Your arms reach out for me, still unsure of the touch.
Your eyes search mine for confirmation,
could there  be  love this much.
Every day of your being has made it harder to be apart.
Not one to fall so easily yet I have surrendered to you my heart.
I make no false predictions, no blind eye to what lays beyond
I promise only my committment to be beside you until you say Be gone.
My strength will be your vessel. My love your guiding star.
My patience there beside you.My wisdom to  to steer from wrong.
Again your arms reach out to hold me, this time I  guide them in.
It is a new found feeling,  Love..... let the new journey begin.



I dedicate this poem to my new granddaughter  Sophie. Sep 24 2010.

There's a woman inside of me
that feels the things I cannot.

I know this because,
one day,
I felt her screaming.
Shaking the ceiling beams
of my body.

Then I listened.
I could hear her weeping
when she thought I was asleep,
and her tears stained my pillow.

I've never seen her.
Her self is forever covered
by the confines of my own soul.

I wish to set her free
but  my voice hurts her ears
too much to ask how.

Sometimes,
when I hear you laugh,
I can almost pick out a familiar bell,
one note familiar, in that chord
from your throat.

I imagine her face to be yours,
but I guess I won't know
until I learn to speak softly.

While trying to sleep
I have become aware
that the more familiar
my environment
the more hostile
my action.
So don't come too close.

The poster above my bed
asks my Why?
as I try to sleep.
It gives me something to do
while i fall asleep

Why do I neglect
my loves
why do I neglect?
why do familiar
objects of fancy
lose my respect?
Why do I neglect?

still trying to sleep,
her face flashing
behind my eyes,
Why did I do those drugs?
Did you do them too?
then maybe you know
why i feel so good.
why i feel so bad.
why i feel at all.

Listening
through to
the other side of the window
pane.
The wind is a beast
scared as I but outside
making the least
of his mist and leaves hide.

Oh, if i were the wind
Oh, to be about
to be limbless
to be thoughtless
to be free.

Why do I share these
insomniac's musings?
I guess
The eye inside my head
likes to be looked at

Only now do I sleep,
with wish-clouded vision.
this is my demon
called Indecision.

I wish I were the wind,
to be a beast free,
I wish I were the wind,
I wish I wasn't me.

Why?
the poster above my bed
still asks.

Why do I feel so good?
Why do I feel so bad?
Why do I feel at all?

when i sat next to you
your smell gently fingered my nose
with nauseating familiarity

You were wearing the same shirt
that you were wearing
the last time we shared words
and a sitting space

You didn't notice me at first
you were in your textbook
navigating numbers beyond my comprehension
you were in your music box
the one i paid for
only because i lost the other one in the first place

I admired you as you wrote down
what was correct
I was smiling
with a nauseating familiarity

You saw me
and the smile flew away
as did the past i wish i was in

we talked for a while
and that was it
and we went home
and we went to sleep

we were i
and we were you
but we're not anymore

In the sky tonight hangs a perfect Half-Moon,
when I looked up above, I thought about you,
in your paint-stained clothes and all your artwork, too,
memories of our friendship flourished and bloomed.

With your hands so hearty and your talents unbound,
I saw close up how you artistry astounds,
I remembered our fights, disagreements and tears,
but we always remained close friends over the years.

I sure miss our talks about art over wine,
snacking on crackers and cheese every time,
yet the thing I treasure most about you, my friend,
is the respect and love that will never end.
___

See Nolan's toilet here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Duchamp-new-contemporary-art.html

See Nolan in his paint-stained clothes here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Graffiti-MSK-nolan-painting.html

See all the amazing artwork of Nolan Haan here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/
__
The "Half-Moon Inn" is the historic building/art gallery I lived in that Nolan had restored with the help of his partner-at-arms, Mitchell.

Read my blog story for all the exciting details and breath-taking photos of The Half Moon Inn and it's lush, tropical gardens!
http://dee-light-full.blogspot.com/

Her face, on it’s own, is just one of thousands past and thousands to come…
But the way she portrays it…leaves a certain residue behind that I am betting she doesn’t want swept up and examined.
That’s where I come in. I’m her janitor/detective. I’d say custodian/investigator but **** political correctness. I'm in charge of gathering the crumbs of the cookies she only half finishes, and I try to determine the consistency of each and every one.
Why?
Because she bakes the best ******* cookies this side of the ******* sun, that’s why…Because she puts so much time and effort into perfecting her recipe and because she spends equally as much keeping it a secret. The mystery adds something to the taste.
But she’s overconfident. She hopes too much that everyone will eat every scrap of her devil’s dozen batches of heaven…that they will leave nothing uneaten in their never-ending feast of enlightenment.

Not I.
No Sir! No cookies for this ******* ******’s little ****** mouth. God knows I don’t deserve the sweetness.
So I’m always starving because in MY world, she’s the only cook, the only waitress, and the only ******* farmer left.


…But I still get to be the janitor. I know volunteer work is self-destructive but-  \
But maybe one day she’ll decide…
”Hey, this mindless drone slave…he’s a **** good mindless drone slave,”  and then maybe even later she’ll see I have a mind after all, even though it is always set on the same thing every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every-
well I can’t go that far in writing but I can see that far with my own eyes and I’ll tell ya…years, decades, centuries, millennia, infinity…………..ain’t got **** on this mind o’ mine, cuz the concepts are in there, but then again so is she, so why can’t I have what’s inside of me without having to rip myself apart every night looking for the quickest route to it?
Should I snap the neck clean off and go downward through the rest of this mess?
Or should I cut through the waist right in the middle and spread this search party out?
Or should I just go straight through the left side of my chest, into the hornet’s nest, guns a’ blazing?

But there’s no point in getting it all over with now. I’ve got time…all of it.
Cuz I have seen a glimpse of infinity when I looked through the telescope into the lens of a microscope with a slide inserted holding that one special little crumb I found in the folds of my shirt after the night we slept together, and I think I’ve got just enough of a hunch to say confidently that it is her secret ingredient…infinity.
It’s what everyone wants from her…and it’s the only thing I would take from her…and it’s the difference.

It’s what I see in her face.
It’s her eyes.
It’s her
It’s me.

It’s absolutely…
Nothing.




We love it.

I wanted the colors back,
so I stole them from the one person
I swore I'd never look at again.

I wanted the feeling back,
so I shared my body with the one person
I swore to never touch again.

The lack of sleep was worth it,
but sitting in the sun alone for an hour
made me rethink my position in life.

I'd like to say I'm not embarrassed,
and that I'm not in love,
but honesty is important,
even if lying has gotten me this far.

There's a lot of regrets hidden in the stars,
but you can't expect the moon to be as bright as the sun.

The moon's not hot like the sun,
it's cold,
as cold as winter skin.

At least we made each other happy,
if only for a little while.

I stopped feeling anything almost a week ago,
you said that was normal for someone like me who always bites her nails
who doesn't like to shut up when people tell her to,
but I feel like you were just trying to make me feel something,
or maybe just feel better.
I still bite my nails so nothing's changed.

you eat equations as quick as you eat watermelon
and spit out the answers like seeds into neat rows and shapes,
trying to impress me because you think you can,
but I'm watching your sister and she's picking her nose
and she still looks like an angel.
you're trying too hard to get me to love you,
that's not how it works.

when I touch you I can hear your breathing;
it's disgusting.
(hold something in for once,
your thoughts, your breath, your laughter, your answers)
and when I woke up yesterday, you were silent.
I danced a little bit, until I thought you would wake up soon.
I wanted you to try and excuse your actions.

but you didn't wake up until noon and by then I was thirsty
and I was too gentle.
you told me that you felt something last night,
felt like I still loved you underneath my sarcastic skin
and you tried to prove it by touching me.
you only proved that you're gloriously stupid.