Unwillingly Returned

With reticence, backwards gazing

has decided to sit upon my lap

this morning turning my attention

to all I wanted to forget since

only foolish errands have I run and

self-competitions left me losing

goals ever so slightly at the line;

with reluctance, into the crystal ball

I peer, hoping to see justifications

for the self-inflicted wounds endured

while apprehensively hiding behind

the shadow of a flawed personality

and a misplaced ego that kissed no one

where, upon a chair, they would sit;
with child-like innocence, my tarnished
name adorned the words and thoughts
of siblings who quickly docked their
fleet of ships in other ports that refused
entry to my kayak, leaving me drifting
aimless on man-made lakes until
summer storms pushed me to the shore;
with the close bond that never existed
and like a migrating bird, I took
to flight, journeying though out all the
unchartered waters of my fantasies,
meeting suitcase friends whose words
surrounded me like butter until
washed away by tears of loneliness
that no one would ever see;
with moments of lucid uncertainty,
my life flashed by like a falling comet,
but my traveling scars never healed –
but, why would they need too if my
eyes involuntarily shut-off existence
to those memories until, on a day like
today, all of them unwillingly returned.

27Jul12

This Sunday will never come again

and I will not get another chance

to enjoy the beauty of this day;

This Sunday will always remind me

of the separation we have at home

and the lack of unity our marriage holds;

This Sunday has arrived before the light

and in a moment of serene peace, I

find myself within the spirit of life;

This Sunday will never again replay
what is about to unfold around me
and I will never again experience its joy;

This Sunday is a day for idle reflections,
a day of acceptance of all actions
and re-actions simulcast around me;

This Sunday is the day my soul was
buried into the fading darkness as
the new dawn covered it with light.

July 15, 2012

Thoughts abandon me like wives
leaving me emotionally vulnerable
and in debt to the muses who have
so willingly infused me with ideas;

Thoughts escape me like students
who finally earned a summer vacation,
free from concentration and papers
for at least a couple of months;

Thoughts betray me like family
not appearing when needed and
appearing when uninvited, using what
little influence they have over me.
July 13, 2012

Rain continues its fall from grace,
swollen rivers rise proportionately

lakes swell over their levies,
and we cringe at the thoughts
of having to leave our homes;
folks pack their trucks with treasures
leaving most memories behind,
while the more clever ones
paddle around town in canoes;
birds sit on rotten branches of dead trees,
not expecting a break from the deluge,
watching without emotions the fleeing families,
fleeing themselves when the tree limb breaks;
a rustic, rural, rainy afternoon betrays
the Rockwell solitude that created this
valley and for years left it unspoiled;
a sad face the sun would have, if it were
to peer out from behind those clouds, but
only time will fix what nature destroys.

July 12, 2012

A Recent Wedding Poem

It is this joining of hearts

that will intertwine the spirit

of your passions and beliefs;

It is this joining of minds

that will create the emotional balance

needed for a happy future as your

pathways unite and move forward;

It is this joining of hands

into which you have poured your love

and by which that love will be held forever;

It is this joining of souls

that will store and cherish your intimacies

and from which you may draw guidance

as the trinities inside you both evolve;

It is this soon-to-be-experienced ceremony
that will weld family to family and allow

you to experience the strength from that joining;

It is this festive evening,

Bobby and Heather,

the night before you wed,

that all the hearts, minds, hands, and souls

in this room tonight,

do solemnly join as well
our combined love and support as the

bridge of your everlasting marriage.

July 20, 2012

 

Mother Nature has mothered me all my life,

providing me with caring insights to love

her creatures as she loves creating them;

and, while she is referred to in an obvious feminine way,

we all know, it is from our Creator that she breathes life today;

the son now sits on the horizon of my life; but,

thankfully my love of nature remains as pure as the falling rain;

my eyes don’t see as far away as they used to see; so,

Mother has brought her creatures closer to me to see; and,

when I close my eyes and extend my arm and hand,

I can faintly imagine a hummingbird hovering,

quietly and almost whispering say, “thank you.”

July 12, 2012


From the It’s Raining Outside Today Poem Series #3

Butterflies and bees through

my field of vision pass,

unlikely mates they be,

so, disturbing neither, I watch

the floating wings move them

about the Hummingbird nectar

filling their senses with delight;

graceful in their flight nearby,

a new world opens,

gentle and serene,

familiar innocence fluttering,

watching me as I do them;

unannounced intentions directs

their random patterns,

not too long in the same place;

both gentle creatures but only one deceives

if I am in the wrong place.

July 12, 2012

From the It’s Raining Outside Today Poem Series #2

A gentle, mourning summer rain

pronounces itself dead on arrival

as it hits the hard, grass covered ground,

giving life to those who survive its purpose

while keeping others under the porch,

preventing us from interfering as life births life
and birds sing solemn songs
in the humid, sultry air that binds us
all together in these memories;
desperately, the gentle, mourning rain continues
its escape from a depressing sky and we
commiserate together both the journey
and the feeling but not the rebirth unless
it is these thoughts I fathered today.

July 12, 2012

 
From the It’s Raining Outside Today Poem Series #1

always do I encounter
in my conscious dreams
what I do not encounter
in my conscious reality;
but that ability is always
short-lived as I fall asleep.

July 11, 2012

the ceiling fan spins out a breeze that

cools off my inability to sleep, still I see

each blade around my head moving;

the lights tickle my straining eyes

my hand’s pen scratches out what was written;

on the floor, dead cats lie motionless as

the sound of motor cars pass by outside my window;

I wonder how soon my luck will last and I

will head off the bedroom to try again.

July 11, 2012

by my side my
Siamese sits,
guarding and

wondering why

he is sitting by

my side at all;

but, it does

not last long,

when a bug

he spies;
jumping down
away from
my reality
to play with
his new friend.

July 11, 2012

 
From the Cannot Sleep Poem Series - #'s 5, 6 & 7

It is somewhat funny
or so we think it is
that love is so easily spoken
but hardly ever, truly lived;
It is somewhat sad
or so we know it is
that life without love
is not really life at all;
It is somewhat ironical
or so we speculate
that life and love are
never what they seem to be.

July 11, 2012

An afternoon nap has robbed me of my sleep
And I am forced to sit here, with lights on,
And those blasted cats until I grow weary of both
And can once again close the eyes to my mind
And sink into an awareness of no awareness at all.

July 11, 2012



From the Cannot Sleep Poem Series - #'s 3 & 4

horses move with feeling around the track

but you and I do not notice;

fingers poke our feelings back inside

but the horse do not notice;

casual sex has left us too empty

to even want to participate in the race,

our feelings as dead as the sea scrolls;

our flesh sweats as that of a race horse

that no drizzle of rain can cure,

we have abandoned the race

just as we have abandoned each other;

we curse each other’s name
just as loudly as we curse our own;
we have no friends to entertain
no parents to impress with witty euphemisms,
we have no cares or worries now
and certainly no horses in this race.


July 11, 2012

From the Cannot Sleep Poem Series - #2

come sit with me a spell
let’s read poetry out of a book,
classical or modern,
makes no difference to me;
come sit with me a spell
let’s talk politics and adventures
it’s all speculation anyway
and it never seems to matter;
come sit with me a spell
let’s conjecture about the universe
dark matter and the bosons
or if there is any light at all;
come sit with me a spell
let’s pretend to pretend to pretend
we are all imaginary images
in our imaginary little world;
come sit with me a spell
let’s remember who we once were
and what we once believed
before we get to old to remember;
come sit with me a spell
let’s share our love again
all those kisses that seemed
to take us, momentarily, away;
come sit with me a spell
let’s remind me of who I am
and why you come to visit
let’s do this again tomorrow if we can.


July 11, 2012


From the Cannot Sleep Poem Series - #1

Depression

is my only friend these days

short, but sweet memories do I have

coping with an attitude of sorrow,

into myself I have climbed

though not as difficult as Everest

I would assume yet equally challenging;

no people’s faces do I want to see

nor hear their cries of anguish

as I have my own with which to deal;

no smiles or laughter do I want to hear

only silence like my emptiness inside

do I want my senses to embrace;

empty eyes look out empty window frames

and empty thoughts fill my head

like driverless cars passing by in

front of my silenced summer attitude.

July 12, 2012

A DISTANT PAST RECOLLECTED

Rotten thoughts inside me have remained

throughout my life, especially when influenced

by the persistent pest of doubt; but, these

thoughts guide me precipitously yet

remove them all, I cannot nor should I actually

when as I reflect upon them, they have

formed my foundation and my sight

through which I see the mockery of life

and the disdain we have for each other;

shaved and old I am but those who remember

still want to see the shadow as this is how

their frozen minds relate to time’s passing

and to the passing of all that we once were,

never knowing or understanding that we

fade while always remaining who we are;

because, there is only the present nowadays

and if we knew, then too, I suppose; but,

our youthful arrogance guided us and it is

to that distant past, we now want to go.



July 11, 2012

If I could say what I feel

you would never doubt

my love for you; but,

that is not the true

measure of one's love;

it is more how I make

you feel when around me

and that
I do not do very well;

If I could say what I feel

it would be to strive to be the

kind of person you want to be around,

regardless of what I lacked,

because by definition and in your mind,

there would be nothing lacking;

If I could say what I feel

it would be to want to move in the

direction that is best for you and me.

May 9, 1998

each evening

I sleep in her bed

and fear

it will be my last

yet I know

I have had

one more night

of good sleep.

May 18, 1998

she never regrets the

comments she makes,

oftentimes forgetting

what she said; but,

she never applies the

same philosophy to

those around her.

May 2, 1998

I have an apprehension today

but I know it is something that

I need to do and once it is over,

I know I will feel better about

myself and all the possibilities

that life has to offer me.

July 1998

I am again on my own

free to explore

right from wrong

but after fifty years

one would think

thagt I should

know what to do.

July 1998

they are lined up like

birds on a telephone wire,

in the middle of the room

supposedly away from the sun,

but really positioned so they

can observe the flow of people

moving in and out of the building.

July 1998

Just About Today, I Reckon

Bluebird flies to its house and pauses . . .

looks in my direction and flies away . . .

sheriff cars pass by in front of me, sitting innocently

on the porch watching thunder clouds approach;

the Japanese Maple and Dogwoods need the water but

my thoughts are disturbed by the returning blue birds,

one with life inside sits on a limb and pauses . . .

looking at each other uninterrupted,

sheriff cars pass by again and I pause . . .

on the currents of a gentle breeze, the birds return

one squawking at an approaching cat;

white rocks separate me from the bushes as

another storm approaching breeze waffles by;

mornings are the best for me, I reckon, sitting here,

thinking about the photographs of a misspent youth

seldom revisited anymore and faded yellow no doubt;

rumbling thunder lifts my head again but those days long gone by,

but a struggling sun reminds me it is time to go inside.

July 9, 2012

Sirens scream piercing, penetrating

howls loud into the serene night,

a sultry and humid summer evening

muffles the breath-taking cries of

passion that too soon passed us by;

fingernails screech along the dried wood

like slithering shivers of passion, darkened

by the moonshine on the doorstep and

pressed up against me you lean, holding

me against the frame – indecisions

pour out of me, rolling down your smooth

silky thighs - vibrating sound waves

between us while holding us together – a

clinging wet T-shirt of desire on which

our feelings rest – faint sounds in the

distance mark time’s passing and the

answer we must soon give each other.

July 7,2012

today's heat penetrates the shade
my thoughts sweat like the palms of my hands,
squinting eyes watch swaying Magnolias
wasps float on puddles of water from last night's storm, but
dart away before being swatted;
a torn tent blocks out the harsh sun partially,
its legs tethered to the deck while
lifeless chairs wait in silence for partners that never show;
I think . . .
I am . . .
I try to remember, but
the jeans my mind wears are too tight and faded,
too pre-occupied with laments,
recalling prior acts of loneliness when
loneliness was not the issue at all;
a cat . . .
in the window bears resemblance to my own;
wondering . . .
where am I sitting?
to whom does this chair belong?
a new roof covers most of my possessions
but how thoughtless not to remember my pills,
or washing dishes
or not knowing when to shut up;
gentle breezes cool underarm odors and glad I am
to have brushed my teeth today

as my horoscope predicts visitors;
perfectly shaped breasts
with my veteran hands I hold,
succulent and tasty,
just as tanned as the rest of you;
kissing . . .
and touching . . .
and feeling our way around strange passions;
worried . . .
too much would be disclosed
or not enough, but
seductive was the evening's breeze around us,
a humid heat,
suffocating us like today;
birds bounce off the grass like touching hot sand;
it is time to put my pen down and close my eyes
for the last time.

July 5, 2012

we touch and are alive

with new desires, rekindled

from a latent fear that

our love is like some

magical spell and our moments

will end when we awake.

June 5, 1984

We belong in each other's arms

in open fields of fresh cut grass

and honeysuckle vines sliding

carelessly up the trunk of

our giant oak whose branches

have cradled and nursed our desires,

while we watch clouds cover us

in blankets of sensations, helping
us to remember our first love

and our continued love of life.

June 3, 1984

And, all the casual conversations

drifted away like cigarette smoke

from one booth to the next;

isolated and protected, my

thoughts mixed and mingled

in an air of uncertainty, with

talks of rivals and golf while I

remained outside the boundaries

of memories but inside the confines

of unmolested loneliness.

June 2, 1984

Thursday in the Afternoon

I cry out and hear nothing,

I wrap my arms around you and feel nothing,

I stare at the empty frame that held your photo;

My tears, in silent despair, outline my loneliness,

My thoughts run through random memories of my youth

and your softness as I once laid my head upon your breast;

I am numb and long for returning sensations,

in my arms and

in my fingertips . . .

my heart, like an empty lot, is lifeless,

I am yours and desire you always and want

to cherish our love and dreams together.

January 24, 1985

evening transcends

an old friend

spent with images . . .

of self-imposed fantasies;

she sleeps alone beside me,

a natural beauty,

warm . . .

inviting . . .

July 24, 1985

and, as our words

fall short of their

intended meanings,

we find ourselves

inside reclaimed barriers,

completely withdrawn . . .

a rumor will be or perhaps not,

perhaps a return, perhaps not.

December 20, 1985

Gently, we reach out to comfort our separate past;
Desperately, we blend our yearning, to return
everything mistakenly borrowed and all our answers,
predetermined, release our sorrows borne from anxieties;
Dressed in lost emotions, I offer myself as victim and
freely envelope your love once held uniquely rare.

December 19, 1985

If we live

without regret

along the line,

a predetermined

prearranged line,

our footsteps then,

follow someone
else's path.

December 3, 1985