I’m going through withdrawals. How awful it is to have to keep yourself from speaking to someone because you know if they wanted to speak to you, they would. I’m so deeply rooted in the sand that no waves that crash on land could overturn me. Your footprints are leading away from me, you are moving further and further down the shoreline, your outline growing smaller, smaller, smaller, blending in with the horizon where the sun is setting in lovely shades of red. I do not fear that you will not be loved, because even now I see how the birds adoringly sing your name. I fear the drops of saltwater that fall down my face each solemn night will one day be able to collect into ocean of their own. I fear the birds will be able to love you better than I have. I fear that this titanic amount of heaviness weighing on my heart will be ever-present. Your name is written in the clouds, and I cannot escape it, for no matter how far I run, I can never escape the sky. When I look up, there it is and so are you.

Write on the bathroom wall this:  


Diligence is probably slaying rebellion

Dreaming comes out of an atomic bomb

Your girlfriends in a gang that’s lead by prostitutes  

Cavemen getting punched in the face by men  

Werewolves developing a crush on skinheads  

Soldiers experimenting with martyrs  

Your nextdoor neighbor pretending not to know a *****  

A gypsy writing love letters to a villain  

A guy you once dated driving away from a distant memory  

Your mother at a funeral with an executioner

Mind control freak making eye-contact in an elevator with a flight of birds  

Gleefully bulldozing gigantic flaming embalmers underground  

Ferociously inspiring detail-oriented museums in the dark  

Painfully sorting through stainless steel students backwards  

Electronically sorting monophonic apparitions in the shadows  

Faithfully inhaling Armenian scorpions at tea time  

Briskly hovering above loud controlled substances eaten by America and spat out  

    Dream about this next time you sleep:  

Quizzically exquisite keyholes inside a sunken ship  

Wearily alcoholic skeletons invading our love  

Sharing sternly precious lithographs with Charles Manson  

Adoringly high-pitched frescos out on the streets  

Wildly crunchy affairs with reckless abandoned hope  

Her boyish handymen is like Mona Lisa without her brows

Sensually cuddling big pistols  

The AntiChrist finds the cure for cancer in the local pet shop

Mary Magdalene can sometimes lead to your soul’s desire  

*** can (and often does) lead to motherhood  

Absolutism has never touched cooperation  

The Tao Te Ching manifested properly may ease the destructiveness of Christ  

******* is hindered by believing in motherhood  

Nature encourages rebirth and recycled courage  

Ashtanga Yoga is more important than victory  

An inspired mind isn’t always The Bible  

Energy must always conquer evolution  

*** is a decent alternative to nightmares wouldn’t you agree?  

Electricity is a manifestation of mercy and Tesla  

Pleasure feeds on Gandhi’s sweat ridden bald head  

Candidly breaking dormitories brimming with joy  

Barely used unstable translators outside the lines  

Enjoying calm lavish casino hotels with the electric eager manicurists of tomorrow  

A janitor burying a troop of apes while nature contributes to death and new yesterday’s  

The unknowable comes out of knowledge  

A ***** mind finds the cure for ignorance in patience and the aloha spirit

Education contains traces of drugs and alcohol and also combats drugs and alcohol  

Satan always enjoys Richard Dawkins.

No matter how many times I'm called beautiful
or pretty, of gorgeous, or any other comment,
I will always cry when I hear the name
You try to call me adoringly...

It is dead.
I bury it here
In the words.
I write its tombstone.

TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )

She is teaching Timothy
to read

even though she
can't read herself.

Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words

with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story

off by heart she
could read it in the dark.

She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause

by rote
making great efforts

to teach Timothy
the puppy

but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in

the un-thrown stick.

Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.

"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.

Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.

"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.

"...upon a time
a long long time

...ago!"

Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress

with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it

travels over the words
the story's journey.

"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"

"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature

throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.

Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of

a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )

chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird

brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.

Her voice, sweeter than buttercream
- Salty words won’t pucker her song,
Honey bees follow her adoringly -
The kindest person ever to come along

Her legs, thick with gorgeous muscle
- A tornado couldn't knock her down,
Tree trunks turn green with jealousy -
She's the strongest person in town

Her eyes, alight with warm welcome
- a blackout wouldn't dim her glow,
Lesser stars shrink away in envy -
She's the friendliest person to know

She’ll protect anyone who needs it,
Forgive the most egregious slight
Faced with anger, she won't feed it
Full of grace, she’s everything right

Sadly, he won’t go the way of Earl
But who wouldn’t cheer his self-demise
He who siphoned power, stifled song
And stole the laughter from her eyes

Somehow, she’s still tornado strong
The bees know she’ll sing once more
Her trust might need a little time but
When she’s ready, glowing, she’ll soar

NCL August 2019

I can’t help but keep my hands off you.
You are the most beautiful being on this earth.
You are imperfectly perfect.
Every aspect of you -
your light brown, curly locks,
the rough stubble framing those gorgeously rose-toned lips,
that infectious laugh of yours,
those hypnotizing eyes that I could stare into for hours,
the taste of your supple lips…
So please excuse me for not being able to control myself around you.
I’m helplessly drawn to you.
There’s not a single second that passes,
when I don’t wish that -
I could trace your skin with my fingertips,
have your lips pressed against mine,
or to feel the warmth of your tight embrace.
And when I can’t,
I find myself staring at you,
adoringly admiring one of God’s most precious creations.

Do you...

Imagine my ****** expressions that match the nuances in my voice
Tell me of all the attention you get from other boys

Take deep trembling breaths just to hold back the tears
Feel the angry tides as you swallow your fears

Clutch your pillow tight and pretend that it's me
Let it soak up the drops as you sob quietly

Look at the moon adoringly as I do
Knowing that I see the same one too

Replay the words you heard me say
Read my words over and over, to get through your day

Cringe at the idea that we both have to hide
When really we want to spread our wings and glide

Sigh with despair when it all seems to fall apart
Pick on life's lashing when they start to smart

Picture me before sleep in bed as you lay
Let me run till slumber takes you away

Well up every time you miss
Close your eyes shut every time we kiss

Pace up and down as we share days' events
Try to be strong hearing each others' laments

Cover your face when you cry?
Grieve over time spent apart that fly on by

Take breaths in between words or in between sentences
Sigh deeply poring over our wild pretences

Blush red when sweet nothings you hear
Bite your lip when you need me near

Sing in your heart when you hear my voice
Dance secretly with me as your choice

Always think of different ways to sweep me off my feet
Rush of blood with the quickening of your heartbeat

Imagine the way I am as I do you
Get breathless when you say I love you

Feel a stab when we argue about nothing
Wasted words when much more needed saying

Weaken in the knees when for you I'd sing
Find catching yourself to stop yourself from buckling

Sit on the bathroom floor,
Only to let the shower pour
As you hug your knees to your chest
Assuring yourself that it's all for the best

Wish for a second just so you could see
With naked eyes and not imaginatively

Do you?
Because I do...

They say something is truly computerized
yes or no? yes or no ?
which one? which one?

BETTER throw a dice if you wanna know
but no
it is a BIG YES of course!
that’s what they should be saying - truly

THEY.

WE -
however -

we don’t have a proof
that it truly is so
and we never may have
and actually we don’t even need to spend our time to find out
if they are right or wrong
It is more important to understand why we discuss this matter here now
and we can explain the reasons in two basic steps:

1- believe not  and do not become a blind believer  -
to whoever - to whatever- no matter who - no matter what -
there is no one who can tell you the truth
but you -
you may not need to like it all - but
that’s always for a good reason -
if you make it good

2- understand what is of essence now - thus  - the thing- maybe a poem- maybe a result of a competition - maybe this - maybe that -
why that specific thing comes to my/your attention now

So
it does not matter
if it is computerized or not -
what matters is
I see it and it communicates with me
and with my senses
and is at my attention

it manifests itself to me  here now where I truly am

does not matter how it manifests - but it matters that it manifests

and the answer to why
is by my experience creating an action -

Only what I can neutrally and  non-judgmentally witness I can purely experience  -

and purity
has surpassed frights
and purity
has no addictions
and purity
does not swing from moon to sun
but remains centralized-
and purity
needs no temporary replacement that serves to escape from one pain- discomfort to another
but purity is ultimate self - is itself by itself
therefore what is presented to me here now is not other than what my consciousness is manifesting as -

it is not a test -because  we have passed all the tests -
there is no teacher other than the self-
it is such that we are moving on -
on a path of knowing of our own true nature

And now
that ‘s why!
that’s why!

There is a dove
in love with me

comes to see me daily
and listens to my songs

it ain’t matter if it’s not the same dove
although I know it is
not because it looks alike
but because I know it is
and still it ain’t matter
if it’s not the same dove

because there is a dove
in love with me
comes to see me daily
and listens to my songs
adoringly

This started                                         dec 2009/ a lifetime ago/ shortly after the titanic sank
And when I first read it I               liked it/ hated it/ didn’t get it
But after all this                                 time/ mental torture/ self-indulgence
I can’t help but                                   think/ worry/ be extremely concerned
That you may be slightly              shut off/ un-hinged/ locked in a secure unit
How long will this poem                haunt me/ entertain me/ **** me off  
Will it still be here at                       christmas 2010/ christmas 2011/ the second coming
And how many times do you       tweet this poem/ take your medication/ look at it adoringly
To keep it                                            where it belongs/ as the thorn in my side/ on a poetry list for ever                            
Did you know that you have      no comments/ 2 comments/ 101 comments
And you have replied to               all of them/ 1 of them/ none of them
Which could be viewed as           bashful/ egotistical/ down right ******* rude
For the sake of                                  me/ the human race/ your psychiatrist
Make it stop                                       please/ pretty please/ pretty ******* please with cherries on

(delete as appropriate, preferably the poem!)

For it is this love, that I feel,
Sleepless nights, restless days, letting play the reel
Of film that shows how my life does look and feel.

Oh for when I see this form Adonis may it not be similar to,
But Aphrodite has something up her sleeve, a thing or two
About how this network of unrequited love will just end up sad and blue.

I do wish you the best of luck in everything you love,
Sadly I can't wish you to love me, to the heavens above.
It is now that I should try to let go of this dove.

To this dove that I loved endearingly,
To this dove that was close to me adoringly,
To this dove that I will bid farewell agonizingly.

I just keep on holding on
To this love that will dawn upon
Me the finality of this feeling that will be gone.

But it's you why I keep on hoping
That our love is just in the making.
I hope I won't be forever longing.

This miraculous journey we call life,
has many strands braided together,
never forget what is expected from
the travelling monk, walking in front,
who'll break his walk to play with
stray street pups, eat, drink and sup
with men and women, of many temperaments,
who'd invite him to sit with them, even not knowing
who he is, or what mission moves him
through these dusty roads. There is something
that makes everyone not take eyes off him,
they'd say that, when he goes back on his way.
On the waves of emotions, he partake, he moves
like a paper boat navigated,  by the speed
it all create, yet unaffected, except the empathy he keeps in his heart.

Hearing  stories of this pilgrim  in rapt attention
creating worlds fantastic inside,
learning  things one never imagined before,
he travels with the wandering monk in sight.
What is more wondrous, once he thought
than  seeing one's starry eyed lover's excitement,
showing a jewel she picked
from the riverbed of her short life
in a blessed moment.
She put it adoringly in to his mind,
a gleaming ornament that'd adorn him
though time would change that too.

Every thing experienced in this journey
makes one, the words of the monk prompt to act
and see the aftermath, take in the taste,
be it sweet or bitter or both,
odors and smells, the feel of things
a complex web, the map of inner life.

Never should one fail, to lend ears
to the tales of wandering monk
he is wisdom's child, patience solidified,
every tale has its color, smell and texture,
nature spoke, he experienced,
ages in muted tones speak
to him in the voice of the  wandering monk

"This is our little secret my dear."
The little girl looks up at her mother and smiles adoringly
"I won't tell if you won't."*

(a.d)

TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )

She is teaching Timothy
to read

even though she
can't read herself.

Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words

with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story

off by heart she
could read it in the dark.

She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause

by rote
making great efforts

to teach Timothy
the puppy

but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in

the un-thrown stick.

Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.

"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.

Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.

"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.

"...upon a time
a long long time

...ago!"

Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress

with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it

travels over the words
the story's journey.

"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"

"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature

throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.

Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of

a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )

chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird

brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.

I can’t help wondering
if he showed up suddenly
and walked right up to me
would I have anything to say?

Would he look on adoringly
when it ended so horribly?
Or is it only me
left feeling this way?

A sunlit narrow path cleaving  
       overgrown green hedge, both ways,
such exhilarating surprises, it too can offer,
        but would one expect, in the first place?

On my track, I stand arrested hold that flower,
                that made my heart jump, in my front,
felt being washed inside out
                 by a kind wave, transformed.

The flower, romancing the sun
         still is on it's branch,alive
didn't feel the temptation
        to pluck it like many times before.

Even the beauty's name is unknown to me,
     just another hibiscus,amidst her  cousins,
"I love the one next to her, the purple one"
    said a female voice, a wayfarer like me.

Standing by me, she adoringly looked at her favorite,
     I had no hesitation to accept it, like mine.
no ranking makes sense, each has
      own quicksilver tongue, if you 'd listen.

"Look at you! how pleased you look
    I love the folks, that adore flowers!"
she sounded like a skylark, hands of
  evening sun caressed her, we are kindred spirits.

"You have wide eyes like girls,
    eyes seeking beauty reflect it"
we held hands like childhood friends,
   long lost, looked at each other's eyes.

Isn't it the feeling one try to capture and define,
       when trying to say what poetry makes to happen?
it's there, a tangible feeling, if you know what it means,
   on our separate ways we went, gifting what to keep for ever.

I woke up thinking about her. Couldn't wait for her to arrive. She texted saying she was outside. I brought her in. We sat on the sofa. We talked. I kissed her. She kissed me back. We made out some more, I got handsy, she said no. I stopped. We talked. We kissed again. She laid down with her back on the sofa, and I on top of her. We made out some more, she said no. I stopped. I stood up and just looked at her. "What do you want me to do" she asked. "I don't want you to do anything" I replied. She looked so torn apart. She wanted to **** me so badly but she knew it would only make the pain worse. A fire lit up inside her. She stood up, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. She had never pressed her body against me so hard before. She reached down for my **** and started rubbing. Suddenly, what I had been craving all morning, and was about to receive, was making me feel sick inside. But it didn't matter because I kissed her back and held her even tighter. I picked her up. She wrapped her legs around me. I carried her into the bedroom, our lips still tightly locked together. I threw her down on the bed. She took off her top. I took mine off. She took off her shorts. I took mine off. I kissed her hard and removed her underwear. She removed mine. I pressed my naked body on top of her naked body. No foreplay, no ******. I penetrated her. She moaned, as did I. Back and forth I began to ******. I felt so ***** but I couldn't stop. I noticed tears in her eyes. That made me stop. I looked at her. She said to me through quivering lips "You know I like you a lot, right?". I kept silent, just staring at her. Tears streamed down my eyes. I like this girl, but not as much as she likes me. She loves me. She absolutely adores me. I could never reciprocate the love she has for me. I pulled out and laid beside her, with my arms around her body. We were still. We were silent. I caressed her skin and hair. I held her hands. Tears were still streaming from my eyes. We had known each other for 10 months. I am heartless. She turned to face me. Wiped the tears from my eyes. I embraced her. I held her tight. She deserves so much better. This twisted relationship between us must stop. We did everything couples did. But I never called her my girlfriend. I never told anyone about her. I never took a picture with her. Not even one. 10 months. Not even one. She put up with so much of my *******. She fought so hard. She looked so adorable in my arms. I couldn't help myself. I kissed her. She kissed me back. I told her to get on top. She rode me like never before. She bounced like a toddler on a trampoline for the first time. She ****** the **** out of me. I sat up with her still on top of me, picked her up and spun us around so that now she lay on her back while I was on top. I pumped away. We kissed passionately. Nearly blew my load so I put on a ******. I didn't trust myself to pull out in time. I ****** her and then laid beside her again. We talked. We talked about us. I started crying again. It would have made the strangest movie scene had it been filmed. We just laid there for a while. Just when she was about to leave, we made love again. We got dressed. We hugged. Then she left.

I miss her already. I miss her so much. I miss the way she looks at me. I miss her excitement when she sees me. I miss how she grabs my arm so lovingly. I miss how she kisses me so adoringly.

When I tell You "*******" - I'm offering everything that I am.

Sometimes in flippant defiance.
Sometimes in submission.
Sometimes in love and appreciation.
Adoringly, exasperatedly, imploringly.

Body, soul, mind, heart, inclusive

******* very much.
It's my kind of declaration.

He was a thief
and he did it ‘all the time’
that stealing
he used to call
enlightening
for the others in loss
so they spiritually grow

he was not only a thief
but also a liar
–towards himself-
what’s worse?

always another
chic - trendy -
authentic - to go -
oriental -  family
fast – arty -
road - five-star
four-calendar  
cheap an deli
and so many
with branded words
dictionaries fall futile to describe
types of restaurants where
he ate from
without a check
a humble gift from my guru
for my accomplishments
he said –
his guru to whom he in percentages fed back
otherwise he would be for good dead
more dead than the dead
because it is beyond the scope
of this story but just know that
he already was dead -
my delicious soul food
he cunningly said.

he was not only a thief and a liar
but also stupid
what’s worse?

blinded by his tall victory
planning the future only
a robot army
that shall **** humanity
for he could be the only one on earth
the one who was made of human wanted that!
unable to comprehend
with his victorious- photoshopped head
always looking forward
as if more ahead
than anyone ahead
far  far beyond clouds of
oil stick slime and dirt
so that the
impure material would
fill his brainless head
for a temporary while
oh my that pretty skull
implanted with sunny hair and glowing starry eye
had all the luxurious capacity of space
a palace for the richest he says
I live in
on the last floor of the highest building
ever made on the planet
always busy baptizing
with cosmetics
branded as pure mountain water and Angelica White herb
he switches off his room size TV and looks down affectionately
(where in reality he overlooks) and self adoringly shakes in triumph
‘I see all humanity
they bug and harvest their own Ignis Fatuus
No I need no TV
this is my true warranty
I am the preacher
I am reborn’.

He was not only a thief and a liar and stupid
but also ignorant
what’s worse?

as he continued to praise his ‘what could have been’s
he forgot the ‘what is’
having numbed the essence he
was unable to feel the growing green grass
under his foot soles

nature as compassionate as always
tries to nurture his lost soul
even for him,
by building a shelter
where he could also grow a brain
in meditation
long term
may/could/would he also have then
a true home
built on the mountain of truth

Oh the nature so pure, beautiful  and naive
continued to plan hand in hand
with a hard-working bumblebee
so he could learn to be free
without  depending on a guru
or on casual vampiric activity

so
what nature does?

she builds a home for him
even adds a pretty angel in
that could be an ever after
sweetheart for him.

he was not only a thief and a liar and stupid and ignorant
but also blind
what’s worse?

so blind that
upon seeing the angel
(his twin of opposite nature)
he did not recognize her
and one night he broke in his own house
plundered everything that has been gifted for him
and dropped the key  as always but
this time inside
where she lived
in the hearts of the hearts
on top of the mountains of truth
on a clearing
beyond the clouds of love
where their house was built

and as usual he escaped
far far away
until he consumed
all that he had
politely ****** and laughed
******* his fantasies in the lands beyond the oily custard
custard distilled by seedless smoke clouds  made of evil he knew so well
until he was left with one
white flower with living roots

Who are you !
What are you !
he whined and cried in terror and fear
hearing his own true voice for the first time
after ages and after ******* generations’ gifts

here is the flower’s reply:

I am you
so
be me
plant me
so
you can see
break the blasphemy
and
if you can
become
you again
and grow
truthfully
you will
reach to
where
she leaves
lifetimes long
lifetimes after
when
she sees
you or of you
she will recognize
you
as she truly will kiss
by her kiss
you shall at once
be blessed
freed
convert
to a prince
of her
dreams
and
always
remember
to keep
her
dream alive
as
she
is
made
of
love
otherwise
you
and all
of you
shall
eternally
die.

‘What? Becoming a flower! That’s the worst’ he replied
and dropped his only living copy of the key.

Every body's ******* about one-day-outta-the-year,
but I like to be your little princess for a night
when you open up all my doors,
pair the steak with the exact right bottle of wine
and we finish off the entire thing.
Chocolate mousse, made with love,
an entire pile of romantic movies to pick from
while you stare at me adoringly across the
immaculate
candle lit
apartment that's finally clean! (just for me)
Then Brazilian jazz in a bubble bath,
(you thought of every little thing)
I lean back into you, feeling your lips rest on my hairline.
You said we should do this more often.
Then I gave you a Santa bubble beard
we took pictures
and we laughed hysterically in the light of a candle.
It's how I know, before and after it all that
**** it
(I love you.)
The trick is slipping it into conversation.

we were never introduced.
but i watched you.
beautifully.
adoringly.
in my dreams vividly.

ah.
i observed you.
like the way you drink your
coffee.
the way you sipped.
i noticed every bit of it.
how you enjoyed it.
how you stirred clockwise
with a spoon.
and like crazy, going zigzag,
with a stirrer.
its like an addiction.
my addiction?
still you.

you see i am no stalker.
im an observer.
maybe an admirer.
a lover? im not sure.
but this distance,
this rather short gap of
affection you own
but is unnoticed.
if only i can spit it out
and let it crawl towards you.
but i find it gross.
hahaha.
plain stupid.

you own me.
with every stare,
unintentional i know,
with luscious smiles,
i melt.
i get unmolded.
i morphed into something
really unknown.
oh you my trickster.
how you do that i do not know.

i hope i get the chance to
let you know.
to hold your hand,
even if it's just from a
friendly shake.
oh the joy it would bring.
days of uninterrupted daydreams and
nights of being wishful.

how you make me write
from poetry, to stories.
how you wanna make me
carve your name on
a tree.
cliche.
but still i wish you know.
how i dreamed of flying kites together.
my way of trying to reach heaven
with you. :)

but you are just a dream.
and i am still a dreamer.
i am still dreaming.
of you.
and me.
but not of you and me.
oh mournful reality.

-end-

I've mastered the art of waiting.
To be honest, I never realized how much it came in handy, how piecing together every string of the tapestry slowly makes for a better picture in the end.
But to lovingly finger every strand, to stroke the silk audacity of each fiber of the thousands that make up only half of what it is I wish for is to be in an eternal chokehold formed by the knots of the very same cotton I once adoringly began to weave together.
No one ever said waiting was easy, but getting your three piece suit back from the tailor only to find a knot in the first row of stitches can be rather depressing. For the first mistakes will always affect the later ones- you have to unravel all the came after it to fix it.
So why is waiting so hard?
While I covet the strings that make your life whole, mine swing quietly from the branches of a forlorn willow tree, caressed only by the lonely breeze, while yours are wound up within the picture of another's life story.
This is a picture I will never behold in a perfect light- how can an audience see what the master artist truly intended to be seen? They don't know her thoughts, her passions, her history. They aren't aware of her lusts, thirsts, and secrets that hide between the strands of cotton twisted together so tightly that no one can see within. It's the viewpoint that makes the piece art.
And of course it's art. She's a part of it, the lifeblood of you will- she glows, beating the most beautiful heartbeat into the fabric, making it ripple with excitement and pain and longing all at the same time.
And I can admire from far.
As I've said, I've become a master at waiting.
I can sit and watch her tangle her being within someone else's and know that if I ever get a chance to weave my story within hers, I'll have a hell of a lot of untangling and unknotting to do. And even still, the threads that make her her will still be slightly frayed. The more use, the more fray appears, until we either and disentigrate into a powder that was once the pride and joy of a queen who loved her tapestries with all her heart.
But I am a master at waiting.
I will redye the threads that need it, let them air out if necessary, before even attempting to draw out a pattern in which to use them with the threads of my own I seldom share. I will wait as long as need be, for to let those threads be a part of my life's tapestry is to let a heartbeat pound my fabric into submission, into happiness.
She once said she'd never let me feel unhappy, because happiness is important, even though it might take forever to arrive, and that she was going to make it her duty to speed its journey on its way to me.
But I'm a master at waiting.

I was just the summer to you.
Just the easy bloom and
the easy blue and
easy heat.
I was only the flowers that
opened to you
as you walked, a light sundress,
delicately, tenderly,
the grace of your thighs
warmly anticipating
the tender youth full
brightening day.
I was
the colors sidling nicely  
in flitting spots along
the periphery of living life
like lavender, cerise, and
cerulean smiles
blushing,
the dripping
geraniums and chamomile
sprinkling you with
fondness, that
dote upon you
adoringly
and would even
ingratiate themselves for you.
I was the kiss only of
a sensible sunlight, the
embrace of a
quick breeze, and
your pleasant thought
of your legs
knee-deep in your ocean’s
cupped hands
to cool for a day
your flushed skin
in turquoise, swirling coolly
salt fresh.

Will someone be
your four seasons ever?
Will someone be
the cold silence too,
of a winter that can keep you
staring lucid and glazed by
a fire?
Will someone be
the frost
that nips your skin to remind you of
the fire
in your own skin?
Will someone ever be
the color of fallen
leaves spread over a
hidden field like
a hidden retreat
of dreaming flowers
before waking
ever?
Or the snow
before it releases
itself
as moving water
resting
upon the yearning bud
before it
releases from itself
promise

Prisms encased bare branches.
Tiny rainbows refracted on the asphalt.
Glass trees
and the golden pink sky
flying by.

You left.
You left me with the sun.
Then it left me too
so I fell as darkness fell.
My hands folded on my chest,
my body straight,
in the casket of my bed, veiled
with warm covers, I slept.

Rapid eyes reconstructed the sun,
painting on my eyelids.
Soft shaded grass beneath my soles,
from the shadow of my house,
That eclipsed the setting sun.
I made my way next door,
with bare feet, lead by my shadow.

I felt your presence.
Gran,
I felt your ghost in my dream.

You sat inside the kitchen,
center, by the table
looking adoringly at the family.
Everyone was laughing and talking.
They seemed to glow around you.

Mom tended to all the guests,
while my aunt made coffee.
There was little food,
little physical evidence of celebration.
Just the smell
of the bitter black beverage percolating,
and kids like firefly
lights, appearing and disappearing
from view as they played
between our legs.

I didn’t know how to say “bye” then,
with your frail chest heaving
and plastic tubes tangled around you.
Silence griped my throat
strangling my “Goodbye,
Gran”.

But, now, you were at the kitchen table,
from unknown horizons,
hugging me,
to give back the time
to speak more loudly without words
what I couldn’t before.

You waited till I had let you go
before making your rounds
to end the last farewell.

I followed you out
as you made your way through the garage
heading west past the blue stones
and the wall of evergreen.
I stopped you before you left the shade
into the golden pink light,
that fiery light,
and gave you another long hug,
and a kiss to take with you
as you evaporated in the glare.

You left as you did before,
Gran,
with the sun.

A dusty beam of light peeked
through a crack in the blinds
waking me;
my cheeks stuck to the wet pillow.
Gran, you always had a way of reminding me to wash my sheets.

Adoringly applauding
Arrogant acrobatic aristocratic,
Bourgeois bad-boys.
Braving boredom and bills,
Caught controlling criminal
Circles like a circus.
Daring to do, and to deceive
Desperate damsels in distress,
Each accepting enemies.
Everyone explaining elements
From the final fights
Frought with frustration.

Getting groovy- grown old
Garnering glittering gold.
Holidaying in Getafé,
Holding onto hands of harlots,
Implying impotence and insolence,
Ignorant in their ilk.
Jovially joking,
Jesting about juvenile jealousies;
"I kissed Katie Kurtis"
Knowingly comments one kid.

Left to love and lose,
Like Caesar and his laurels,
Making music and malice,
Manifesting manic malpractices.
Natalie narrates,
"Not now, not ever".
Obvious obstacles avoided,
Objectifying objects that are obsolete.
Praying, pondering over pros,
False prophets photographed as they pose.

Qualifying quangos,
Quantitative quelling of queries,
Raising riots and runctions,
Realising regal and royal remedies,
Celebrating summer solstice,
Solitude is bliss.
Try tampering telephones
To transcribe threat of treason,
Unreal unilateral promises
Unwound by underlying urchins.
Vowing to voice very real values,
Vox pop video views.
Wearing water coloured wellingtons,
Wondering over wax cuneiform works.

Xylophone playing exemplary,
Xavier exists in the imaginary.
Yearly yearning for you,
You're yoked as Gonne with Yeats
(unequally)
Zeroing in on Ritz and Rubble,
Rubble the Zealots want to reign.

The Letters. (edit | delete)
by Kerrie Sursely

Hey,
I just want to say thank you!
I was just enjoying your poem.
It made me remember your character, and I love that!
I also want to say thank you for seeing something great in me when I couldn't.
I've worked really hard and will be moving in a month to Georgia to start my doctorate in physical therapy.
And on my journey I will take a part of me you have nourished into existence, a part of me I like very much!
Thank you,
Dylan.

Dear Kerrie,
Today I started packing to leave for Georgia. I stored a lot of things I can't take with me in my parents house. It was when I finished storing these things that I looked at them one last time, and I wondered how familiar they will be when I return. These objects will collect dust and stay the same until I return. But unlike them, we will age, and we will grow. I'm very busy lately, but get ahold of me before I leave if it interests you. I'll make time for you.
Always,
Dylan.

Dear Dylan,
Someone very special to me
(you Dylan) posted a poem on his Facebook a few years back.
By chance I stumbled upon it, fell in love with it, and knew it would be something I would carry with me through life.
Since then I have found myself sending that poem to many people who've sought my advice. In hopes it reaches a place deep in their hearts the way it had mine!
Just as quickly as I had begun to read that poem I could tell it was different, it cought my heart's attention! So, I continued to read it.
It was right before I had finished reading the third line when I realized that poem was going to change my life and...it did!
My dearest Dylan, you unknowingly gave me a gift that day!
I have cherished that poem from that moment and everyday there after!
I would love to give back to you that same gift as you leave one life to embark upon another carrying those thoughts and wonders you've posted today with you. Here is that poem...

One Art.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
Even losing you. Your joking voice, your gesture that I love.
I shouldn't have lied.
It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master, though it may look like I am a disaster.
(Written by, Elizabeth Bishop).

Dylan, just know this! You are without a doubt going to lose many things in life that will break your heart to lose! Especially when you can't find the answers as to why it is you've lost them. Sadly, that's just life!
Most never recover from their loses, only a few do.
That poem saved a part of me back then Dylan and I have only you to thank from the bottom of my heart for that!

Those things you are packing today,
wondering if they will be just as familiar to you when you return, will be! You will see them and instantly feel the same as you had when you left them. That's called HOME!

Today, I found myself starring adoringly at my children as they spent time with each other. Time we are not fortunate enough to spend often. Each of them were happy and laughing. That very moment I also noticed the room became silent, but silent only to me. I swear, I could hear my own memories of how my divorce shattered their lives, mine too! The way it felt back then was a feeling of loss. I became lost so my children became lost without reason or an answer why. I had nowhere to turn for help and even if I had; I would have never uttered a word for fear someone would think I were weak or a failure. I was left broken as a woman, broken as a mother, and no direction on how to find my way out. All I had left were two things, a silver lining I had found within my own tears, "No one will ever steal my smile again!" and what that poem had taught me as I read it, "It's okay to lose things just so long as we don't lose ourselves along the way"!
I vowed right then and there I would never be the victim! I would survive!
I found my strength knowing my children would learn how to be happy and how to survive "life" through my own actions! Then, slowly I was drawn out of my private thoughts by the sound of one of my twin daughters whom back then were only four years old and now are eleven, singing along to a song that filled the room. She sang, "Next to you. There is no other place I'd rather be!" I felt myself smiling ear to ear, feeling proud for overcoming life, finding ourselves again, and most importantly finding "home" within each other again!
That poem you posted that day Dylan was just a poem to you but it was something that became larger than life to me!
It gave back to my children the things they never deserved to lose!
I held myself deep and tight in that moment, proud of myself and proud of my children, cherishing every second of it...IT FELT AMAZING!

Just as that moment passed another thought had came crashing through my mind. Something so easy, something that I should have known all along, and something I will also remember forever along with that poem,
"Life is too amazing to not live amazing!"
Remember that Dylan.
Live your life amazingly!
Every time a moment happens to me the way it had just then, I remember that poem and without fail,
I remember you!
I will forever think of you thanking you silently from my heart!

You are one of the most amazing human beings I have ever been blessed to meet!

In part, let me leave you with one last thought.
Think of how many things that has happened throughout your life. From childhood until today. Think of how many people have come and gone and all of the time those people or moments have consumed from your life. Think of all of those memories you've kept from all of those people. The kind of memories you'll never forget, the kind you know you'll remember when you're at your last moments here on earth. Think of the ones that make you smile maybe even laugh a little. How many do you have? Probably not many, at best maybe just a handful.
I'm asking you this in hopes your answer helps you to really encompass and feel in your heart what I am about to tell you next...
I have just a few of those kinds of memories. Out of those few, TWO ARE OF YOU! Considering how short our time as coworkers and friends really was I find that pretty remarkable if you ask me!

Not only has your poem found a home within my heart but there is a memory of you that I just love, one I'm not soon to forget!
How could I ever forget the look on your face as you eagerly and excitedly clapped your hands so loudly as I slowly placed a plate of three little tacos in front of you.
The happiness you found in the simplicity of a small plate of tacos will forever be etched into my mind leaving me in small fits of laughter!
That probably doesn't sound very funny or something worth mentioning no less worth remembering to anyone else, and it has yet to make whomever I tell that story to laugh. But you laughed as I reminded you of it before, I laughed too! Oh well, it's my memory and I simply adore it just as I adore you!

God made you perfectly different than everyone else Dylan! You are special and unique! Don't quiet your mouth in hopes to hold back the very humor that makes you, you!
Make the world laugh. Hell, make the world cry too! Just be you!

I wish you well Dylan and a life filled with nothing short of what you have gifted me....AMAZING!!!
Take special care to everyone and everything you collect along the way and I promise the world will take care of you!

Till our paths cross again some day...
All of my love, Kerrie!

Silver lily of the pond,
drunk with the wine of moonshine,
went to sleep, with a smile on her face
still dreaming moon's embrace.

The breeze that tickled leaves,
made them laugh, without control
now whispers, hush hush,
A lovelorn cloud with her transparent lace,
wipes the moon's misty face.

Down below, in an unseen corner,
concealing her doleful heart's desires,
a faint  shadow of the night light,
adoringly looks at the moon,
her beloved she silently desires.
*But this love, tragic and futile,
is not known even to the moon

the words I have,
express more than a thousand poems could,
but I can't string them together,
and you know I would.

the love I have,
is seldom felt,
but I'm so careful with yours,
clutching each passion,
you've adoringly dealt.

the peace I have,
I want to spread,
and you're the start,
my world is a patch work,
and you're every thread.

the freedom I have,
as I drift and I find,
but to you, from now until forever.
I will always bind.