i remember that first night
how desperately you craved
to feel my lips against yours.
how worried you were when i refrained
from surrendering to your deep inhalations.
thoughts of uncertainty clouded your confidence
while your sense of comfort waned and ebbed
as my will held like a cliffside
against the ocean of your lust.
let me calm your worried mind now darling
it was not for lack of desire
that i held my lips pursed.
it was not detachment
that held my hands shy
of a passionate embrace.
i was lost in the shear comfort
of your presence.
your warm hands on my chest
felt as though they had been there
my whole life.
the weight of your leg across my hips,
so familiar that i was left confused by
the brevity of our acquaintance compared
to the depth i could see so clearly
in your glistening eyes.
it was in adoration of this precious moment that
held me satiated.
it was this same feeling that held me in fear
that our first kiss would not be the
electric explosion of beginnings
that we would hope to fuel our infatuation,
but that you would feel dissatisfied by the same ease
and placidity i felt.
i kissed you
in that way i felt i had for years and
with that practiced knowing hand
i pulled your lips in close.
they sang a story so old and meaningful
that i found a joy akin to returning home.
and since then
every moment shared,
every touch experienced,
every kiss given and
every kiss received
is a small unravelling of a truth that
i had long since forgotten:
that home is where the heart is.
and you have mine
The Island Moorea,
In the heat, the sun,
The rhythm of my footfalls
crunching loose gravel road,
The swish of pack swaying
in consort to my measured pace.
Breeze pushing branches of Palm,
Ocean waves breeching shore line long.
Island vehicles passing, occupant's laughing,
a man laboring under large pack, alone walking,
Who could have been freely riding.
Something unthinkable to Island Folk,
in hot tropical places.
Passed along the way several humble homes,
Greetings exchanged with smiling people there.
Not long afterwards, new sound approaching,
crunching gravel, rolling up behind me.
A lovely young girl, perhaps still a teen,
long brown naked legs peddling a bike.
Hair jet black, long to her waist, wearing
a sarong, split up the side,
Shoulders bare and brown.
Dark eyes of wonder, sparkling of youth.
A radiant smile adorning her splendid face.
We went for a time at my even pace,
looking and smiling each in our place.
"Hello there" I said, she giggled, beamed
even bigger. Perfect teeth displayed.
"Why you walk?" She asked in puzzlement.
"To get to where I'm going". I replied
This response producing a pleasant laugh
from the girl. In which I too joined in.
"You go One Chicken?" She asked
I stopped then and turned to her.
"Where is One Chicken?" I questioned
with a grin.
She raised her graceful arm,
one finger pointing up the road.
"One Chicken there." she informed.
It was a store/bar, sort of place,
In the very midst of nowhere.
Indeed more than merely one chicken roamed,
Many chickens were and a pig or two, as well.
All mingling free and doing their thing.
We entered from out of the bright daylight,
into the deepest of darks,
Like in a movie theater you arriving late.
Eyes adjusting slowly to what lay ahead.
A few Island Beers later,
I had acquired several new friends,
The girl my invitation to the party of
already happy people a little drunk on beer.
The Music was mostly of French persuasion,
With a bit of Bob Dylan thrown in.
The Beatles also had a tune or two.
The Liverpool beat resounding down Tahiti way.
Before the light did fail, I shouldered my pack
and walked some distance from Chickens and Pigs.
Found the beach, hung my Hammock for the night.
Built a small fire and opened a can of Spam.
She appeared again about ten,
looking beautiful in the new moon light.
She had washed her hair,
still damp and smelled fresh of Lilacs,
Or some such aromatic scent.
We did not speak, no words were needed,
Made love on the sand, 'till the retreat of the
tide and sand crabs did come out, in their
eerie numbers, to eat what was at hand.
I suppose even us if we let them.
We retired then both to my hammock,
A pretty neat trick if you can swing it.
And we did.
She was so child like and yet,
very much a woman grown.
There was no pretense shown,
no false inhibitions rendered.
These were not limitations of her culture.
A people that live by their emotional impulses.
An open and free spirited people living
passionately within each minute.
It all felt more akin to a dream than real,
All around me there was beauty,
Loving and being loved without hurry,
Free of guilt or even a single expectation.
Living in that wondrous moment,
of uncomplicated human splendor.
Like some Garden of Eden surrender.
In the morning we swam in the sea,
frolicked like kids having a day at the beach.
Made love in the sand, I dozed in the sun.
Upon my awaking she was gone.
I waited an hour or two, packed up my camp,
shouldered my load and returned to the road.
A few minutes later, again I heard the now
familiar crunch of rubber tires,
rolling road surface and there she was,
a straw basket in her Bike's basket,
A huge smile on her unforgettable beautiful face.
We sat in a grove of trees,
among birds singing, insight of the sea,
Upon a Palm log and ate fresh bread and
fruit, drank strong black coffee (French Roast
I presume,) nibbling some marvelous cheese.
We tried to talk, but she understood little of
what I tried to say, my French was nearly
nonexistent, only adding to confusions sake .
She leaned her head on my shoulder,
the way lover's do and tenderly held
my hand within her two,
As if not wanting to let go,
Those gestures said all there was to say,
And we savored each silent moment.
We parted there, she on blue, rusty bike
and me on "shanks mare",
Off in two different directions,
Each out into the depths of our own lives,
Gone just like that. . . And yet,
Indelible, never to be forgotten or replaced.
Moorea do yet visit me, in dreams as real as can be. She never
grows old, nor does the beauty we shared for that one brief moment
in time immortal.
Someplace among the Islands of Tahiti there is a woman in her late fifties,
most likely a Mother, even by now a Grandmother. I hope she recalls as
fondly the American blond man with the big Orange Backpack, that in 1972
she meet upon the road, near "One Chicken" and loved freely and completely
for two days and a night, as that man does so fondly remember her.
I'm no poet, you all are poets. I'm just an old guy with memories and
little stories to tell. Thanks for letting me share.
Two rain drops
Landed on your
After a long time
They had gathered
To break free
And take release
Under the tender
On the way down
When lying next to you
You hold up my hand
Far above the earth
Of our bodies
As if it were all the
Stretching fingers of the stars
Into my hand you draw a moon
With the smooth tip of your finger
As if to tell me that all I do
Is caught and reflected
In the silver of your smile
When our abbs
And our bodies
Tight like fault
Lines before an earthquake
And we sweat boulders
Like all the mountains
That have ever fallen into
The ocean trying
To fill the waves
Each of these acts of devotion
Return our love back as sand
Washed up on a familiar shore
These tiny gifts I will gather
Until the wind
Decides it will no longer carry us
And the moon gives up
Her guarded distance
To come lay her face
Against the deep
A disturbance in the mirror
the sea a shattering gray
a sadness so heavy and unrelenting
never to go away
Running so fast, so fast
outrunning the past
Slammed into a blinding light, a brick wall
hopped aboard a train
take me far from this pain
the emotion swelled like a wave in the ocean
near-far, high-low, up above-down below
hope like feathers------easily carried away by the wind
buy I danced like fire and my voice was carried by the wind
I walked like summer and crashed like the ocean
Believe me, love, I never wanted to be left broken.
I give more than myself to you
on a small inexpensive platter
but please know,
it is all I have.
It is not the biggest or most luxurious,
and I realise it will not completely satisfy you,
and I am sorry,
but it is my everything that I give to you
and maybe you will see,
that it has meaning, it is significant,
even though it may not stand out.
For you see, all this time spent alone
results in an ocean of self pity that runs in place of blood
but it is good,
for I can empty myself at times
and pour everything I have over you,
and maybe, you will let yourself taste love.
I’m rummaging through the sounder parts
Of my brain trying to find
The important parts of
Where I touched you and where I felt you
How I touched you and how I felt you
Like old photos
I’m trying to configure every speck
Of color in your eyes that I saw when you looked
Into the sunset through the window –
There were blues and greens
And everything in between
When I roll over
To lie face down in bed
My sheets smell like the warm parts of your neck
So I reach down to grab your hand
And lace our fingers together
Like grape vines
But all I end up with
Is a fistful of duvet
This morning I woke up with the echoing
Of your voice calling me “honey”
Tonight I will fall asleep with the echoing
Of your voice saying my name
In the morning I will warm up
With a cup of coffee
And with the image in my head
Of how bright your eyes become
And wide your smile gets
When you talk about the ocean
And how the barnacles would get stuck to your feet
And how beautiful
The colors of the sunset
Looked against the evening sea
I don't know if I'm more afraid of the future or the past.
I don't capitalize "I" if I'm feeling low.
When I call myself the ocean,
it means I'm crying.
Half my phrases are made up
about things I see
but don't understand.
I'm a jungle-gym.
Thoughts climb me
pull out my hair
Nestle in my ear drum
Sing until my fair skin
shines in snow.
I don't know why you still matter.
Why gravity hasn't taken you
smashed you on the side of its bowl
served you to your mother.
I don't know why
I still know what your door
sounds like when its opened
or slammed shut.
I'm scared because I couldn't handle it last year.
I'm scared because
the Christmas tree in the school's court yard
looks just like the one from my hospital window
I'm scared that you're dying.
I'm scared that I lost so many
that I dyed my hair purple
and yet you still don't see me.
I'm scared because September
lives in Seattle
and he's the only one okay with
me not shaving my legs.
it feels as though
everything is miles away
I've never been a runner
and I don't know how to drive a car
I don't know how I'll get there.
I'm afraid of trust.
I'm afraid to trust myself.
What if tall windows aren't enough?
Will the library be big enough to hide in?
Will my favorite color stay green?
What if I lose myself?
What if I don't go to India?
If I cried. Perhaps my tears could fill the Ocean
instead my fingers peck at this keyboard and forms a Poem
I guess they've never had someone whose love was so damn Potent.
How did we find each other in a world full of Commotion...
© ST 2013
On the first day I noticed nothing but your hair.
How it caught the sunlight and reflected it tenfold.
How it swayed around your neck.
On the second day I noticed nothing but your lips.
How they individually felt between my teeth.
How they left marks upon my neck and thighs.
On the third day I noticed nothing but your mouth.
How the words flowed out, powerful as an ocean.
How your teeth would bite me ear, drawing blood.
On the fourth day I noticed nothing but your hands.
How they held mine, always eager to calm them.
How they pulled the needle out of your arm, quivering.
On the fifth day I noticed nothing but your legs.
How they powerfully allowed you to stride great lengths.
How they were ever in motion, even in your deepest parts of sleep.
On the day sixth I noticed nothing but collarbones.
How I wanted nothing more but to crawl in to them and rest.
How I could gently suck on them, causing your whole body to palpitate.
On the seventh day and for years since I have noticed nothing but each individual hair on your body.
They each have a name, Kassandra, Jared, Peter, Ryan, Falyn, Jacob, Hammed, Caroline, Audrey, Yo-Landi, Diane, Khajjitt, Daralyn, forever and ever and ever.
On the last day I noticed how I never noticed your eyes.
But you were gone,
and I could not tell you what color they are.
i'd never thought that I would lose my virginity on a small couch in my friends living room.
but then again.
i'm not one to think about things, just rush into them like a stubborn headed hammer, breaking things along the way.
id never thought that I would run out of the house with purple, naked feet crushing the ice underneath me like small bones, in the middle of a black December silence.
and it was nice seeing a 2 am silhouette at the end of my road, cigarette in hand like always, your breath a steady stream of white, drowning me in an ocean of nicotine.
and I was high and you were drunk,
and I slipped and kissed your wine tinted lips,
and our skin made a forest fire, as we tangled ourselves in the crackle of a wood burning stove,
and the silent tread of snow on the sleeping town.