Trying

Fade away
On the day
That you said
You’d always
Stay

Took the time
Just to say
You had no time
On the day
Couldn’t stay

There you sat
On the bus
Hair pulled back
So no fuss
On the way

To the place
You say you work
But you complain
‘bout all the jerks
everyday

And there’s no trace
No tracks of tears
On your face
You could cry
But not today

Bought you roses
In a bunch
Tied in ribbons
I had a hunch
You’d be home

Rang the bell
Tried the door
Peered through the windows
And scanned the floor
I was wrong

Left the flowers
On the front stairs
No note to leave
No real cares
That night.

Are You There?

Are you there,

Typing through the night?

Are you there,

Keys glowing in blue light?

Can you imagine

Do you give it any thought

That I too am typing

When maybe I ought not?

For the morning gray

Sits across the horizon to the east

And I’ve functions to attend to

Though none interest me in the least.

We could speak of adventures

Of the travels you’ve taken.

Of the hearts you’ve run into

And one’s you’ve forsaken.

We could talk of your vocation

Your studies and knowledge now gained,

And of the poems you write for others

And how much they’ve pained.

Should we reminisce of evenings

When we left things unspoken?

Dare discuss old promises

Long since broken?

Tell me of your dinners

And those you’ve entertained

Speak of fine wine and chocolate

Or how hard it recently rained.

And what of your lover

Who rests in the nearby bed?

You know, the one who fulfills you

And keeps your passions well fed?

At times you consume me

With mystery and doubt.

Both qualities you wear often

But never wear-out.

Twirling Woman

He liked to see a woman twirl.

Not just when dancing

Enraptured by music or beat,

But in moments of excitement

When burdens disappear

And she’s lighter on her feet.

Twirling women are a rarity

More likely to see her pull a drag from a cigarette

Or chug confidence from a bottle of Corona.

For twirling women have temerity,

From others they feel no threat

It’s just a part of their persona.

Twirling is cheerful – at any age or size.

Twirling brings about laughter

And warms even icy eyes.

He knew she was a twirler

He felt it in his bones.

Imagined when she spun about

She’d crinkle up her nose.

He could see her twirls at dawn or dusk

And all points in between.

And knew she wasn’t a shy twirler

Could give a damn if she were seen.

He saw her twirl in any attire

The sartorial choice was hers.

And he just knew that her smile grew

When she spun like a straw that stirs

On winter streets with footprints in the snow

Or rainy nights, when howling winds would blow.

In summer sun, on sand or waves

Or against autumns’ fallen leafs and shortened days

Her twirls, self-made,

Never sold or bought

And he knew if he were the one to make her twirl

He would never be forgot.