•••

I’ve had a vision:
Of me, a mother
Shedding my naive brand of womanhood
To take on the new role
Shedding childishness to bequeath it
Into the tiny hands that trust mine
And O Lord,
may my own hands be the gentlest,
the softest, let them always be open
And high up to You, O Lord, and
may my arms be warm and May my smile be wide and funny— May it make this child laugh and O Lord—
Make me this woman you’ve chosen me to be as mother.
Most of all minimize me to clear the way
For You— and Your ways
And for this growing, new, special, unique, never-known-to-the-world person.
I now know how you view us, your children. There is no other than that which I’ve created, held, loved, and brought into the world.
What a sweet vision.

•••

•••

All these new parts of ourselves and each other that we’re discovering
Trying and failing and loving
Shared newness is so sweet
in the cold beginnings of spring where the sun is warm and you start to feel alive again
opening up again with the other living things of the earth
Together we breathe in —
this cold warm old new beautiful beginning
The excitement of beginnings as nature shares that feeling with us
spring in love

•••

to see the love of your life
Sleeping with afternoon sun beaming in
Making dust glitter
Making you breathe deeper
Making a smile slip on your face
You realize this is life, it’s simple and good. It’s not all its cracked up to be, sometimes it needs to be much less. And it’s better that way.
It’s silly too,
That you craved spaghetti at 11 weeks,
Griped to yourself about going alone to the store as he napped

(and how dare he!)
(and doesn’t he know you’d like a nap too!)

But you go alone

(Because spaghetti was more important in the moment)
(and don’t we truly pick what’s important when it comes to?)

And you realize your moments are less quiet and alone than they used to be
They’re filled with a beautiful rhythmic music of life— of which I’m sometimes off-beat—
But the alone ones, moments, leave room for yourself.

And you come home with your ingredients,
and a lot less anger
And you see him, napping in the dust-glittery (sometimes rather messy) home you share
Yes this is life;

It should be a little slower.
with a few more of those alone moments
Where you can feel the beat
Of the music and your own heart a bit better .
And you can eat your spaghetti.
And your love can nap.

•••
Scribble furiously to trap the feeling just as it exists
I never knew the feeling of having a feeling so furious as to have it scribbled out of me furiously
I never had the time to
But now that my time is free Im free also to feel and my feelings complex enough to be trapped by the confines of a simple expression
No longer simple— no longer numb
Rather, perhaps curious
Those scribbled feelings furious

•••

Silky whispers slip
across the soft hairs on my neck
So, almost too, warm and yet?
Goosebumps all over
And over and over again you say
“I love you so”
And I, we, sink down into something
So unsavory to speak of candidly
But I will and I wish
Sink into me more, press down and say
“I love you so” some more
Again and again and over
It builds and swells and breathes with us,
This feeling, this warmth
And it pours from my eyes
And you kiss me in a way that I never knew was real
Deeply, softly, firmly, kindly, dangerously
Divine contradictions that coexist
in a little two-step tango

Seeking and always having sought
For a community
A collective whom who call themselves my home
“That’s one of ours!” They may shout,
Or at least which I’d hope for
But keep your eyes clean
for some of these are counterfeits
The mirage of “mine” are they
But mirages are a mistake of the eye so
Maybe the misunderstanding is mine also?
But undoubtedly I still want an undoubtedly
An “of course! Don’t be silly!”
Not only welcome to belong if I so wish
But to belong is a given
An assumption and simple fact
Yes, that would be nice wouldn’t it.

I know now why, or maybe,
How, rather, poets write with pens of pain
,and maybe,
Could even call myself finally one of them

My loving and sun-beaten father;
Calloused hands but the most tender arms.
I often felt those calluses and thought “how do you even get calluses like that?”
You love your family. And over 20, 30 years of loving your family, you get calluses like that.
I love those calloused hands.
Those of the man whom is maybe the only one I doubt never the love he has for me. And whose embrace I’ve yet to find a competitors hug beat,
That of my father; sun-beaten and callous-handed.
Yes, the man who taught me what love was.

By your presence I am bound.
“I’m an open book” sounds a lot like “I’m a blank slate” to some people
Who don’t like what’s written in the pages.

The softness of your shape
My love,
I wish to finger paint your picture
I long to sculpt your every inch
Leaving no detail lost
For I love them all
And I see you all in all,
Now and then and to be
And for every new detail I’ll paint again
Create a gallery of you
My muse

Undress from your sundress
And let me sit in the warmth of you
Let the fabric fall with me
Let it and my hands grace your skin softly
And let us stay like this for hours

A little tipsy in the folds of Firenze, Italy
My lover weeps a tear or two
We whisper quietly
The dark of our room and the heaviness of our hearts
The fear of a love that’s lived loved and lost
Of a life flickering out like a too-short wick
We wish to be something of stories and
He wished to be the stuff of legends and
I wish that very much too
Now I shed a tear or two
how I wish he would hold my hand
And tell me how this is how things go when
You’re building a life together
Two in one
Two by two
Brick by brick
Line by line
We write this little poem or story or rhyme
And so it goes on
God, may this all be for your glory
And maybe, just a little bit for ours too?

On my knees
I’m begging thee
To see me full, completely
All in all,
all the rest
And I confess
My soul slowly depleting
Stern our stance
Hard heart glance
And sighs of sorrow deeply
Til evening comes
And sadly hums
The heavy pain of hurting

Water washes over from my head and I let it in my mouth to fall down
And words wash down with them
Maybe
also down the drain
As these words taste little like the water that touched my tongue

I escape often to a place I’ve created;
It’s a small stage in, what is it?
A bar? I think so.
But I’m there singing
Which is funny, really, because I can’t sing.
But there’s a man with a guitar there, who really can play guitar,
and I sing.
And we make a great team, he and I,
With lots of knowing in our voices.
And the whole place feels it, all the people there, drinking whatever is it they’re drinking.

Knowing what?
Whatever I’m learning. Whatever I’m feeling.
Sadness usually, I know a lot of sadness.
And maybe love— lost or found,
timely or not, whatever it may be.
But yes I know some about love also.

What I don’t know is if I want this place to be real;
Do I want to sing of sadness?
I think I’m afraid that maybe I do.
I think maybe I take every opportunity to come to that place and sing.
But I don’t care much for bars and
I can’t sing, really,

miles and miles and miles
of blue ocean and all her secrets
places no one will see or touch
even her own inhabitants dare not reach her depths
many are too afraid to look

God only knows, only sees
God only knows how many of those secrets
are folded up in her waves

perhaps He has a name for each
perhaps they take up some space in His mind
perhaps God sits in heaven,
watching the tide roll in with us,
takes deep, salty breaths with us,
and full contented smiles.

waves crash, a hello
from the far-off reaches of the world
from those little unknown places
those terrible depths
just between the sea and God

Do you think he'll ever see me?
Do you think he reads my poetry?

We share every "good morning" and every "good night"
He calls me beautiful and kisses me at midnight,

But do you think he knows that I want sometimes
to sing in small bars with dim lights in a red dress
or that I wish to spend much of my time looking at the ocean?
With the salty wind in my hair or through an airplane window.
Does he know? That I want to speak Italian in its country and
laugh while playing cards after dinner that i cooked with friends
I want to take so many deep, soul-touching breaths in so many different places and learn so many names

Does he know that I love to dance?
Or that I sometimes am good at it?
Does he see that I think in melodic lines punctuated with love?
Does he know well,
that I want to do all of this with him,
to adventure, step all around the world, make love, laugh?

Do you think he wants that too?

Breathe…
Oh my friend, stick on that word for a while.
Do you feel it float under your ribs?
Do you feel the warmth of your skin?
Do you feel the room expand?
Do you feel your chest loosen?
Yes.
Breathe…
Get a little lost in the word for a while.

•••
I don’t even have the words to write to tell you just how deeply complexly fully and most beautiful this art which we have created together with our hearts and our bodies and minds and soft edges and hard curves and deep gazes and silly hurts and lovely little laughters and ugly words and tears of all spectrums and hugs that were and are and always will be where I belong is in your very arms with my hands holding your face and your arms laced around my waist and foreheads touching and noses so gently gracing and kisses that are too good to exist and whispered words that make time stop and happy sweet tears fall that taste like the ocean and sunshine and love and time gone by and I just purely and completely will never be able to write anything even sort of close to those moments where I fall deeper in love with you but.
I will spend my whole life trying to
•••

I write so many silent poems about you

The words swirl and mix and create their own life

As quick as they come, they leave also
To make room for the next line
The next paragraph

Of a kiss or a whispered word
A tear welling up or freely falling
Fingertips on my back, water droplets running down to the floor with gravity

The words feel like a river, breathing in
Flowing down and around the bend
Gallons of water and pages of thoughts

Feelings rushing in warm and swift and pooling

Before they rush to the next basin

And on and on and on and on

You can never stand in the same river twice

And I can never remember the exact words I want to write about you

Because I just live in them in that moment
They pool around me. Your fingertips like little water droplets on my back
Running down with gravity

And this is a very disjunct poem because after-the-fact I just can’t pull the exact words I felt

Because you can never stand in the same river twice.

soul like the first warm sun of spring
Eyes open and shut
Clouds cover and uncover sunbeams
Blue skies and eyes and soft touch
Like the baby spring grass shoots
new every year, a perennial flower
Sprout, grow, blossom, bloom, wilt, shrivel,
die, freeze over.
The ground is hard, the sun isn’t warm
The wind cuts your skin
Even our star doesn’t want to be here, the days leave us sooner and sooner.
Sleep now, lay in the ground and wait.
Feel the gloomy rains slowly get warmer,
Patiently remember what you are.
The spring returns smiling and so does she
Thaw, soften, sprout..
Use your roots to stand up again.
You’ve prepared for this, you know how to do this.
Grow, blossom..
Reach your face up to the sun, warm again
The wind graces your cheek, soft again
And she stands again, sweet and lovely
Born on the first day of spring

On my knees
I worship thee
You whisper slow and sweetly
In summer dress
And I confess
My soul is yours completely
Flow and dance
Grin and glance
And kiss in fields of green’ry
Til evening comes
And softly hums
The music of your breathing

Only
Lonely
Little town
Little lady
Little bit of shame
Lot a bit of longing
Big fear
Bigger desire
Lost a while
Found even more
In the mountains
On the road
Sorta stupid
Sorta smart
Young mind
Old heart
Contradictions
Commonalities
It’s all a little silly
Life
The world
So much more
Than I thought it would be

Show me your face and I know what love looks like

Touch me and I know what love feels like

Speak to me and I know what love sounds like

Kiss me and I know what love tastes like

It wells up inside me

Pouring from my chest through my eyes and down my cheeks

Trace it with your fingers a moment
Paint on me the very feeling and thought of the moment

Then kiss me a moment too long
Salty tongues and warm cheeks
And sink down into something a little too strong

I know, for because of you, what love is

You are it and
You are mine and
Who am I that I’ve been given this?

“Love always” really means “love anyways”
To love always you have to love anyways.

Ugly and confusing and ragged and silly and stupid and irrational and infuriating
but

I love you anyways. And I will love you always.

flickers and flashes
my memory of this year
this tiny little lifetime.

forever lives in those flickers and flashes
so long have i known you in this time so brief

we've walked and we've danced and fallen
you and i and our tiny little lifetime
and many more to come

i love you.

i love you, my dear, in ways without words
in ways without concepts and describable terms
it doesnt make sense, we've still been through hurts
but being without you, now that would be worse.

"True love"
like True North
points you in the right direction

solidarity of man

forces of will converging together
in awesome power loudly,
creating a ruckus and smashing the windows of
souls

solidarity of man

cheerful exclamations for
another's achievement
however so small yet
so largely celebrated in glee

solidarity of man

tears of camaraderie fall to our knees
raindrops mix with sunshine and God reveals promises
sometimes the world needs to crumble and crack
to reveal

the solidarity of man

you know it hurts,
{like gut-wrenching, ab-clenching, breath lynching hurt}
when you sit in the shower and silently sob.
tears melt with water
steam clouds your sight
gaze up, let it fill your nostrils
drown in water and your plight

quiet down now, 'cloud whisperer',
don't you know these fits fade fast
don't you know these delusions of power simply will not last?
the sky does as she pleases
the sun shines as he may
all the pleading,
all the crying,
won't matter anyway.

sorry to say, 'cloud whisperer',
you know your magic isn't real
you know that all that's come and gone will do so as it feels.
the here and now will slip away,
and tomorrow's coming quick
all the wishing,
all the whining,
won't change all life's fun twists.

so quit your rain dance,
put down your spells,
and stop your silly chants.
take a breath and feel the drops,
learn to love this cruel romance.

classical pianist,
she's starry-eyed like Starry Night
she's got the aura of oil paints
hands like brushwork
swirling and swishing
eyebrows that twitch with every note
the room lowers by the decibels as she breathes
her heart in perfect pentameter with song
like silk running up along a staircase
sound floating thick and rich
daydreaming
the sounds of purgatory between sleep and awareness
no attention to time or reality
she slips away
oh, that classical pianist.

-LMN

it snows and with it comes the quiet
quiet little town gets even quieter and snow, see
it's like a warm hand clasping mine in the middle of a deep
sobbing cry
sits down and soothes with a whisper
and a misty breath that shushes till the fit fades
snow softens the blow of reality
and as it freezes the tips of noses it does so with time

love, you are
so softly unbelievable.
you are so gently terrifying
and beautifully real
youre a dream in reality's clothing
with smoky eyes
and warm hands that fit mine
love, you are
such sweet silly hysteria.
chain-smoking laughter
and kissing right after
youre a tickle at the ribs
with an inside joke
and the curve of laughing lips
love, you are
porch lights through closed eyes
melodies of jazz and soft sighs
slow dancing in old jeans
making poor decisions,
and neglecting routines.
oh, love,
you are the stuff of dreams.

imagine:

sitting on A stool on a stage
Small and creaky
aroma of coffee and maybe a cigar and sweet casualty in the air
imagine singing your mother’s favorite song to remember her softly
then Coming off stage
(greeted by your love poking your side so laughably irritating)
to sip a now tepid coffee, made by someone who knows your name
as you watch a neighbor go sit on the same stool
singing a song Of funny nostalgia that tickles the sides of your heart
reminding the room of our collective Age
with a chuckle and a smirk exchanged
and recounting the beautiful memories of lives lived in adjacency to one another
that makes up such a quaint Story

imagine that.

Electric hands on my waist and hips
From behind me you rest your chin on my shoulder and I wish you’d stay there, every piece of you, in perfect shape and scene.
Closing my eyes as if it'd actually freeze time,
but alas the world turned
and that movement of earth which I most never feel
this time ****** me so harshly
out of this painted picture I found myself in

air out your grievances, hang them up to dry
but be careful to whom you do,
because a tenderhearted girl I knew
grew a shell, an exoskeleton of caution
to guard herself from heartache and exhaustion
the important things in life are painful to learn
and if it isn't important then what would we earn?
a life without depth, in cold two dimensional existence,
the hardest fight is with your own self-resistance

Dear T,

You always used to tell me you were the devil, that you were heartless,
And I’d always chuckle, say “No you’re not!” And kiss your cheek.
And the truth is I really didn’t believe you, and I never saw you like that.
I think I truly did see all of you, but I focused on the good, and I thought you appreciated, and maybe even loved, that about me.
But maybe I was wrong because, hah, well I broke up with you, I thought amicably enough.
I had closure, I recognized that maybe we just weren’t right or good for each other.
But for whatever reason you felt the need to start **** up again. You knew exactly what to say, what to do, how to act, and I was yours yet again. For some reason you were my achilles heal, and I’ll be ****** if you didn’t know it. I loved you so ******* much. And I truly wanted to believe the best, I fought everyone off, including myself, who thought your intentions were questionable. You knew I would. You knew.
And I hate that you were right. I hate that I said yes when you asked to paint, I hate that when you asked me over I came, I hate that when you said  you needed me I believed you. Maybe you did need me, but you certainly don’t care enough to love me the way I loved you.

I hate it all. And though I’m trying not to, I hate you. I just don’t understand WHY you wouldn’t just stay the **** away from me. Why did you have to tell me all the things you did, made me feel like the most important person in the world, and then toss me away when I was inconvenient for you.
If you were lonely, why not find someone else?
If you didn’t know what you wanted with me, why didn’t you just wait till you did know?
Why did you have to drag me along when you KNEW I would hold on?
Other than the fact that you’re a selfish *****.

I understand you were leaving, that you couldn’t make any promises, maybe that you were confused. But you are the kind of person who can see 4 steps ahead and predict outcomes, so you can’t say that you didn’t know how I would act.
You’ve called me predictable so you can’t say you didn’t know. So all I can wonder is why. What good reason could you possibly have had to yank me around like that, and take advantage of how much I cared about you?
Do you just hate me so much that you didn’t care what would happen if you hurt me?
Was it just simple apathy?
Were you bored?
You can’t say you didn’t think because we both know that’s impossible for you. You always have a move, a goal.
So what was it?

I guess thats all I have to say.
I hate you, I’m trying not to, but right now I do.
And I truly do not understand why you came back. I don’t understand your goal.
Maybe you truly were just bored and are, in fact, heartless. Maybe everything you said about caring about me was a lie, maybe you just wanted to mess around with someone and have decent memories. But why the **** did it have to be me?
*******.

youre my photographer
and im your hepburn(or at some point in a brief glimpse to me we were these) but my face is a little funnier
and neither of us can waltz and
really we aren't even in love like them but
i do however love the sun and the rain in her (hepburn's") old Hollywood voice!
her voice was so picture perfect in that way
and I kind of want to be in love with you (minus the river and that drift wood dancing cause neither of us can dance much less to your ****** gangster rap and definitely not on driftwood) but I also think that being in love with you would be a surprising amount like waltzing to rap music on driftwood on a river
but if there's a world where hepburn has a 'funny face' then who knows maybe we could find a rhythm
or maybe we'd just get very soaked in river water

poems are a bit harder to write
when you dont feel music in your mind

too many tabs open

tv static for feelings

'error 404' for thoughts

poems are a bit harder to create
when you cant keep your sh*t straight

There was a silence.
                 Oh, if he would only be hers entirely;
       not by poor surreptitious evasion but in fulness and in fact.
He had understood her pause.
                "I'm good."  she said with apparent carelessness.
She found it difficult to keep her voice just on the casual note she wanted.
he thought to himself: she's different from me, she's romantic.
                "You just don't trust yourself with me around." he said.
                "It seems a bit funny, we both always knew, but honest I hadn't realized you were beautiful."
                "You're a great kidder."
Oh God, she asked herself, have I handled this right?
leaning on the door jam his body in perfect chiaroscuro
and an omniscient grin
And the rest is history.
...

The singing of their tunes
had the very accent of a peculiarly subtle and forbidden zest.
Women did a great deal of desirable ways to kick up dust.

Members of mischief,
In the business,
Just for mischief.

Enjoying a cigarette,
“Please,
Tell her I’m thought to be a
Bad Woman”
She used to smile to herself to think how much worse than that she really was.

Bursting at the seams
with want to paint the exact of my scene
and words so full of my very being but
Oh, knowing the audience all too aptly
Is enough to hesitate me

wouldn't you know it but I
oh I
a little girl wouldn't know it either would I?
no no but I think I feel it
or rather I feel my thinks
can't decipher any of it but a wink
and my thinks think
shouldn't I know it myself?
but nay I keep it all tucked on a very rather pretty little shelf
my thinks didn't label my feels so
im learning the things I didn't know I didn't know
a mystery
even to little me
so how should I be able to answer how do you be?
and I stand here on the edge or the brink
for I can hardly barely breathe as its all coming at me
give me just a moment
to breathe in my feels and my thinks
and perhaps the moment after the moment I'll be
just a little bit more free

New flash.
Just because you are hurt now
In this moment
Does not mean
you can diminish the meaning or the reality
Of a love
A bond
A heart
A time
That’s shared.
Just because it’s broken now
Does not mean it always was.