The morning came without promise,
A heaviness weighing on my heart
As the minutes lengthened upon the bed.
Motivation lost, frustration returned
At full strength from the day before.
The sigh of seasons escaping my lips
As I resigned myself to the pillows.
But then a soft sound tickled my ear,
A gentle bedside mewing sort of trill…
And looking over saw the green globes
Of the patient and insistent feline
That shares the shelter of my home.
For a second, my woes forgot to linger
And the beginnings of a smile unwound
The stubborn knots inside my chest.
Then looking away, annoyed by the
Sweetness of the interruption,
I willingly returned to my brooding.
But the feline trilled again, stretching
His white-gloved paw to my face,
Tugging the pillowy bedcovers with
Such benign insistence as a parent.
Refusing the request I hid beneath the layers,
Shutting out Aurora and her chirping fellows.
But the feline trilled again and,
Abandoning my sheets, leapt upon the desk.
I listened as he shuffled about,
Sliding keys and cards and books around.
My voice called out in warning
And he paused in his task, waiting.
But when I continued to hide in bed
He started again, working fervently now.
Again I called a warning.
His response silence… and then…
A pile of books hit the carpeted floor.
My hand reached the pillow
And launched it at the good feline
Who watched as it sailed right past him.
He mewed again, and I returned
To the covers… pillow-less.
One more time he tugged at the sheets,
Before choosing another possession of mine.
A set of keys this time, then a cup of coins.
The annoyance increased until finally,
He chose the harshest persuasion of all.
Carefully, he crept along the tabletop
placing a delicate white paw on
Matching shutters, pushing lightly.
The sun! Oh the wonderful, wretched sun!
Light! Not even the covers can save me now.
At last I rise, flying at the troublesome cat
Whose swift, practiced feet escape me.
He speeds through to the far end of home,
And crouches near the hearth,
His eyes bright with amusement and victory.
I'm laughing now as he takes off again,
Me following his progress until I have him.
His sweet voice trills playfully as he rolls,
Exposing the wide, gray-speckled belly,
And I attack!
My hand descends, fingers like claws,
And a noise escapes my throat.
Fur and fingers mesh as I madly rub his belly,
As some would with a beloved canine,
Playfully chastising him for drawing me from bed.
He purrs as I laugh and take him in my arms,
Burying my face in the warm, soft fur.
We sit like that for a while before he squirms away
And leads me to his empty food bowl,
Eyes joyful and expectant now.
As the pellets hit ceramic, I find myself at ease.
Whatever lingering self-pity is now gone,
And as I leave for daily duties,
He's there by the door, awaiting the
Routine stroke of the fur on his head.
Then when I return to home, tired
and deflated from the day, he is there to greet me,
weaving about my legs and mewing sweetly.
And in the evening, when phone calls are done
And dinner has been had, he settles upon
My small lap… his mass solid, warm and reassuring
Easing me to sleep with his deep purring…
Until morning comes once more
And it starts all over again.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
I'm walking on the clouds
as stars come and go--
morning crawling up behind
while dusk ever sets before.
the homeless eat their picket signs,
while the rich gorge on their gold.
I feel their voices and taste their words--
which are foreign to my ear.
Letters jump and dance before me--
mimes trapped in their own cages,
while the people drop and crawl,
afraid of the sun above.
How can they not see... their own souls?
Where has intuition fled, and compassion...
how has it been dismantled?
It all burns in a sudden ray of sun,
a blast of lightning.
It dies under the fist of atom explosion.
The first man. the first woman.
Life again. From the beginning?
What sweet fruit will save us now?
What sweet, rosy flesh will spare?
Of all its gifts-- intuition, instinct--
his light... our light.
His light alone... molded into skin.
Silver matter flow, mold-- enter me
and feed the cells he made.
My feet. His feet, fragile as they are
take me across the sand and into the sea,
where water turns to foam... and foam to cloud.
I wander the skies--
the lonely below once again searching.
Glitter on black velvet sings its lullabies
to weary children who dream
on concrete and pavement...
to they who wander the clouds,
following the morning behind me
as dusk follows them.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:43 AM UTC
You kept me up all night again.
I must be trying to keep you here for as long as I can after you've gone.
Most people would probably think, "it's not fair that I can't have you," but I don't think like that.
On the contrary, I still firmly believe that life IS fair... it just... doesn't always go according to how we plan.
If you forget me when you've gone, I won't be bitter.
I have no reason to be so.
You have no reason to remember me.
I never told you... I should tell you... that I... but I don't want to jinx myself... I don't want to jinx you.
Isn't it silly how I still believe in that jinx?
I want to tell you... but I'm not sure if I can.
I'm afraid that if I do, you'll be taken away.
For the short time that I dreamed last night, I imagined your return... that you would return because you missed me.
I dreamed that you would find me if I was gone from this place... that you would apear out of the blue... because people knew the secret between you and me.
I dreamed that when you found me, we shared a sound, sweet kiss... your strong hands at my hair...
or a hug that said the words that meant more than the ones we spoke...
and then for days after, we strolled the well-known paths together until you finally uttered the question I had been waiting for.
Then I'd say "yes" without hesitation and meet your mouth with my own...
Dreams.
What tricky things they can be.
There are some things I can't be certain of, but there are others I can...
The firmness of your gaze, the tilt of your smile, the sound of your voice and the sun in your kind eyes...
the strength of your back, the power of your spirit, the love in your heart for the work you do...
the peace in mine when I think of you...
My worth...
The beauty of my own heart when you look at me and speak to me.
I never thought my own heart would look like this, but through your gaze... I see...
I feel.
the world could vanish around me and I'd be happy if I spent my last moment in your presence.
You're probably awake by now... on your knees in prayer.
I prayed all night for you.
I'll pray every day.
When you've gone, I won't cry, but a million books in the world won't be able to express just how much I'll miss you.
When all of this is finished... will you remember me?
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
I can't see.
There is nothing to see
behind the blackness of my eyes.
I can hear...
hear the sound of the faraway sea...
the twitter of a bird
somewhere overhead
and a voice...
rumbling gently, soothingly beside me.
I can touch...
your hands, rough with callouses,
scarred with work;
the fabric of your cotton shirt
as it loosely hangs on your strong frame.
I can smell...
the rugged nearness of you,
the sweetness of the trees
and the coolness of the air.
I can taste...
the snowmelt on my tongue,
the remnants of honey from your lips.
Your hands touch my tired eyes...
and of a sudden
I can see.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:39 AM UTC
Once upon a time I dreamt
Where angels follow after,
Time and distance left unkempt,
with pealing bells of laughter—
Of foaming sea and strings of sand
--the footprints still remain--
From couples walking hand-in-hand
While watching sunlight wane…
Of roses, red, and dozens there
Sitting scattered by the door
Yet finely packaged with his care
The message they yet bore…
Of early mornings, wet with dew,
Strolling on a rugged path
Where others come and go but few
While birds sing in their bath…
Of warm and steady autumn rain
Falling down upon our heads
No earthly care for loss or gain
as Nature binds her threads.
I’ve dreamt and wished at night,
Heavy with the jasmine,
Of a lover’s grand delight
in finding amaranthine.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
The night is soft like cashmere
and dotted with glinting demigods --
all of them knowing
that it is you I think of.
The moon is taking her leave tonight,
so the stars are my confidants.
Beyond the consoling whispers
of the Sycamore and Birch,
aside from the embrace
of Mariah's fair arms,
I can hear them --
the voices of those night-sky nymphs
and know they can see your face.
So I ****** out my song to them
knowing they will sing you my words...
wherever you are.
The miles between us know not our feet,
the frothy gates of Triton's realm
do not know our names...
but the sky sees our aspirations,
knows our stories...
the stars sing the songs of each mortal life.
Now I ask them
to carry you my longings
and I hear my melody
echo among them as they sing it into your dreams.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
Aurora twitters with her fellows
on the other side of my wall,
madly welcoming the sun.
Light creeps in through the small
spaces of my shutters
touching my eyes ever so gently,
and I stir.
First a sigh, deep as canyons go,
rouses my mind to the morning...
then my feet move contentedly
against the sheets
and these lips curve softly
to a smile.
Lashes flutter briefly
against the self-inviting light
as the remains of
sweet dreams come softly
tumbling through my mind,
leaving traces of my
longings safe and secure
inside that quiet place.
I'll close the door to this room...
I'll seal the windows shut.
No one will ever see,
no one will ever know
the lovely secrets of my awakening.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:34 AM UTC
You may see a star or two
within this vibrant shell,
my sun shine bright, anew,
the laughter fill a hole.
See now upon my sleeve
the glistening moondusts wane.
What means by which they cleave?
What spirit do tides feign?
I sail a sea of calm, but
waters of the deep, they say,
do not profit from the balm
of strangers on their way.
What ease might come from Him?
From trav'ler drawing close--
more friend-- along the rim
of lonely's deep repose.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:34 AM UTC
His gait is like the sea,
a steady rise and fall,
when once he greeted me
last summer, I recall.
‘Twas once a fleeting spark
there ‘neath the willow boughs
where chimed the sassy lark
and sun allowed me drowse.
But nomad was he then,
and traveler still now--
for gone he was again
with no “I’ll see you” vow.
A fortnight passes thru
--no promise of his face--
and time is timed by two
when once more enters grace.
For Summer wind is odd,
and once again with it
Returns that fair façade--
The princely, I admit.
Greetings last mere moments,
I’m told they often do,
But in them remnants sleep
For future seconds new—
Rejoin the instants passed
when troubles seem to scorn
and obstacles steadfast
across your path adorn;
From moments such as these
much comfort can be drawn:
Mem’ries of beauties,
softest touches now gone.
For me, that one embrace,
The one from nomad, dear,
Of sweetest scents I trace
And ringing laughter hear—
No other pair of arms
could hold me closer still
no other voice thus warms
a deeper winter’s chill.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:32 AM UTC
She dips behind the mount
taunting with her song.
"Light fades quickly," she says.
"Yes or no?" Such a simple question.
She smiled at him,
her fiery lips kissing
the highest boughs.
It weighs in his pocket,
tugging at the heart
on his sleeve.
She knows his mind.
Dosing now, she watches
as glinting diamonds tell
the choices of eternity.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:31 AM UTC