Silent Murmurs

I have love
and children
and one bicycle too many
and memories,
some happy, some sad;
too many memories
of a girl by my side.

I have faith
and a God
of my not-quite understanding
and I'm seeking a vantage point
where I can see
how the pieces all fit together
as I watch them fall apart.

I have tears
and smiles
and an appreciation
for these silent murmurs
from my soul.

The Pearl

She is that grain
that irritant within
ceaseless in its tug
while the pearl forms in my shell.

I am that salty tear
rolling soft down her cheek
its journey incomplete
until I die upon her lips.

Hours to Fill

I've hours to fill these days
those sixty-second decades
occupy each place I go,
the dust thick about my home
a fit, sad place to write her name.

The ominous thud that fills my ear,
another beat of labored heart -

     Soft, fair-pale skin
     tender searching hands,
     hair dripping from mornings' shower
          traces across my waking chest;
     those morning glory memories
     go now weeping away.

Thoughts and will should end in love
in the end.

Ginger Girls

There will always be blondes

of suspect origin,

and brunettes with eyes alluring, 

but then there are the gingers,

Oh yes, those burnished copper coils 

and flashing azure eyes 

to which none compare; 

real women, as women are meant to be, 

a handful, untamed, passionate. 

Places

"There is no there there."

I know this to be true

for when I go there

I am now 'here',

neither nowhere nor there

but here, and at best

in this moment

the finest place.

Quotation by Gertrude Stein from Everybody's Autobiography

Unrequited Joy

She has a certain something

or more correctly stated

there is something about her

something so beautiful

     it can't be expressed in words

and thus makes the heart ache

in unrequited joy.

I've Much To Learn

From My Cats

I was needy today

so Gabby climbed in my lap

     to deliver a kneading.

She seemed quite content

to ply my soft belly with light steps

and to nuzzle my whiskered chin.

and distraught by my intentions to write.

She wished not to debate my problems,

didn't truly demand I return her affection,

just content to tenderize my tummy.

And then it occurs to me -

Were I to be more intent on planting virtues

I should be less in need

of uprooting vices.

Fewer Desires

I feel some things less intensely

than when I tarried near the front

and my listless old smile

and bitter knowledge of what was

          has gone away

carried with it as it crossed

what I feared, and much

          of what I desired.

There are few things left to desire;

a yellow and fragrant rose bush

          outside my window

or perhaps gardenias

          and night-blooming jasmine.

Merry-go-round

I knew things years ago
in ways long since forgotten
that I was dearly loved,
and summers' caressing breeze
whispers your name to my lips
while toying with my hair
recalling your absent touch.
 Is it now?  Is it now?
It has been forever
and still I wonder how
a twilight existence of ephemeral shadow
became a grim reality.
Assuredly,
my past does come to call and ride
the merry-go-round of my mind
taking but a moment
to engulf my present
and make it less a gift.

Memories

I

In many mornings'

        waking reverie

the soft fall

of your bare feet

        padding closer

was the messenger

come within my heart,

calling in secret

II

Not long before the dawn
I rose to watch you sleeping,
not knowing 'twas my intent
to bask in the holiness that covered you,
and there staying at your side
'til your waking fingers slipped around mine,
sleepy-soft eyes fluttering
to revive mornings' kiss
and greeting, "Daddy."

III

My un-poetic imaginings
recall her staring into another's eyes
as we had peered to depth
in our beautiful eyes,
and I drank the lees of her wine. . .

IV

I had to dissect a live frog once,
and knowing what to expect
was nonplussed to find
a beating heart inside.
Would that I had such skill
in navigating life and love
where there exist
no anatomical charts.

V
Soft, fair-pale skin,
tender searching hands,
hair dripping from mornings' shower
     traces across my waking chest,
those morning glory memories
go now weeping away.

Giant Moon

This moon looms large and low
rolling over the horizon
struggling skyward under its girth,
lumbering to climb the very trees
       caught in silver silhouette,
laboring to carry the weight aloft
of lovers caught in its pull.

Sun not fully set,
the eager celestial orb impatient
       to exert its influence,
to be captured by the throngs,
those paparazzi pens of poets
wide-eyed in wonderment,
and staring back mournfully,
       soulfully, bemusedly;
the spectacle it must see on rising,
amazed as an artist whose work
points to him in awe.

And spilling its beauty infinite
in graceful glide above
casts a surge of silver
through the windows of my soul.
And I have no magic to express
that moment of loveliness.

The Song Of You

The wind blows love songs from afar
And rides the night on a fallen star;
A glow of light from enchanted skies
Holds the trance that stills my eyes.
I'll kiss the song that fills the air
With haunting words that rise and flare.
 
Eyes of flame that know not shame
Speak of love and call my name;
Knowing eyes, soft glowing eyes,
That burn with tears and loves' surprise
To draw my heart so close to you
As rosebuds draw the mornings dew.
 
If I should be a great strong tree
Your tender self could lean on me.
Your touch would start and tear apart
Flames that consume an aching heart.
And I would be but smoke to rise
Forever lost in empty skies.

haiku 6

crowbar tries to pry
my oyster solitary
exists self-contained

Modern Problems

Life was so simple
when it was severe,
survival not guaranteed
but not given over to fear.

Then life got easy
when it became austere.
The spartan life then a joy
with sense of self becoming clear.

For a present-day ascetic
no writing will fly so high;
as life grows in complexity
the trials often lead me to cry.

April

sun rays caught bedewed glint topaz,
weeds of temperate light
expanding promise-buds of summer joys,
and almond blossom memories
pass in favor of new life;
should ever there be blessings in the air
they are birthed from the warming spring breath
      of April
and a charm of hummingbirds
in a field of lupine

. . .and in my dreams

my unlived dreams
     or maybe past lives
sprawl before me vivid
those elements too slippery
for my daytime fingers
a mutiny of imagination
lusts' games played shamelessly
and holy moments of understanding
entwined in nocturnal intimation
spilling into my undreaming hours -
Oh, how I love to dream,
and experience an existence more fully
relieved the burdens of wakefulness

When Young Men Die

When young men meet with
inexplicably sudden and biting ends,
     not the whitewashed passing of those long in the tooth,
     the silver-maned for whom all mourning may expire at death;
that burrowed-under-the-skin ache
where labored breath takes speechless flight
and bids farewell to carefree thought -
no, that a God of love
carries my heavy heart
seems inadequate in this wake.

The Caravan

The lines worn rugged on this face
each with its story in my avatar
speak of me in a unique tongue
in this vision of lucidity
with nothing as it seems.
The dream I call
life without dress rehearsal
lies "It's better to have loved and lost,"
that everything happens for a reason
or nothing would happen at all,
but best is to not to have lost at all,
and the caravan moves along.

Beyond Fear

Beyond fear,
     in broken moments
          of fearlessness,
these heart-scars
     lose their memory
          of pain

haiku 5

lines on rugged face
heart-scars don't lose memory
fearing fearlessness

Midnight Moonlight

In my dreams we're dancing
        suspended
                  and in slow motion
the canopy of oaks and pines filter
        midnight moonlight
a spectral blue vision played out
before my waking moments

Clouds dull and cool these recollects
of when we owned the night
dawns' pale rosy rays
cancelling the holograph spinning
        just
                out of reach
but in my dreams we'll be forever dancing
to a melody all our own

Leaving All Behind

It's not that I am helpless
I just can't help myself,
and as your memories call
I answer, and teardrops fall.

But a dream or two ago
we'd trade a kiss hello,
a greeting of two lovers
with a new life to uncover.

In sorrow that we fell apart
my heart fumbles in the dark
in an ever-changing world
with all of life a-whirl.

Missing what was meant to be
and stug'ling with what I now see;
I see we're both be-leavers. . .
. . .leaving all behind.

The Old Victorian By The Bay

I light a fire of determination
within my redwood walls
four hundred seasons have changed since
I answered builders' call.

My foundation laid to resist time
and storms along the quay,
the strength of stone supports a home
where generations sought to stay.

My eyes of glass with rust-paint brow
do gaze upon the bay,
my make-up, teal and sea-foam green,
a look certainly gay.

Twin turrets frame my pretty face
with cap of weathered cedar,
grace and symmetry my style,
a home to civic leaders.

My smaller rooms and crowded stairs
put you in proximity
with those you love (or maybe should) to
reveal true intimacy.

My yards have seen you playing games,
my porch has watched you cry,
this kitchens' feasts have fueled your flames,
the bedrooms heard your sighs.

All the stories that you read,
the board games that you played,
morning coffee, evening tea,
became why I was made.

Many folk have called me home,
I've watched them come and go,
and some have learned the secret that
I was built to know.

Until You Came Along

As emptyness beats on my door
I try to word a song,
it's now so clear I'd naught to say
until you came along.

It's true, I was a most small man,
pretending I was strong,
a portrait of my own flawed self,
until you came along.

I've spent a life apart your love in but a single night,
while thoughts devoured memories of everything delight,
and daylights' conflict generates new fears to face tonight
while love demands I think upon what I know is right.

The secret that I'd loved to keep,
the one love only knows,
was oh so far beyond my reach
until you came along.

Sedoka 1

should i e'er let go
would i care to reach out again
would i dare to reach out again

should i dare let go
could i care to reach out again
could i ever reach out again

Haiku 4

springs' gentle breezes
stir hearts to dally and then
chuck at aspen leaves

Haiku 3

eternal echoes
tearing world after world
unforgivingly

Haiku 2

the onions' layers
or perhaps the books' pages
exemplify life

Haiku 1

unimpeachable
clarity of vision is
my goal for today

My Psalm

One who cares deeply
     has asked me to pray.
I count it as privilege
     to do so today.

This weeks list is long,
     prayers for many in need
of His blessings in life,
     some hang by a reed.

Hey! God! It's me
     You've not spoken to,
of things that I see
     You're not tending to.

His way's not been mine
     yet I'm sure that He's pained
to see so much sorrow,
     lives brutally strained.

Oh I wish He would answer
     each prayer in its turn,
but eye-to-eye vision
     I have yet to learn.

Some People Do

Some people do, you know,
spend entire lives together,
having learned to speak directly
into anothers' heart
in the language of dreams
that transcend realities,
to rise above the doubts of waking.

Precious Things

I will talk with you of precious things,
The sunsets' hue and birds that sing,
What children did and adults do,
And teaching babes to tie their shoe.

That time is worth much more than gold,
And greater still - someone to hold.
Health is not so over-rated,
Biggest regrets? O'er those I've berated.

To spend an hour with my niece
Is like another puzzle piece,
The real measure of a man
May be in how he takes a hand.

How dawn and dusk partner their color
And share that with an ardent lover.
That tiny bloom so trodden on
Could still bear seed, even looking wan.

A child dancing with Elmo and chasing the dog
Is better than coffee at cutting through fog,
Anticipation's not better than the event,
And moments together are time best spent.

I've learned I'm not completely whole,
That television can't fill my soul,
And what I've been and what I've done
Have been negated by the Son.

The Dance

With lightened heart and care-loosed feet
setting out hand-in-hand
to Celtic tune and callers bleat
of "hay," "gypsy," "allemand."

All that satin, cotton and silk
a'twirl in twos and fours,
topped by smiles white as milk
on dancers by the score.

Away sad thoughts, can you not see?
The dance is on, it's time for glee!

Consider the dance in contrast to
and not as to oppose,
this instant poised, then threading through
a line, and then who knows?

Tumbl' out your hair, O lady dear.
What need have you for care?
This dizziness will soon make clear,
so lose yourself in ayre.

Just To Catch You Up

Just to catch you up
On someone you once knew,
That guy made you believe
The problem was all you.

He knew that while on eggshells
You would tread gingerly.
You'd be forced to read into
Nonsense you couldn't see.

For love had left you blinded,
Thinking 'twas what you'd done,
And so he played the martyr,
That's how the table spun.

That guy, he wised up late,
Looks out now at how far
Sickness, pride and ego
Can drive two hearts apart.

Early Spring

The crocus explode in glory
from winters' dominance
and birth across the landscape
secrets of providence.

The iris and the tulip
strike chords in memory
adding voice and violin
to a sight exemplary.

The smile of early spring
vague feelings of delight
these daffodils hold on to
a sanguine view of life.

Homo Sapien, Man

He stood erect.
I don't know
if he would have kissed his mate
     or patted his childrens' heads
when he set out from camp
     to procure food.
But they were happy
when he returned provisioned.
I bought him rice and tuna at Wal-Mart.
This is homelessness today.

Love and Energy

Maybe, like energy
love is neither created
      nor destroyed
and simply is,
waiting to be chosen.

My Pen

This old fountain pen
knows all the words,
all the secret thoughts
I've chosen to conceal
those I dare not reveal.
Had I access to those parts of me
I just might write in pencil.

Wild Cats

I sold a part of my heart
for a bag of cat food.
Precious and Gabby
     their given names
but they are really
     the Enigma's
(and who names feral cats, anyway?).
They are not so indifferent
as they'd have me believe -
miss a feeding, or be simply late
and it's impossible to conceive
how starved for affection
my feline friends had become.
These not-so-wild things,
they own me now.

By The River

I sat by the river
for a spell today
with thoughts as new
as yesterday.
Spent some time
in a book
'til coarse granite sand
called me to look
at suns' reflection
on a well-ground bit
of yellow glass
i thought should fit
so neatly, on a window sill
to remind of trials
that ground me well
removing guiles -
it was a spell come over me.
I've left it there
to find again
or for perhaps
an unmet friend
with greater need
of comforts there
where grass meets sand
and the river's care
can bathe them too.
There's enough to share.

Yeshua and Siddhartha

I'd like to think
they would have been good friends,
breaking bread and walking together
     among the banyans
or sharing a bowl of rice
and knowing smiles in Palestine.
Perhaps between the two
their goodness might have healed more.
I think they are -
     great friends, that is,
and completely understanding.
I wish their followers were.

A Kiss

When lips collide
as they are want to do
the tender crush
distills all to a moment revealing
what makes a man believe in heaven
is contained in her eyes
and released in her kiss

As yet untitled

That word we use to fill voids
in our emotional lexicon,
that short, sweet sounding syllable
well-intentioned and lofty
- and sold, at dear price of course -
that is not love.
It's not enough word
to encompass the whole,
but it will have to do.

I Want You To Know This

You really should know how things are,
watching the moon wax and wane
only to wax again
and seasons change one to the next
as in some small ways do I,
when I place my hand
in the cold ash
where once a consuming fire
carried sparks to the heavens
a palpable substance remains,
a lingering aroma
pungent and steeped in tears
hopes, laughter and fears;
you may think it mad
this well of feelings
that believed yours destined for mine.
Where the sun seeks
and climbs to your lips
it seeks mine too
repeating all in me
where nothing was extinguished
or forgotten
while my roots have set off
to seek another land.