.
Head ponders for a moment.
“Well, that’s stupid,” says Head.
“May be,” says Heart.
“You frustrate me,” says Head.
“I know the feeling,” says Heart.
Head goes quiet.
Heart begins again.
“I create and you destroy,” says Heart.
“Not true,” Head shouts.
“’tis true,” Heart replies.
“I refine,” Head defends.
“You deny,” Heart weeps.
Heart goes quiet.
Head begins again.
“What you create doesn’t conform,” says Head.
“So what,” says Heart.
Both go still.
Then both shout, “You take me where I don’t want to go!”
Both go still again.
And then, both whisper, “I don’t know how to bring you”
“You stifle me,” says Heart.
“You expose me,” says Head.
“You could live a little,” says Heart
“You could give a little,” says Head.
“You’ve made me cold,” says Heart.
“You act too bold,” says Head.
“Never have a chance, you could learn something new,” Heart says.
Head thinks a bit.
“But I steer this ship,” says Head.
“We won’t stray off course” Heart assures.
“I can’t be sure,” says Head.
“You never are, sure is for me,” Heart grins.
“You might be right,” says Head.
Heart says, “Take a rest; I’ll call you if trouble brews.”
Head replies, “I am very tired - overworked, perhaps a little snooze.”
Heart beams a bit, “I’ll do you proud, just wait and see.”
“Yes,” sighs Head, “It’s always you who can find happy.”
“Oh, that’s me,” Head says.
“Well, quiet down,” Heart says.
“I can’t,” Head says.
“Hmm,” Heart says.
“What’s that ache,” Head asks.
“Oh, that’s me, Heart says.
“Well, cut it out,” Head says.
“I can’t,” Heart says.
Head ponders for a moment.
“Well, that’s stupid,” says Head.
“May be,” says Heart.
“You frustrate me,” says Head.
“I know the feeling,” says Heart.
Head goes quiet.
Heart begins again.
“I create and you destroy,” says Heart.
“Not true,” Head shouts.
“’tis true,” Heart replies.
“I refine,” Head defends.
“You deny,” Heart weeps.
Heart goes quiet.
Head begins again.
“What you create doesn’t conform,” says Head.
“So what,” says Heart.
Both go still.
Then both shout, “You take me where I don’t want to go!”
Both go still again.
And then, both whisper, “I don’t know how to bring you”
“You stifle me,” says Heart.
“You expose me,” says Head.
“You could live a little,” says Heart
“You could give a little,” says Head.
“You’ve made me cold,” says Heart.
“You act too bold,” says Head.
“Never have a chance, you could learn something new,” Heart says.
Head thinks a bit.
“But I steer this ship,” says Head.
“We won’t stray off course” Heart assures.
“I can’t be sure,” says Head.
“You never are, sure is for me,” Heart grins.
“You might be right,” says Head.
Heart says, “Take a rest; I’ll call you if trouble brews.”
Head replies, “I am very tired - overworked, perhaps a little snooze.”
Heart beams a bit, “I’ll do you proud, just wait and see.”
“Yes,” sighs Head, “It’s always you who can find happy.”
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Sunday Friends
Laughter of friends in the corner of the cafe.
Leafing through the ads of the paper;
the one that comes every Sunday.
Smiles as they remember other times gone by.
Still anger about the fact that one of them
is still seeing, "that guy."
Disdain is felt and ardently shared;
then a sale is seen, blanketed across the back page
and the topic is changed, like neither had cared.
Such are women and all their delight;
Can cut each other down
over the littlest slight.
But if there's a bargain they both witness then all is forgiven,
muses the blocked writer three tables over,
"Eh, not great, but it's a living."
Leafing through the ads of the paper;
the one that comes every Sunday.
Smiles as they remember other times gone by.
Still anger about the fact that one of them
is still seeing, "that guy."
Disdain is felt and ardently shared;
then a sale is seen, blanketed across the back page
and the topic is changed, like neither had cared.
Such are women and all their delight;
Can cut each other down
over the littlest slight.
But if there's a bargain they both witness then all is forgiven,
muses the blocked writer three tables over,
"Eh, not great, but it's a living."
A Love, Divine
In this dream, there was no rain.
There was no sanctuary.
My spirit was not yet in flight.
Then I found love, divine.
Through a whisper
or a shout
this long haired angel
decreased my doubt.
Sent from heaven
or a place nearby
she took me dancing
in my minds eye.
And as we waltzed
amongst the mist
this spirit struck me
and unstuck inspirations kiss.
"You must write,
she implored to me
no matter the subject
or who reads but doesn't see.
Writers fill pages
with love and passion,
needn't worry 'bout the content
or the worlds reaction.
Just write those pages
everyday
learn more about yourself
you've got so much to say."
And with a spin and giggle
spirit left that night.
Divine inspiration
made it all right.
Now I've found,
my belief again.
Mistakes are fine.
Prayer brings back my pen.
There was no sanctuary.
My spirit was not yet in flight.
Then I found love, divine.
Through a whisper
or a shout
this long haired angel
decreased my doubt.
Sent from heaven
or a place nearby
she took me dancing
in my minds eye.
And as we waltzed
amongst the mist
this spirit struck me
and unstuck inspirations kiss.
"You must write,
she implored to me
no matter the subject
or who reads but doesn't see.
Writers fill pages
with love and passion,
needn't worry 'bout the content
or the worlds reaction.
Just write those pages
everyday
learn more about yourself
you've got so much to say."
And with a spin and giggle
spirit left that night.
Divine inspiration
made it all right.
Now I've found,
my belief again.
Mistakes are fine.
Prayer brings back my pen.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
It Must
Petals from the roses
fall like passing minutes.
Fragrance fills the room
no one wishes it's radiance.
A teapot screams
its angry song.
A lonely mug on the counter
sits forlorn.
No candles burn.
No flame endures.
Windows without curtains.
No lock on any doors.
All's quiet
but nothing's still.
Hands trembling,
they probably always will.
Second hands of every clock
tick in an unyielding march.
Drowning in every beverage,
but still the throat is parched.
Verdant yard and emerging flora
no clean snow to blanket or hide
just the exposed earth
a vulnerability, not often tried.
No dragons here
but beasts abound.
No knight in sight,
but bravery can be found.
Demons more than wished away
effort and will,
cunning and skill,
Hold back the darkness another day.
And in the light
or dark, or dusk
what needs to be mustered is mustered
simply because
it must.
fall like passing minutes.
Fragrance fills the room
no one wishes it's radiance.
A teapot screams
its angry song.
A lonely mug on the counter
sits forlorn.
No candles burn.
No flame endures.
Windows without curtains.
No lock on any doors.
All's quiet
but nothing's still.
Hands trembling,
they probably always will.
Second hands of every clock
tick in an unyielding march.
Drowning in every beverage,
but still the throat is parched.
Verdant yard and emerging flora
no clean snow to blanket or hide
just the exposed earth
a vulnerability, not often tried.
No dragons here
but beasts abound.
No knight in sight,
but bravery can be found.
Demons more than wished away
effort and will,
cunning and skill,
Hold back the darkness another day.
And in the light
or dark, or dusk
what needs to be mustered is mustered
simply because
it must.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Breakout
You are just hatching.
You are breaking through a thin shell
that has kept you bottled up;
tucked in and uncomfortable
but with a sense of safety.
You rolled over to get some more sleep
and accidentally chipped the shell.
At first, it annoyed you and alarmed you.
Change.
Fear.
Light shone in.
It blinded you at first
but your curiosity kicked in.
No clarity yet
so now you start pecking away at it.
It's harder then you thought.
The thin little shell and membrane
resists your efforts.
You grow tired of trying
and snuggle back to sleep
but the light still shines through
and you can hear things.
Smell.
Barely see.
Sorta taste...
Can not yet touch.
And it's this yearning
that makes your legs flail about.
You make a lot of noise
kicking and screaming
protesting.
First that the light is too bright;
and then that the hole is too small;
and then that you are tired;
and the shell too cramped;
and you peck, peck, peck at the edges.
You just need to gather your strength
and with a few more thwacks,
you will have your breakout.
You are breaking through a thin shell
that has kept you bottled up;
tucked in and uncomfortable
but with a sense of safety.
You rolled over to get some more sleep
and accidentally chipped the shell.
At first, it annoyed you and alarmed you.
Change.
Fear.
Light shone in.
It blinded you at first
but your curiosity kicked in.
No clarity yet
so now you start pecking away at it.
It's harder then you thought.
The thin little shell and membrane
resists your efforts.
You grow tired of trying
and snuggle back to sleep
but the light still shines through
and you can hear things.
Smell.
Barely see.
Sorta taste...
Can not yet touch.
And it's this yearning
that makes your legs flail about.
You make a lot of noise
kicking and screaming
protesting.
First that the light is too bright;
and then that the hole is too small;
and then that you are tired;
and the shell too cramped;
and you peck, peck, peck at the edges.
You just need to gather your strength
and with a few more thwacks,
you will have your breakout.
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