their talking and nonsense,
every morning they seem to
occupy the only space around me,
listening to my thoughts as they
are written down on paper;
recapitulating yesterday's events
in operatic details, laughing and
joking while my nature is disturbed;
morning early disrupts my routine
beginning the day with broken
solitude and a promise to find
somewhere else to write today.
I
just for sport they kill
nature's children and
mount on plaques for
all the world to see.
II
short little rains I like
getting caught in them,
wet clothes that seem
to cling tight to me.
III
streams flow inside a
mental image of that on
which we built our banks.
IV
a flower standing in a field
alone was taken for a
remembrance of our love.
V
inside the constraints of choice
a heart murmurs its loneliness
forever as no one seems to hear.
I feel you kisses on my back,
I feel your hands gently caressing,
I feel your body next to mine pushing,
pressing your desires into me
as if to say the forcing is more passionate,
I feel you hair lightly brushing
the surface of all my feelings,
I feel your warmth penetrate my
coolness and I feel myself turning
in your direction to respond.
walk along the shore
let the brackish waters
rinse clean your feet,
let the cool temptation
lure you across the rocks,
walk with me tonight
when you are alone and lonely
walk beside all our fantasies,
choose between the life you seek
what you cannot have or me...
walk along the shore tonight
and feel the sand and shells
pierce the souls of your feet,
stroll in my moon lit reflection
that borders your feelings,
walk into me tonight
and let us be lovers.
inside the lobby of my mind
memories are catalogued
and hung up to dry...
images branded like footsteps
in the mud... fade... but
feelings remain
sometimes hidden behind smiles
and friendly gestures and
the next time a plan is carefully
executed not to expose too much,
yet, the warmth of caring and
a need to be loved outweighs
the pain of reaching out.
by myself I venture down the dark passage
step by step...
through a maze of yesterdays
until innocence blocks my path,
shadows on the wall
patterns of light and dark,
fluttering and unstable,
reshaping life's contours like puddles of rain,
provide the clues I need as
each passageway has its own
weariness of sensations...
its own lament...
its own sacrificing adventures,
by myself I venture into the unknow
the unchartered regions of mahogany fantasies
and deliriously exciting nightmares.
her instructions are washed out each week
until the colors of her life fade, leaving
her with a bleached appearance,
she helps herself to a series of bad decisions
waiting for the across-the-fence advice
from all her not-so-close neighbors,
an independent madness for which she searched
creeps into a self-imposed solitude, finally
leaving her empty and missing what she had.
you escape passion
retreating inside the
convenience of sleep,
screaming our your frustrations
ignoring those who would be
damaged by it most,
shrugging it off with a
"I don't care" attitude,
you prevent the debilitating
affects of losing control.
a deprivation of words and thoughts,
again I sit here and am troubled
by other things keeping the exchange
brief and impartial as I can...
no anger...
no happiness...
no excitement...
no fear...
just a void blank facial expression.
tomatoes in my parlor
thirty plants in all,
block my outward vision
hope they will be gone soon,
corn slips in my hallway
they've grown an inch or two,
we leave the house and re-enter
before and after june...
seeds of all sorts and sizes
in my bedroom do not belong,
but they need a quiet place
before they are entombed,
the rakes and hoes and other tools
against the wall must lean,
the house has become an FCX,
the ground is too wet to plow,
this is the story every spring
when a garden it is we want to have,
I won't describe my state-of-mind
when the canning season arrives.
respectfully submitted
my request to you is given,
asking for what may seem
out-of-the-question or
more than is deserved...
my request is genuine
and earned from the heart,
it serves the purpose if
it lasts more than a day
that's better than nothing at all;
if it lasts more than a month or two
that's better than before...
respectfully submitted
I ask of you to take what is offered
and in time, we can learn the rest;
my patience is yours to give
yours to handle as you will and
I will await your prompt reply.
across from me the three ladies sit,
and just for meanness I imagine them naked...
the prettiest one would be dropping
crumbs on the rolls of fat,
probably deciding not to diet;
beside her sits the older version but
better preserved and the only worse than her
bare wrinkled chest is her language;
next is the youthful one
newly married whose innocence draws
attention until one's eye meet the top,
and a flag should cover what is seen.
reading as some write and still others talk
while a few are eating as they relax...
find a way to pass the time until class;
and, as the new quarter begins
all have good intentions...
and wholesome impressions...
until they learn how much effort is needed,
expending what they must to make the grade;
around the table they all sit... each one
defending their purpose with a smile.
a phone call comes often on
mondays and wednesdays,
watts lines bring us closer
that we were yesterday when
messages were transmitted
by a courier service and the
voice on the other end says,
"how's your day been?"
the answer is always the same
pleasant and unassuming
claiming sunshine on a rainy day;
a phone call for a cloudy mood
a toll free exchange is quick
and more often than not is
almost always painfully pleasant.
time slips past its memories
slips past those who would
travel its corridors, folding
and blending on consciousness
into another until its presence
it aged into our souls...
time invades its captors
with persistence silence
and we cry like babies
when we recognize its passage;
time sits on the dark side of
courage, draining strength
from even the strongest of
its sole survivors as it passes
and slips past us quicker than
the day before and all our days
seem as fleeting as an eye blink.
if I cannot love you then I have
no love to give to anyone...
is that ok?
is that fair?
I know our love is to help us love others
but if I cannot love you then nobody can...
or me either... and we will waste away,
together... in memory of misaligned promises...
if I cannot love you then I
have no love to give anyone.
quiet
self involved
whose strength comes from an
ability to avoid conflict;
one is impatient
loud
uninvolved
whose strength is articulated
in the presence of conflict;
one is young
impressionable
talented
whose strength comes from a
mixture of both influences...
all parts of a whole
whose struggle and growth
will always be a family.
sometimes its better not to see you
since I cannot have you and will never
have you in the way that I want...
sometimes it's better not to know what's missing
but I cannot give you up now
not with the way I feel...
not after knowing you...
sometimes it's better to want what's best
or what's best for you and others...
I just don't know anymore what's best;
sometimes it's better not to see you
then I miss you and call you and want more...
and it all seems worse to me...
much worse than had I done nothing at all.
once or twice I've tried to
write something you would like
but all my words belong to others
and all our feeling hold no surprises
around which words might fall into place;
your life, inside its complications, lives
soft and sweet and quiet...
hiding who you are from me
and all you are is what you read,
no tears
no joys
just an incompleteness,
as we emulate to survive
to continue what we have...
once or twice I've tried to
capture your mysterious behavior.
over in your direction I look
not meaning to intrude,
your legs are noticed first
around my body I feel them pressing
your waist nicely tucked into a plain skirt
leads me upward...
vividly my eyes feel the softly sharped breasts
extending out from under a knitted top;
your face I notice last with its
dark hair and beautiful brown eyes
and when you catch me watching,
the most sensuous exciting look sends shutters;
I feel as though you've read my thoughts
and now my privacy has been invaded
by your silent but penetrating awareness.
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