I am ready for the storm.

Though yesterday
still holds sweet sway,
like the flat-bottomed clouds
that pulled away
the deep blue day,

those soft fluffy
cumulous have gone gray,
with wisping whirlwinds
sweeping up dust.

Dark shadow’s overcast
preparing for water’s
vicious blasting bath
as severe thunderstorms
turn a turquoise day
into an early night.

I need
my vitamin
b-12
musician
nutrition
to energize me
while I sit and listen.

Art is as essential,
as amminos
for growing
musical
muscles.

I need
my poetry
energy,
to keep moving
and informing
every forming
bit of my being.

If I hope to succeed
in whatever I endeavor
I pursue,
other people’s artistry
is the nourishment,
I need to do
what I want to do.

Time carves us all from the inside,
people recognize faces
but do not realize no one
is who they were the day before.
Every loss, every victory, chipping pieces off
like tiny stones quietly slipping over the edge.
Sometimes I want to wear my growth
Like a new dress.
Sometimes I want to share my scars
Like a name tag,
have you call me by my real name,
let the world love me without judgement.
No one escapes pain, so what’s the point in small talk.
We all share a bed with the shape of everything we’ve ever lost,
so I don’t want to talk about the weather.

You are soft sprinkles
of rain dropping on
my hot tin skin,
that sweet drumming
as I long to let
you fall in,
not minding one bit
if in loving you
I am giving up
all that I ever
hoped I be.

You are the instrumental
that I never heard,
that brings with it
my own unspoken words,
tiny syllables and brand new
ideas I long to share with
all who wouldn’t mind
hearing it,

as I go to sleep
letting go of reality
you are the verse of poetry
whispered in dreams
and sought in waking,
even though I know
it brings with it
a certain aching.
I have forgotten it
but still long to recall
the whole poem,
heartbreak and all.

You are soft sprinkles
of rain dropping on
my hot tin skin,
that sweet drumming
as I long to let
you fall in,
not minding one bit
if in loving you
I am giving up
all that I ever
hoped I be.

You are the instrumental
that I never heard,
that brings with it
my own unspoken words,
tiny syllables and brand new
ideas I long to share with
all who wouldn’t mind
hearing it,

as I go to sleep
letting go of reality
you are the verse of poetry
whispered in dreams
and sought in waking,
even though I know
it brings with it
a certain aching.
I have forgotten it
but still long to recall
the whole poem,
heartbreak and all.

Elliott is 10 today, a decade passed like the blink of an eye, yet I feel like I have loved him forever, time is funny like that. He’s closer to adult now than baby on my lap; a thought too achy to process. His toy box sits untouched most days, sometimes I’ll see him pick up an action figure he used to love, and there will be a slight spark in his eye, but it’s gone as fast as it comes. From his room, I can hear him laughing while watching cartoons. I cling to these fleeting moments of his childhood, imprint the sound of his wild boy laugh, commit it to memory, and understand that time only passes this fast when you love this hard. I am happy to love you so, my dear, let the years pass, fast as they may.

T’was
a melody of
sweet love,

a poem written
by the smitten,

words weaved
for all to see
such awesome
symmetry,

but it ran on
too long,
and I got
lost.

Distracted,
my eyes
averted to
brighter skies,
and the melancholy
of his poetry
faded from my mind.

T’was as verse
and several stanza
too long,
so I have moved on
and am currently
enjoying the poetry
of nature’s glowing
glory.

Bread, avoacado,
bacon, lettuce, tomato.
Turkey, and the bread again.