Oh to be
The skin exposed
Near cashmere coveringsIts defiant dare
Can draw the stare
And tempt the mind of thingsBut that which waits
Beneath the warmth
And silently bids “come”Is the skin
I wish to wear;
For whose dream-er I drum
Tag Archives: Poetry
Good Traveller
I know a mantra or maybe a motto
Said in silence or sometimes aloud
Reminding what’s real and what isn’t whose
Sad at the start
The center convicting
By the end nothing’s certain except that all’s OK
Then begins the search for the voice that sounds the same as the one that I’d warned ought be a good traveller
And it becomes clear
It’s been there for some time on errands and visits and telling it’s truths and the truth
Now what say you voice of what’s real and what’s whose and is all in truth OK?
Author Where Are You
Do I overdo it
You must understand that these pages give me great reason to sigh
Both for the comfort that they speak and the words of pain and fulfillment not yet written
I often talk in epic terms and I am most sincere in my belief
That this book needs your ranting and conviction and trouble so pick up your pen
The Pieces
Nameless, faceless and unable to throw away pieces
Of paper
To do so would be to discard one’s self
And the world doesn’t need anymore sadness
Keep them
The pieces
Keep them for dangerous notes, ideas of intrigue and little love messages
Out of the box and into my heart for safekeeping
Them
The pieces
And your name and that face
Permanent Petals
It mocks me
That second sun that I know I saw when I was just a bit younger
I may have been mistaken
About its distance away or whether I revolve around it
Or it around me or we around each other
But I saw it and its steady song is seared to my secret spot
Listen as I add my own verses, feel as I forgive myself and watch as I wear
What it loves
Whisper Why
We’ve just the one cape
Between the two of us
And it seems to be all we need
I remember the first time I noticed
That you’d wrapped it around me
And all this time later
I’m still stunned by the heroic tenderness of that act
A million times since
I’ve sensed to reach over and cover your back and strengthen you
I envision
We’ll eventually
Don the thing together as one
As fly off in search of
So many other shoulders to soothe
The Machine and The Table
Would you be mad
If I gave that chair over there
-the one in front of the old machine-
An inviting, gentle kick
Would things go awry
If I set my feet, then my dinner
Upon it and asked
That it pretend it’s a table
Beneath The Pale
I play games with eyes
I can’t apologize or say why
In Peek-A-Boo, I play into
Your green or blue or grey eyes
I challenge you to I Spy
Defiant, Captain, May I?
On cue, out come your Hi games
Your Sideways Hello-Bye games
The send-the-soul-mile-high games
The make them laugh, then cry games
I play, no matter -You’re a star
I’m a lover of all you are
And all these games aren’t really games
They’re ways to keep the time
‘Til you and I look eye to eye
Beneath the pale
And from on high
Promise hello
As I rocked him
All we want
for the ones we love
is for the rock that knocks
them from their tree
to be Ordained
and fit perfectly
in their palm
as they climb their way back up.
May it be just so
for any and all
who hear our prayer.
Silk Or Cinnamon
I understand the search
The take-aim at the unknown for the purpose of purpose and peace
Back up to the moment when it slipped from our skin and we continued along, with barely a downward glance
Feel from afar that moment we made the choice
To compromise
To acquiesce
To call our own another’s yes
And be resolved
That unless there’s silk or cinnamon involved
To never slip again
