The Gallery

Such is a shadow,

a lonely walk

the energy of a soul

finding their way

his way

her adventure

perhaps his imagination

a painting to lose his mind while trying

desperate measures

the sort of bind that seems attractive

rather than one of ridicule

when the reality of the game

is revealed

in gallery seven,

perhaps it was four

or somewhere in the early afternoon,

she in cloak and dagger

watched him switch postures

giving him some indication

that his trophy

might be her own

quiet diadem

to steal the words of

Emily … (Dickinson) …

he was in his aching manner

subject to

fantasy.

Summer Rains

 

I woke in sweet pause to the summer rains

Glance toward the sky in misty eyed ponder

While worlds begin day in routine refrains

We might all know beauty is our wonder.

 

In our lives where cause might allow reveal

Our choice to become the pureness we wish

Always measured in will of knowing real

Is Grace belongs in hearts not outlandish

 

Water in sweet embrace cleanse my windows

I might breathe the world its sheltered release

Much like my neighbor whose ideal true grows

We can quest lives together to find peace.

 

In quiet mystique regard truth our gain

Solace sing sweet warmth in Her summer rain.

 

*photo credit: Mark Demsteader – found on Pinterest

 

 

 

 

Quiet Intersections

When tears would will

in sight were our lives

I watched you walk, still

forty years later survives.

~

Just the trace of boots

stepping across pavement

no eyes yet, only the roots

of then just as love meant

~

Today our lives are romantic

we choose to recall, spend

moments imagining, a tantric

soliloquy, dance, we suspend

~

In reality only for this release

will ourselves, find our peace.

Eccentric Complement

When life stopped,

that ideal romantic interlude,

our travel together,

we were a match

in the fall of ’78, ’79

I looked in your eyes,

while the traffic went by,

didn’t matter really,

your smile radiant,

you had your elegant demeanor,

I was a young lad,

you were my gift,

I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sunrise,

with every step I followed your word,

as you showered me with beauty and grace,

skipping classes and later,

skipping clothes.

We traveled one day,

it was the wagon Volvo,

deep brown,

I still want one today, because …

we should certainly that day,

have driven away only to be wanted.

We didn’t care who wandered near,

together we were there.

Late afternoon we began our walk,

it was distant ever since you’d told me

you loved me because of my

eccentric

nature of delighting you with smiles.

I looked it up,

at nineteen the word ‘odd’ …

frightened me, and I have regretted that

ever since.

I wish you would read this and know

how much I truly love you.

We Had This Time

When we might walk alone,

gathering thoughts while in motion,

when neither might be known

except a look, a glance, a notion.

Wish we might, now years later,

understand just how we could ask

for more time, ask for just another day,

when we seamless now today bask

in memory to hold our hands this way.

When my heart feels a pale instance

drawn within a soulful time we knew

our lives were simple and full of chance

when then we held the keys so new.

If I could ask you again without any repeal,

yesterday, to hold me again with open arms,

would you forgive my innocent appeal

could we then no longer feel such alarms.

Our adult hat tricks a mellow state of mind,

creates an urgency that lets go our release

while rather reminding ourselves of that bind

holds our conscience in place; quiet peace.

I remember when I felt like my world was you,

when then I could wait like no-one ever knew.

Letters from Home

When I was a child I had a good friend

who went to his cabin as time would lend

I remember a day when another neighbor

and I sat at our table to write him a letter.

We were barely 13 and I suggested we do this

as and act of kindness he’d remember later.

Back then when we took the time to write,

it only seemed proper and sort of just right,

to imagine that paper passing through many hands

to reach its destination having very little demands,

beyond the delivery in a private sort of manner,

saying hello from a couple of friends in the summer.

Nowadays I wonder how many people are better

without the time spent on writing that long letter.

Instead there’s a couple of keys to push to suggest,

we are putting our heart and soul into being our best

at greeting, at saying hello, at asking, how are you,

a click and the eyes are seeing words out of the blue.

I wonder if we realize the importance of our words,

when we simply throw them around in so absurd

a manner, that doesn’t allow a second thought,

just puts the notions out there – forever.

I long for a different time when I had to wait,

for the mail to arrive to see whether a mate,

had responded to my words whether they cared

or not, the physical action left me always prepared.

Today, there’s no need to ready ourselves for news,

seems we all have a hand in a quick text of the blues.

Wander Wild Abandon

Welcome in the rains of summer please,

the changing of the season’s guild.

We will soon forget the arctic torment,

cried our souls for warmth and grace.

human realities will begin to appease

those necessary rituals of sunlit faith,

toward risque highlights, and low cut

silks that will arouse a man’s eyes,

tight fabrics that warm a woman’s, reveal.

~

Welcome in the rains of summer please,

so now we might seek out our partner,

whom through the moonlit nights we weave

a delightful design of destiny’s shelter

that place where souls might then decide,

how might they live out their august together,

holding court with new human sacrifice,

the notion that life alone is no longer welcome

becomes a mantra for knowledge might be shared.

~

For are we together in our need to know fatique,

when wild abandon longer seeks quiet resolve.