SO MUCH

so much depends
upon

your bright red mouth
& white white teeth

as our lips meet

& our eyes glaze over

with love as bright
as rainwater

Invisible breath
sometimes in the colder months
she wears a white coat

On my kitchen shelf
happy little saucepan birds
nest inside each other

CRASHING IN THE CABBAGE AND KALE

It was a "May Day
May Day!" in 1963

I was crashing
in the cabbage and kale.

The sky as blue
as a picture postcard  

of a summer
that could never end.

I went to ground in
a veritable vegetable forest.

Somewhere a boy was
crying as if

his whole world
was ending.

I a paper aeroplane
long longed for
saved up for

and lost
on its maiden flight.

We never ever were
to see each other again.

For him there would be
other paper planes

coming gaudy out of
a kitschy wrapper.

And in time
making one

for his own little boy
when the time came.

But for me he was
my only little boy.

I lay there in the sun.
I lay there in the rain.

Until a magpie
feathered its nest with me

and once again the sky
was as blue

as the first day
I flew.

!YOU AGAIN!

Your summer dress
comes to rest

upon the balcony

hung up on a thin
wire hanger

(an exotic bird)        

it cries for your body
weeps at being

parted from you
& your curves

a pool of tears
collects at its hem

as longingly it dreams of
the touch of your skin

asleep now
in the sun.

Later that evening
frightened by the approaching storm

it tries to escape
the clamour of its hanger

almost flies off
beyond the reach of my hands

run away to sea
seeking for further horizons.

I calm it
tame its panic

fold it tenderly

carry it like a dreaming
child

lay it to rest
at the foot of the bed

where all night long it sleeps
at your feet

awaiting your footstep

the sunshine
of being

you
again

SHADOWS OF OUR FORMER SELVES

April in Paris
John Donne has indigestion
pines for words from the Isle of Wight

"...whether I be
increased by a child or
diminished by the loss of a wife..."

his baby is born
dead
his wife lives

words...words
these creatures
made of ink

he begins his Anniversaries
Elizabeth Drury becomes a symbol
for the death of youth and beauty

Ben Johnson scorns
such
extreme lamentation

"If it had been written of
the ****** Mary
...it had been something!"

"...she, she is dead; she's dead:
how wan a ghost
this our world is..."

"the imputation of having said
so much
...to say as well as I could...

an Emperor is
about to be
elected

the busy old sun
rests for a moment in
an empty room

*

Being in Paris 'round about the time John Donne was ( but not the same century)and seeing these graffiti people on a wall across from Le Lapin Agile in Montmartre reminded me of his circumstances at the time and what was going on around him in his world.

Second guessing my goodbyes
cursed us back in February
but now it is July.
Found myself hot and running
full sprint, shirt unbuttoned
back to you,
you are something.
Something to chase
and something to hold
a flame worth protecting
a memory, not yet too old.

It's been 5 years
but I still wish you'd touch me again
bring life back to my skin.
My eyes will grow wide like a deer's
blood rush to my ears!
For you I am prey,
and I hope you know, my dear
no one has ever seen me that way
never been permitted to stay
and to smell my humbling fear.