Weave for me a web;
and share the captured

your lies are sticky
Gummed with poison

Lets sit down and eat;
unwrap the victims

To see without those darkened eyes, fresh
Believing in yourself, without strings
Look at the seas and find yourself
Building, creating, and doing
This is life

You can do what you believe
Not stay back, barely holding on
Feel the wind fill your sails
The fresh salt spray on your face
Taste that freedom on your lips

The allure of the sea, of flying
To go where you wish, defy the winds
All your needs met in a moment
The adrenalin of the wind in your face
Tossing your hair, chance belief

Being who you are
No one can say you are not
Either a hunter of men
Or the artist of beauty
Be that, that no one steal away

Theirs are not the wind, never to fly
To taste the sea, sail beyond the horizon
Tread not lightly on this earth
Rely on yourself, unlike minded
Laugh, with abandon, they'll see you mad

And you laugh that much harder
You'll step forth over that cliff
They shy back from
Open your wings
Glide

A book,
just pages
on leaves, whitened-
river washed,
dried then wettened again;
tears of words
torn from a heart-
his then mine, and mine again.

A book
of poems, written verse,
la poema-
the saddest lines of all,
but not all, no,
not all; not always.

Pages of Odes;
oh, the odes
to fruit,
to wine
and song
of the sea and mermaids;
the pages sing his songs.

A book
of heights
and stone,
he took us there-
a shovel in the sand;
of monuments
and ships
of drunken men and love
once loved,
and loved again.

Words
on silken thighs,
*******
and a red dress-
on a dark night
the stars and moon did shine.

A garden-
he planted a *****
into our hearts;
his dog,
it died
simply
loved too much-
Ai.

A book,
just a book
of pages,
of poems
by my bed-
dog-eared,
much read and loved;
his words ending
the saddest lines of all.

r ~ 8/15/14

~

The Giraffe Cries

Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour

Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar

Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations

The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises

It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts

Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths

The train departs…the giraffe cries