On The Days You're Not Here

On the days you're not here

They serve doughnuts,

Laughter punctuates conversations,

People stock and empty shelves,

And fish are caught.

Friends greet and lovers kiss,

Homes are built, tables are bussed,

Children learn geography

And deliveries are made

On the days you're not here.

On the days you're not here

Lawns get mowed,

Cancers will be treated,

Cars are repaired, jets fly

And prayers are said.

Tears stain cheeks and hopes are born,

Dogs will bark, tennis is played,

Mothers hold infants,

And poetry is written, and read

On the days you're not here.

Fate's Jealous Eye

I watch the world
drink in the night's romance.
How quickly I arrive
where my soul is fixed,
yet distance, and time,
drive wedges betwixt.
The jealous eye of Fate
sees perfect love and
therein places obstacles to union;
their union would be her ruin.

On a Cloudy Night

I stare fixedly at tonight's sky.
The glimmer I seek on high,
having been tucked away
behind the clouds that covered my day
presses darkness against a weary heart,
mass growing with time apart.

Stars

When the universe was new
He chose first to hang
sun , moon and stars.
He thought light first
for the night could never understand;
what knows the void of need,
of stars to guide the sailor's way,
or lovers hearts?
These clinquant alabaster chips
torn from the Pleiades, or Orion's belt,
streak the indigo
keenly aware the fate of men
who raise their sight to lofty goal.

Tidal Thoughts

The tides wax and wane,
a rhythm as old as time,
and it matters not which
for the cycle repeats itself.
And that which the tides bear
simply is, nothing more.

At The Beach

As deep calls to deep,
these waves of blue
gnash teeth of foam upon the sand
that hems my world -
a strand of light between two worlds -
and beckon me to sea,
taunting, a call to return home.

They, Some Thoughts on Life

He writes so boldly,
while suffering more from timidity
than anything physical;
the anemone closes
with the most gentle of human touch.
His, a guarded, orderly life
that lacks of emotional temerity.

And She,
she maintains that exquisitely delicate
(orchid-like) facade of completeness,
warm-sad eyes failing to conceal
a hunger, a thirst for an ardent love -
only her share, only that required
to sate a lifelong need.

Scarred they are,
and all the more beautiful for it,
their souls infused by the jasmine
of loves found, surrendered,
the wild sage of experiences
lived with and through another,
the sweetness of nameless sadness'
survived and grown through.