I wish I could say...
  that I don't believe in love
  that I don't believe in truth
  that I don't believe in you

Life would seem less futile somehow
   but also...less beautiful

on the crowded quai of inception
   gilded minutes ornately revolve
time is measured in tranches of soul
   transporting moments of his essence

never versed in the outside world
   an innocent daughter of imagination
boarding a train of transfixed reverie
   her departure held fast in sistine release

such a private exhibition on public display
   their affection left open to interpretation
a tearfully expressive and inspired farewell
   within a shrine devoted to the art of the muse

Please don't take me for granite,
     despite my sometimes polished surface.
My strength isn't a constant.
I must bend to the pressures
     of sorrow and loss.

Please don't take me for granite,
     I am not cold to the touch.
I am not resistant to the
     stains of memory.
Granted, we both have failing points.

Tarot toting tinker
    let's have another round
my future's in the balance
    lay yet another down

Never had much luck at cards
   even less so at l'amour
give a wandering fool direction
   high priestess, I kneel before

Your caravan will travel on
   as I seek the royal road
my chariot is torn asunder
   pray deal me a lighter load

occurring slowly, imperceptibly
efficacy being subtly reduced
no longer radiating as it once had
decaying in all that matters

life awaiting reconception
metamorphosis to wholeness
but transition is rarely painless
its passage dark and damp

anxious waking in predawn gloom
curled within the womb of familiar
under a fraying comforter of security
worn even too thin for reality veiling

cutting the cord to the past is crucial
mindfully maintaining nurturing ties
a healthy present breathes its own air
into a future released from half-life

Going once...going twice...
Sold!...to the lowest bidder.

(Hmmm...next time I'm trying craigslist.)

Imprinting herself around me
   a tenderly etched embrace
Integrity of heart and soul
   intact, time shan't erase

A scarab if a beetle
   a nova if a star
An amulet of conviction
   pulsing light from afar

My hand is open to her
   my life freely given
To be loved simply by loving
   ancient wisdom recently rewritten

harvest hearth softly glowing
stone cold beneath weary feet
to winter between drafty walls
to recall what it is to feel

diminished window of light
door shut against inclemency
to slumber and dream without
to lose and find self within

time is ripe for apparitions
so unexpectedly haunting
cloaked in familiarity
heartflutteringly intrusive

daydreams are her elixir
scent of tea, turf, baked porter
dusted in peat ash patina
awakening dormant senses

...an invitation to a nice, soft night

Budapest Utca; Rainy Evening
...were Caillebotte a Hungarian

notes of ginger and honey
savory **** of cabernet
improvisational watercolors
harmonious star ascending

if only time knew when to stop
when enough was perfect
heartbreak would be extinct
intimacy...infinite

limbs extended in surrender
slowly sapping expectation
humbled by the loss of leaves
casted to the fate of winds

moss casually draping down
bunting to the veranda below
naturally setting the stage
a balmy night's curtain call

perfume of coronated lime
headily rising to a salsa beat
the rhythm of a porch swing
rocking vaguely to memories

on a branch the bird alights
free to love and to be loved
conducting energy of promise
awakening roots to the fall

Liberty perched on a pedestal
balancing progress and evil
Holding high the palm of peace
over those who hold it so dear

But peace comes dropping too slowly
with all due respect to you, William
An unsettled and urgent promise
cloistered within vows of possibility

Willing victim of romantic culture
betrayed by the keeper of souls
Romance is no idle distraction
Intimacy, a vocation

Long afflicted by...
the sounds of music
the scent of linden blossoms
the taste of sea salted skin
the feel of sultry midnight air
the sight of sun through closed eyes...

Dreams once silently withering
liberated to wander freely
Uprooted from the stagnation
of emotionally depleted soil

Transplanted to aimlessness
where all roads lead to roam
Preferring the role of explorer
to the vagrancy of a lost soul

Strolling through this beautiful city
as having traveled throughout life
Observing without participation
part of a whole yet not wholly a part

An accomplished failure on a quest
to achieve simplicity of purpose
To savor those moments of stray peace
that ephemerally cross this path

...all the whilst searching for that bee loud glade

an ethereal presence
felt long before ever being heard
energy flowing through space and time
resonant frequencies with dynamic effect

inducing within romantic chambers
a rhapsodic ocean of dance and song
a mountainous symphony of possibility
a delicate and gentle concerto of dreams

musical princess of harmonic evolution
melodic instrument for conscious healing
emanating perfect pitch whether sharp or flat
an athenaeum of inspiration and maternal lyricism

...oh, to remain in concert...

my rough and tattered edges like sea glass
smoothly rounded by her passions
relentlessly polished by intimate contact
with her welling water and earthy grit

the reality of her excites me
humbling any romantic doubt
dispelling any fantasy skepticism
instilling a will for the moment

she is energy in pure spherical form
encircling this scattered life
she holds for me a sense of place
a bookmark to poetic existence

just as bands bind magic barrel staves
as rainbows secretly circle underground
as concentric rings indicate growth
love will revolve even as it expands

insidious...
the forces that bend us toward self-destruction

insidious...
the illusions that feed those malevolent forces

insidious...
the stories that construct those obscuring illusions

insidious...
the thoughts that metastasize into those deluding stories

insidious...
the mind that identifies with those detrimental thoughts

innocent...
the soul that succumbs

creation rests within intricacies
  rainbows occupy little space
imagination is pervasive
  hope encompasses galaxies

sentiment imploring reason
  heart negotiating the mind
sentient reconciling reality
  dreams awaiting reincarnation

faith in earnest development
  amidst premature existential loss
artistically loving expression
  crafting interstitial intimacy

a museum casted shadow
variegated in hues of history
envelops the hour of the dog

a street paved with memory
adorned in May nuptials
whispers a toast to continuity

a cafe table ripe with potential
lost in studious consideration
brews eternity from lavender latte

Tilting at butterfly windmills
in Parisian blown breezes
As gazelles seductively sway
to the melting light of night

Feeling her nocturnal whispers
puppy's secrets in child's ear
While white petals gently escape
eternal maternal bouquets

Pondering morphed realities
from verdant citrus cocoons
Long after jazz laden teardrops
muddled cinco de mayo

I hope against hope
I mean I really want hope to take a hike
It can be so misleading and paralyzing

If hope does float, it's a warning buoy
Don't get too close,
You may sustain damage

What I really want is optimism
Yeah, I hope I get some optimism

tempestuous heartache
   & sundried tears
exhaled whispers
   & combustible caresses

unilateral monogamy
   & bipolar love
singular sensations
   & conjoined sensuality

degrading hopelessness
   & elevated vulnerability
decelerated time
   & soaring spirituality

outlined in shades of reality
replete with eclipsed potential
the morning moon in revelation
unaware of her ageless touch

the language of time is floral
the color of anachronism is sage
so asymmetric in its beauty
so linear in its dictates

but her silhouette defies projection
refracting moments into mosaics
collaging aspirations into awareness
as dreams clarify into appreciation

I was content in my delusion
  wanting to love unconditionally
   trusting you completely
    believing in your word

I was ignorant in my bliss
  assuming your commitment was permanent
   dismissing your inconsistencies
    choosing blind faith over healthy skepticism

                   But,

I refuse to abandon my nature
  reject being jaded by despair
   insist on being openhearted
    though now I've learned the risks

*You know...I should really be grateful since
  the truth is that you are a terrible liar
   thanks for the crash course
    hope to hell that I passed

At what point can I call myself a poet?

If I could fully articulate what and how I felt
  at the moment when I watched my mother
  slowly slip away from me and this world

If I could completely convey the oppressive sense of loss
  the helplessness, the hopelessness, the loneliness
  the shocking realization of irreversibility, the finality

If my words could make you feel the draining of my soul
  the relinquishment of having even an instant in the future
  when it seems that all is perfect in my world

If I could construct a phrase that could relate the emptiness
  behind the grief that comes with knowing that no longer would
  birthdays and holidays be wrapped in her joy and infectious spirit

If my poem could shout out to you the overwhelming regret
  that accompanies the inability to hold her, to kiss her, to say I'm sorry
  or to tell her just how very much I love her ever again

If I were truly able to do these things
  maybe then I could call myself a poet


                                 Happy Mother's Day, Mom
                                    I miss you & I love you!
                                            ****'s & ooo's

humid sounds of city stillness
wafting warmly, quietly
through bedtime screens

melancholy windows open
deep within my soul
don't know why...

love is allowed to fade
from mundane view
treasure unrealized

nurturing appreciation
materially displaced
don't know why...

i don't know how to feel
but i know how to not feel

indica induced insomnia
sativa suppressed sensation

porter perpetuated pablum
lambic lulled lamentation

holding it all together
in endless evolution

blood stains her canvas
   congealed crusts, fresh streaks
frayed corners and edges
   the tattered toll of pain, loss

how best to depict my love on her
   overlay her with beauty
to develop a patina of care over time
   reduce her suffering to pentimento

her landscape shifts constantly
   with the quality of her light
I must blend to the shade of her mood
   her want...her need

work from the palette of my heart
   in the spectrum of my love
paint her in courted color
   every tone of every hue

brush her being with my caress
   creatively styled to her moment
pastel tenderness...primary strength
   bold strokes of passion...bright splashes of spontaneity

to portray for her a frameless existence
   of unlimited intimacy and peace
but she does not rest on my easel
   and I am merely dreaming of the art of love

fault the summer air
that beckons the wafting spirit

fault the lightning bug
that flashes purity in the night

fault the music
that brings emotion to its knees

fault no fault but my own

She moves through the fair of her life
with an awareness and introspection that belies her years

She still feels the effects of the darkness that plagued her past
but, as she goes forth, reaches with her soul towards a new and enlightened age

She will not forget her suffering, but uses it to transform her spirit
as an alchemist uses the philosopher's stone to produce precious from base

She is a rebel at heart, but hers is a cultural revolution, an awakening to the beauty of a spiritual life filled with music, art, poetry, language, philosophy, and the science of nature

Transformation isn't instantaneous and her emotions will still go medieval at times suddenly rising like a Gothic spire from the landscape

However, with each contrasting experience she is reborn and better equipped to fashion a belle époque of her own design

She may tend to shun the glamour of convention and develop a unique style
She just wants you to know who she is