A Rainy Day

rain drops splatter everywhere
on leaves of tress,
on blades of grass,
on pedals of flowers,
pounding relentlessly like
some rapid fire obsession;
filling the valleys with
tiny rivers flowing downhill,
seemingly with a purpose
but moving because it has to
towards a patch of dense trees;

rain drops bounce off a wooden
deck hitting others as they fall,
not caring in which direction they
must move but are redirected all the same;
rain drops pellet the gradual rising waters
of an above ground pool with
indiscriminate earnestness diluting
the chlorine from the year before as
it adds more color to its clearness;
cool winds blow in from the southwest,
tree tops bend in corresponding rhythms,

the rain subsides as the clouds
track east towards the coast knowing
they will never arrive as formidable
as when they left these lowlands;
sounds of rain drop collisions diminish
birds begin to chatter aimlessly
checking on their family members,
and the sounds of our morning silence
tries to mute a barking dog's loneliness;
a more gentle rain now plummets
to the ground in quiet whispers of strength

as if it were dessert for an evening meal,
allowing the blades of grass to reclaim their dignity;
barely audible is the rain now
as it falls through the air,
leaving no wake in its path
towards a water-soaked ground
and the dark colors of its passage
will remain until the sun decides
we have had enough for today
and gives us back our normal.

19 May 2020

Nineteen Eighty-Four Series VIII of XX

Miles Away
just to hear your voice I wait for walking
in solitude on the sands of two worlds;
alarmed by a stranger's intuition, I
journey with the sun as it appears;
the tepid waters soothes and wisps of wind
allow the memory to surface from the
self-imposed exile to which we agreed;
our loves goes forward yet we deny completely
all the absolute love and its addictions;
high spirited birds grace my path,
fishing boats ride the curved horizon, and my
thoughts dissipate in the rhythms of the waves.

August 8, 1984

Untitled

amid the curious tourist and the

frequently sweltering summer sun,

the sand crab lives quite miraculously,

just below the surface of the sand, just out

of reach of preying hands and sniffing dogs;

venturing from its protective custody at night

only to be caught by a paralyzing light 

and become a youngster's souvenir.

August 7,1984

Untitled
forcefully she beats upon the shoreline
as she did four hundred years ago;
we fish her waters as she battles us into submission,
her unknown perils lure us away from home;
five generations have navigated her waters
as did our forefathers and their before had done;
legends we remember as we name our villages in their honor
and are haunted by their memories as the oceans' waters
once again claim and once again her relentlessness wins;
we pay final tribute to her winter torments and
to the many fathers and sons that fill her graveyards.

August 6, 1984

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a grey laced haze covers our path where

the water curiously collides with the shore,

like a mist that gently blurs our vision and a

half round moon permits us to see a distant pier;

strolling arm-in-arm our silence is disturbed by the

persistent melancholy sounds of the crashing waves;

looking out across the Atlantic into a foggy night,

we discern no horizon nor any ships embarked 

on some adventurous voyage like Ulysses;

we are alone on our own enchanted journey, a

peaceful hour just past eight bells, always walking

in a protective silence of each other's thoughts;

drifting aimlessly into tales of buried treasure,

of ghosts and pirates...  of Old Nags Head...

and we wonder of tomorrow and other tomorrows

that blot out yesterday's memories...

what we meant to say but did not...

noticing how the windless darkness prevails;

the evening heat bears down upon us dictating pace,

an abstract painter's night with the rolling rhythms

of the waters beckoning us like some lady of the night,

who long since has seen her prime and the sand

between our toes is the only reminder of our reality;

the tiny dots of stars overhead records our brief visit, and

maybe a falling star will symbolize our love's resurgence.

August 5, 1984

Nineteen Eighty-Four Series VII of XX

Untitled
will the love we made tonight
be enough for us to remember
our summertime affair?
our walks and talks
shell hunting
a daily ritual,
our sunburned bodies
at first defend our virtues,
kisses that ignited
all those feelings
before keeping silent,
body heat that suffocated
our wills to say no...
and as our bodies touched
and pressed together
we made love that night
from all those night apart
waiting until next year.

August 11, 1984

A Night Before Leaving

the evening breeze

the crashing surf

the starboard lights

of a far off ship;

a dark ocean stretched

out to meet a

pale blue sky and

where they meet

I wonder why?

a full moon hangs

at fifty degrees high,

a thumb hole

in the heavens,

a persistent ocean

in her habits as am I

with my insomnia;

if only tomorrow

would never come

then I could forever

remain in the

night of yesterday.

August 11, 1984

Untitled
A lonely bather reclined on a raft
drifts without distraction like a falling leaf
up and down on the monotonous waves,
oblivious to all the surrounds her;
occasionally, her golden body is submerged
and is cleansed by the water's properties;
waist-length hair, identical in color as
her naked body rests in wet curls
at the base of her slender back;
outstretched arms, motionless...   disappear

beneath the raft as though they are
anchored in some strange manner;
a pale tongue moistens parched lips
as her head turns to face west;
quickly and mysteriously, a dry fog
descends...  covering the isolated inlet
in a pale veil of salt misty elegance;
her eyes open wide noticing my presence
her smile is enticingly seductive as
arms reach out beckoning me towards her;
without taking my eyes off her beauty

I walk slowly towards the water's edge while
deliberately removing the clothes that restrict my sight;
the cool waters calm my excitement and
tingly goosebumps form on my shoulders,
my breaststroke shortens the distance between us;
within reach, a dense patch of fog obscures my vision
and a penetrating chill evokes shivers, numbing
my strained muscles as my fingertips
hit the raft...  finding its emptiness a
vivid reminder of my own predicament,
and the two suns I've watched overhead;
my tired body betrays my persistence,

saltiness burns my lungs and the
last breath of air bubbles like little fishes
past my stinging half-closed eyes...
to an upright position my body snaps
like someone stepping on an upturned rake,
the sheets of the bed are soaked from my body's perspiration
and I breathe deeply as if it were my last.

August 10, 1084

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it is difficult to realize that

after so many battles, our words

still penetrate our coarse exteriors,

and our emotions are no longer

buoyed by a good night's sleep;

it is never understood how

insignificance becomes paramount

and hurt feelings are more easily

not accepted as we verbally abuse

our failing mutual trust with little

hope to salvage a meaningful like a

quickly vanishing summer shower

and our emptiness is more devastating

together than if we were separated;

it is musing to see what little

chance we give, yet continue to

perpetuate the hopelessness of the

situation in which we find ourselves,

and in which we futilely co-exist,

but the less we understand, the

more we struggle for its survival,

and the more we refuse to admit

our fate is not readily deserved.

August 9, 1984

Nineteen Eighty-Four Series VI of XX

Untitled

beyond an oval pond, the

sun sets peacefully,

wearily it shines between

loathsome pines whose bark lies

stripped away on the ground;

a willow curls around the

corner as if weeping,

its branches dangling just above

the murky waters like teardrops;

beside an oval pond, animals

scurry about in frantic disarray

squirrels, rabbits, and wild dogs

whose lingering sniffing upsets

the robins nesting in the trees

not so high above their heads;
behind an oval pond, a young boy

sits on a felled tree and dreams

about freshly plowed fields and

paths down towards the holler

like seats in an amphitheater

emptied because of the weather.

August 24, 1984

Untitled
the fading sun sparkles its last
reflection on the churning water
and we sit with outstretched legs
on the sand, watching its
colors fade out-of-sight;
gusts of wind chill our sunburned bodies
unknown people pass in front of
unspoken thoughts and we
look past them, hypnotized by the
beach's eerie romantic tranquility;
darkened waters announce the sun's
disappearance and the coastline
succumbs to a dark veil of night as
a necklace of pier lights shine on
reflective lines in the distance;
reclining on a sand blanket of emotions,
we steal glances at each other and our
smiles relay our  insecurities that we
surrendered to the last vestiges of the day.

August 20, 1984

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haunted by the fear that your

desire for me was allowed,

I wonder if you can settle

for two and if my jealousies

will discourage doubt as I

have tried lessening the anxiety

our love has caused and the

trust we must display even

though that trust has already

been dismantled from primary

obligations, our love is real;

what we have done to have each other,

will we do again to have another?

have we grown so bold in our claims

that we deny those who care for us?

amazed that we can physically

give to each other that which we

are likely never to experience,

leaves us vulnerable to our

own desires and so the hidden

passion we must find at home.

August 19, 1984

Untitled
deeply we inhale the freshness
of the evening rain, listening to
its clatter upon the tin roof,
hearing puddles enlarge on the
ground outside our window;
we touch softly as if to
reacquaint with your body
as it curls around mine
as if it were meant to order;
our backs face the window,
gentle breathing,
our rhythms soothes...
your tenderness surrounds me
like the soft underside of a feline;
your coolness presses against mine
until our silhouettes cast one shadow
and my senses relax with the
murmuring echos of raindrops.

August 17, 1984

Nineteen Eighty-Four Series V of XX

The Weather Changes Frequently Here

outside the rain falls quietly
and another day's sun is
quickly changed into a serene
daydream - a lifeless moment
where we can embrace,
forgetting the years that refined
who we are while our distance
was carefully guarded and
the rain brought us together
and the afternoon spent
in each other's arms
betrayed our senses...
we became drops of rain
of weathered memories.

September 26, 1984

Untitled

because I have faith in the words

of our ancestors, I am a farmer...

I trust the teachings of my father

who learned from his father

who worked the earth so it may

feed his family from her soil;

the heavens tell us when to plant and

the earth drinks the water brought to her;

true rows mark the path of the sun

and planting is celebrated when done;

the silent sounds of the earth are read

and we remember our father's words

for the joy of a plentiful harvest;

my village knows me and my toils

and from them I have respect and

my family walks with honor and

know they will be cared for if I die.

September 2, 1984

Untitled
as we toy with each other's affections
we fall prey to endless battles,
struggles of identity...
self-doubts...
self-incrimination...
and the feeling of worthlessness
lay waste to the boundless energy with
which we repel and float in a void of
unrealized expectations and
like a cat perched to pounce,
we announce our indifference
expecting a tolerant understanding
in lieu of a cooperative solution,
never giving up more than is received
yet believing more is
always offered than is returned;
we are nurtured by influences outside
the commitment in our gestures...
in our expressions...
and with our eyes, we follow each other's
reassuring patterns as if to set
free our renegade spirits;
a spiteful renunciation of our trust
that somehow got misplaced...
balancing desires...
internal withdrawals...
we fear only that which we have lost forever
with bleak contradictions of purpose
embody our repressed wills,
forcing us to a compromise neither wants
but accepted to salvage our survival.

September 1, 1984

Untitled

we stand in declining

shadows of each other's

thoughts,

emulating patterns,

and are influenced by

what we cannot share;

we encourage separate growth

separate bedrooms and

separate reinforcement;

a loss of constraint permits

our individual vitality

free to reach out to be molded,

manipulated and mishandled

outside our controlled values,

allowing strangers a rare

opportunity to unlock

our vanity and witness the

humility of buried

self-esteem and pride;

habitually, we demonstrate

a casual complacency

as we verify our partner's

Achilles' heels...

and remove self doubt

and hypocrisy

while illusions of reality

threaten our tame co-existence;

absolutely, we deplete trust

and in disbelief become alarmed

at its withering strength, vowed

as something sacredly special.

August 30, 1984

Poetry of the Rain

Ezio Bosso’s music about the poetry of the rain. From the rain of the eyes, to the memories of the summer rain, to the walls of rain where disappear. Supported by the images from the Joris Regen Masterpiece “Regen”. Ezio Bosso Piano, Giacomo Agazzini Violin, Relja lukic Cello. Live. From the Album: MUSIC FOR WEATHER ELEMENTS

Nineteen Eighty-Four Series IV of XX

Untitled
gentle kisses lightly touch
quietly explore
arouse the senses
melt into the delicate
inner softness;

two fingers respond mutually

not denied

uncontrolled

in complete harmony

with each other;

swirling wind outside

creeps inside and

to an upstairs room

and the two forms;

unaware

huddle closer

enveloped by the house

and its emptiness;

hands slowly feel their

partner's surface

press firmly

reassuringly;

his legs forces its way

between her legs

they pull together

tightly

as if the two interwoven

figures are one mound

of sensuous flesh

and the world outside

is obscured by the

totality of their involvement;

their passion

their longing

joined at the waist by

an exclusive desire,

                                                               ageless...

                                                      relentless...

                              forged and reforged

                      molded and shaped

                 lifeless in its

         unannounced attraction

yet burdened with the

love that last a lifetime;

consumed in a 

protective womb

sterile and void of reality

except the reality

of the moment and

the sweet smell of 

lovers who rest motionless...

in each other's arms

and gently release 

their spent passions

in quiet circles,

traced like ice skaters

on their partner's bodies

as it emerges and

returns to its own space.

November 7, 1984

Untitled

two stood together

motionless...

transfixed...

by each other's captivity;

his woman

her man

sealed forever in a

bond of secrecy,

a desire so compelling it

must often be denied;

her touch overcomes his foreboding

while his will shatters her

reality of love;

refusing to escape

each other's powers

they struggle against

love's demands

remaining willing

yet helpless...  caught in the

embrace of passion.

October 22, 1984

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the moon shines clear

in the valley and the

night air bestows a 

coolness on the shoulders

of the trees whose

leaves are beginning to

show their fall colors;

a stream from a nearby

pond meanders its way

towards another pond

whose layers reflect

the moonlight and the

pines along its banks

reach deep inside its

calmness as if bottomless;

nature transforms her days

into serene darkness as

her beauty caresses our

visual inspections of

her peacefulness, and we

shed countless fears,

walking upon her back or

gazing at her evenings.

October 7, 1984

Untitled

alluring memories we again encounter

noble efforts to regain our youth

nebulous and offered in timely fashion

internal struggles that strengthen wills

vital to our courage and patient determinations;

envelopes of emotions draped around us 

rescuing abandoned hopes and values

surreptitiously ignored while "rights"

surrendered along the way replace suspicion's

mistrust ruining the honor of longing

to be loved as we celebrate annually.

October 4, 1984

Good Morning Everyone...

Nineteen Eighty-Four Series III of XX

Untitled
carefully held in a memory
of unique sensations,
thoughtfully written in
short notes of apologies,
passed discreetly yet deliberately,
we intended to recapture the
unnecessary conveying of
intimate details of our secrets
while like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,
fit perfectly...
embracing...
we gave ourselves each other,
facing our own reality
and the trembling warmth
between us..
touching and making love
for the last time.

November 30, 1984

Untitled

unraveling ourselves in 

each other's fantasies, 

uninhibited and relentless,

we abandon despair and loneliness

seeking the satisfaction resurrected

by the brief sensation of our touch

and the mutual release of frustrations

exercised in harmony,

pure and sincere,

without remorse or

the benefit of doubt,

delicately shared like a gentle rain

falling onto the full harvest of

yellow and red leaves

scattered in random patterns

of unfulfilled dreams

and our own expressed love and

two words say what we feel

what we have shared

and what we must do while

we separately look to the memory

worthy of external captivity and

from whose reflected image we

remain in each other's souls.

November 20, 1984

Untitled

and maybe when our journey ends

our tears will no more prevail

for those who have struggled least

will be the most rewarded while

our pleasure was conceived long ago

in the knowledge it would soon be over;

the today's of our tomorrows came in

unexpected headline and Thursday's Column

spoke of common things most feared

that bridge the gap between ignorance

and insight...  and we, like Eighteenth

Century beggars are denied its

relevance and its existence...  and,

maybe when our journey ends 

somebody will light a candle for the

painter to capture our inheritance.

November 8, 1984

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