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Dainty hours
spent with her petal soft smile
lush exchanges
how her mouth makes words warm
delicate  moments
when our eyes held each other
little desolate
when hands separated
and time disconnected us
as it blindly does
without so much as an apology
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
Sjr1000
Can you tell me
please
which way now is home
I used to know, my dear
The way was clear
There was no fear

Tying my walking shoes
I knew I needed to get clear of here
thought I'd find
all that was dear

The road though, it is narrow
The cliff it is shear
My balance is
woozy

Can you tell me my dear

which way is home
which way do I go from here,
I think I oughta know
But the hills they are wavering
The ocean is in turmoil
The mountains are slick
far too dangerous

The desert has no mercy

I know something and with this knowledge
I think I must be cursed
I think I have it
Peace & Home
goes and comes
and comes and goes.
People only ever want to ask me about
the poetry -
those verses about
busted up noses in outer space;
about the pros working
way down passed
the corner of Broad and Main;
about fistfights and hard, hard drinking.
But I built a flowerbed this weekend...
Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks
in a crescent moon shape,
filled with the blackest of soils.
The sweat of toil.
The digging.
The planting.
Exotic grasses. Asian maybe?
Purple and yellow flowers.
Zinnias or some **** thing.
All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch.
It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands
instead of blood.
No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
Lull
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
Seek the voice of the wind
that blows so silent,

between the song
of the soaring gull.

Seek the quiet
between your breaths,

and you shall find me
unseen but skimming the lull.
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
Happy
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
I once knew...
Or at least I thought I did,
that these arms only sought
to grab at what is in the sky.

Then as I aged,
these arms had grown older.
They’d only scramble
for what lays within reach.

But every so often,
the eyes still wander
to the heavens.

Tracing the outline of clouds,
drinking up the shade of blue
and catching rays of sun.

•••

With feet planted to the earth,
and a head full of clouds,
in this moment,
I am happy.
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
Music
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
If life was music,
then we’d be the words.
Capturing every nuance,
in every minute of everyday.

We’d be the melody.
A piece that tunes unique.
Encompassing the lightness of flightful joy,
the strength of surety
and weight of doom and darkness.

We’d be the story.
Written by the will of the universe.
Intricately ornate...
True...
To each our eyes and hearts.
Arranged most haphazard
yet so beautiful.

We’d be a symphony.
And we will be the music...

Only to our ears.

.
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
There was no one...
So I spoke as if a secret
into the wind.

I told it,

“You may blow your skeptic tune.
Your quiet whistles of doubt.”

“Exhale if you must,
upon the countenance of her face.
Run your invisible fingers
through her hair...
Taste her lips like you would
the surface of the lake in the sun-shy morns.”

“Then you would dispel all disbelief.
You would take these words I say,
and know why confide in you.
You would know why I had fallen.
And you would know why
you would then be my messenger...”

“So that you could word the song
I could never sing.
You could caress her face
when my fingers could not.
You could kiss and fill her lungs
with all that she needs when I am gone.”


.
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
Desert
 Aug 2018 Lucrezia M N
ryn
And therefore it lays
unforgiving and unslaked
like a thirst unquenched
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