love
without it a we cannot live
but love...
four letters,
one syllable,
a world of meaning.

love,
it can be no more simple than two children sitting on a bench
but o the complications,
be they numerous or scarce
act as simply the repair of bone, further reinforcing it,
and allowing strength for the future.

but love is not merely the bone of the life it permeates.
it is the blood,
the flesh,
the life and the soul.
without it i cannot live..

you are my sunshine
my only
sunshine
you make me
happy
when skies are
gray

you’ll never know,
dear
how much I love
you

please

don’t take your
love away

i'm going to die here, i know i will,
they change their scope of helping me,
every time i slide farther down the hill,
"you can have this pill at a certain time,"
"NO! Wait! We've changed our mind,"
"you can have it at this new time, how kind!"
"just make sure there's someone on who can tell the time.."

and if i lay here waiting, for what i may or may not get,
my hands will slowly tremble and my mind so deeply frets,
all alone in this wrinkled bed clothes, no one sees me yet,
but now the nurses have come to me with a little more regret:
"the doctor says you'll now have to wait 7 more hours for relief,
it seems he doesn't like being awaken at nighttime when he sleeps."

so, i get to feel my tears build up behind my bloodshot eyes,
no one is here at all to help me understand just why.
you should see me now alone trying so hard now not to cry,
all i feel is stunned, cold shock and this feeling that i will die
--i'm going to die here, bit by bit, inside out and all alone,
i don't know what to do or say, or how to make last atone,
for all i've done in my life, that has brought me to this place,
to compose this death-wish poem to read as tear-drops paint my face.

but, for now with nothing else left to do in my hospice room,
i do the last thing that i can do the best, just write and wait for doom.

is there anyone out there?
help, help, help me, i beg and try to plead!
will anyone please come here,
hold and hug me in my need?

i'm  going to die here,
and i'll be all by myself,
left alone like a broken knick-knack
on a dusty shelf.
___

just now
I remembered
why I like
writing

times now
are so intrusive

everybody knows
but I’ve got nothing
to hide

there’s no effort
in being myself

but then the poem comes along
the person who really wants to
know what I think

everybody else,
they just want the dirt,
the scandal, the drama,
they don’t want the truth
unless it gives them five
minutes of entertainment
and a charred husk of a
person to mock after their
done

but the poem,
you that wonderful
person,
comes up to me and
says:
“I’m all ears”

so I tell her,
tell her my thoughts,
good and bad,
the truth, the lies,
the questions, the doubts
and she listens
but very seldom
does she answer
in her own voice

no,
she prefers to answer in silence
finding that I will solve my own
crisis more often than not

and that’s why I like her,
she is wise without ever
saying anything, and each
day we talk a little bit seeps
into me with the more words
I bring into the world

Can I come to you as I am,
in secret-
brimming with the need to be held?
Can I lay hot whispers on your skin
then taste how they make you feel?
Can I show you how to touch me,
how hard to press?
If I cry
can I hide salty tears
in the soft curve of your neck?
Can I bite, ever so gently,
before I scream?
Can I be your lover,
without you loving me?
Can I, please?

in the night
I see
her

touching me
hugging me
kissing me

and then she asks
“do you love
me?”

and in the night
I have the confidence
to say yes
as I reach down
with a smile
for another
kiss

but then as our lips touch
the dream breaks
and I am left dazed
in the dark
of my
bed room

I look over at the pillow
I clutch between my arms
and sigh

I close my eyes again
hoping for the dream
to return

They left you on a shelf
Beneath the bricks and a cloudy sky
As we waited for your date with a field of grass.
The gentleman who dressed you was nice enough
And he rolled you out when I arrived to say “Good-bye”.
You rested in the center of the room
As I recalled the plastic flowers
On our dining room table years ago.
All of us plus Pops and Nana too
Thanking God for all His gifts
And the Sunday meals you made.

And this as well.
On a beautiful summer day
You put on a white blouse and skirt
And took me to the blueberry fields.
You laughed as I pretended to take
A broken drum
Out the door for the berries.
Then you sang a song just for us
As cool breezes charmed my senses
While goodness found mercy
Next to a stream and gave a little boy
A picture that would last until now.

This morning I went to Starbucks
After watching the river at dawn,
Immersed in making photos with pastel shades of sky
And bushes that seemed blue in the early morning air.
I ordered coffee
To awaken my frozen limbs
And a blueberry scone.
The berries are sweet.
I find them more delicious
Than chocolate
Or wine.

the cigarette
of our pent-up passion
in your mouth
is the only light
in this dark place
the world
has forced us
into

as you slink down to me
somehow seeing
through shroud of black
your cigarette illuminates
a knowing smirk
upon the red lips
of your face

those lips tantalize me
making requests
I can’t hope to fulfill
and begging questions
I refuse to answer

I cannot see your eyes
but I know the future
they see

that cigarette burns in the black
teaching me the meaning of love

as you crawl forward,
awaiting the final pounce,
I know that your cigarette
will fall to the ground
and like our pent-up passion
it will turn the room to fire
and the world will soon
catch too

rumbling thunder in the background
I type away for my own sanity’s sake

the day winds down faster every day
what day is the one I can enjoy forever