for all the lost, everlasting lovers

~for mara~

why this morning does the emoting
cast me backwards to all my lost lovers,
imagined and real, yet lasting in crevices hidden,
that beckon, asking to be reclaimed,
recalling when our names combined, many meetings
of lips, kisses so old, decades, yet so well realized

that to see, taste them, is blink, easily accomplished

day beginning, with deep penetrating glances rearward,
unclear how this clarifies the muddled visions of what
the future dreams may contain, ah, love and pain,
love and pain, a tango tangled tandem, indeed,
one hopes the past is prologue, pro for lips sensitized logged,
those kisses past, kisses yet dreamt, those works-in-process

stir the body to rise from the couch, to stretch my arms

up/skyward, grab jeans, go the Persian immigrant on the corner,
for a bun and a black coffee, who wishes me a good new year,
stunned silent when embrace him with hands-full, for his wish for me
enables a gratitude overcoming that only strangers can give;
those lost lovers yet lasting, thank them too, wish them happy year,
winter warmth, comfort them in my crevices-kept, forever retained

Love you, miss you, never gone, never forgotten, ever first,
everlasting...


1/3/20
7:11am

All,, everything stretches, even paradise, love affairs,
the poetic intervals lengthen-but but not the interstices,
they do not require filling but the occasional hug, hair~
tousling, the unexpected hand holding to refresh the bonds
that sag with ages, worn to forlorn, by so much to remember…

I promise myself to keep this short, for the spaces themselves,
sag longer, wider, and need not words overbearing, but the
occasional tightening of the screws of connection, the markers
of a precise precious pulling that gravity may wear but never
ever break…

olp

the crying want of you (first of the everlasting)

so many ways this loving emotion manifests,
for each, a salutation, unique, some sleek,
some solutions jagged, but when I cry out for the
inexplicable but perfectly understood want of you

an all encompassing recipe,
a gasp, a shriek, a celebration, a loss illimitable deepening,
a need perceived with a crucial cruelty, inexhaustible
noise barely human, but quintessentially exactly that

you who have needy for fearsomely loved, and been
fearsomely loved with equal measuring cups which
have no delimiting notion of linear boundaries of cup and quart,
only precise calculations of defined unlimited overflowing

even silence totality of crying out loudly screams of desperation,
noiseless, crept for the unadulterated, unadjusted purity of want,
a state well dreamt, but so rarely hail fellow well met, the
startling exertion of meeting yourself in another over the borderline

forgive the paucity of my word~children in expressing what
was designed and created to be inexhaustibly rare,
the crying want of you, the missing final jigsaw puzzle piece
of want and being wanted, to touch the immortal soul, the first of the

everlasting, united, unending and unendurable undefined want



8:10am 2-20-2020

from within the confessional

Too much sanity may be madness…


“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams this may be madness. Too - much sanity may be madness and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!"

DON QUIXOTE by MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA

<

who among us does not wonder daily,
admit it!
am I mad, where does this malady madness lie within me?

wandering along the raggedy meandering linear ledge,
a tempting rock strewn divide of a tempestuous world unbidden,
a me-version struggling to keep a kind sanity
that is ugly, undesirable, undeserving and just “und”

I drown;
suffocated by a realized spring rainfall showering,
there is no thing as sanity,
we are all mad,
gone from, on the way to,
the epicenter
of where north meets south,
east greets west,
all differences are sublimated
the glint in our eyes confesses:

mutually cognizant
there is no division
not to be mad
is in-sane…

once more II:
I want to make her cry, one more time…

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5130169/once-more-i-i-want-to-make-her-cry-

&

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5129196/once-more-ii-i-want-to-make-her-cry-one-more-time/

went to the doc for
my birthday suit check up,
usual barrage of tests,
withdrew 8 vials of blood red, and
pronounced me to be
officially
in his win column,
all good ‘cept for my

general deterioration
that is an unscheduled, indeterminate
process of time's steady determination,
for which there are tests
but no cure,
so he says,
don’t bother

after the routine is completed,
he asks with a twinkle,
for he knows this man
too X two
well,
“son, what really ails ya?”

Doc -
“don’t know whatI I am made for”

have not tasted the
excitations
of
falling in love in so long,
I’m purposeless

it’s the falling
that is
the inttiation intricate
that makes my
HR skyrocket to
130, even 150,
where the stress
is an exertion that
benefits and strengthens
heart muscles?

at a higher level
of stress
for intense but brief,
a necessity for long term
heart health

the diagnosis was simplified,
dear boy
( he is younger than me)
you have
ED

nope doc not the issue in hand,
he smiled at my savvy,

it is of
emotional disability
that I speak of

your life devoted
to loving the loving process,

This is your red engine
that can and could,
and would still,
but at your stature and age,
it is not as easy as
back in the day
when you smiled at the pretty girls,
and they un hesitatingly,
smiled back,
and you were on the road to
the inflation of infatuation,
highs and lows of an
incumbent incurable
you~humanist,
a valuation expert
of the human connection

there isn’t a cure
but to try
and fail fairly
repeatedly,

never give in,
never give up,

for the paths to
where you seek,
everywhere,
and I await happily
you next report
why you
stand before me,
with heart palpitations
for the very best
of reasons,
for my human friend,

**that is what you are made for!”

Thanatosis
(noun)

pretending to be dead

a state that in some respects resembles shock, is characterized by cessation of all voluntary activity and usually by assumption of a posture suggestive of death, and occurs in various insects (as beetles) when disturbed
<>
thus a new word
joins the tongue,
a new bud solely
to express the state of two
when love has died,
and the energizer doesn’t
want to bandage~rip,
make entities separate,
face the uncertainty
of no mercy

so two humans
play dead
but inside
there is a long loud
agonizing screaming
******* your fading courage,
well hid but going to
the land of the unheard,

and the state of
Thanatosis
is the Grecian Isle
where you will be
buried
though
you but
*half~ dead

~you again?  a love poem indeed!

she stood by me even when
most of my disasters
were of mine own creative actions,
but in the crises that always
unexpectedly
rose up dramatically
when driving off road,
where there were
no guardrail guarantees

so when the doc says
“sir, needed surgery right away,”
She unashamedly inquires
“ok, what about tomorrow”
making us all chuckle,
and doc a smile/responder,
“how about 6:00am the day after?”
and you accept (me observing)
with
a stern smile of pretending concession

so when recovery consists of
three ++ walks a day through
the corridors of the Unit
which morphed from an endless huge
to a
small prison courtyard,
where in a day everyone,
patients doctors and
rotating shifts of nurses
are greeted by me,
idiot extrovert,
with an intitial
giant hello and a wink,
which after first three
“shuffles around the block”
has become a
saluting exultation,
a look of surprise
with a
“You Again!”

that gets the inevitable
twinkle from everyone

somehow
this greeting came home with us
and thereafter when,
she stirred awake
to see me shuffling in with
coffee and a quarter cup
of crunchy Kashi & banana
mixed in with Yoga~urt,
(a/k/a nana & banana smoothie)
and a too loud
“You Again!”
which infallible makes
an AM grumpy disappear
and
soon becomes
a time honored
ritual

now that I’ve honored the oath
which was promised jokingly
by me to She,
that I be the last to depart,
cause doing it twice,
was an unbearable job,
and long enough gone
and I am back in my
own private recovery
honeyed (yellow) painted
single room,
The Enpty Pillow
with imaginary smiley face,
hears a mourning yellowing phrase
once-a-day,
a vitamin supplement necessary

and when the grandchildren
make
their obligatory dragged along
monthly visitation they be greeted
by old friends
a firm hug and an
emboldened
“You Again”
and their smile says
“you’re embarrassing us”
+++ childlike acceptance

and the rivulets ridiculousness

that accompany this scripting,
+ any accidental overhearing,
or get even getting a read,

is fresh brought out of
tears storage
and each teary one with
a Hey!
meant to be cheery
greet & repeat:

😉us again!😉

back in the day. when I knew better,
the hows and whys of only love poetry,
was rewarded by her tears free flowing,
sniffling and slip~sliding from ducts to lips,
perhaps it was just the newness, of a man, just,
writing to just her, love poetry, like to be thinking,
skill and insight feelings peculiar inserted, may have helped

but even poems grow worn weary from too many readings,
and emotions exposed grow protective armor, containers,
that hold back emotional response au naturel, willing
suppression of the freedom to expose the infinite
capacity to let the guard down, show the raw,
the impulsed, the unguarded emotive we
become more expert markswomen to

coverup with makeup, polite words,
find/inside the superfine letters that unlock
the immediate, contemporaneous, pure unguarded,
freely released, stored weaknesses of the heart, eyes, leaking,
the physical evidence that the boundaries breeched, the fortress
penetrated, overcome, the inescapable captured realized
emotions unvarnished, getting away, just a little
embarrassing that just once more I, poet,
touched her in a way my fingertips
know all too well, with words,
kissing the back of her neck.
weak kneed, pleased,
distressed, letting go,
one mo' time,
making her cry again, pleasured tears, released,
her will power surrenders to what she must confess,
that only love poetry is a force undeniably that must be
surrendered to freely, willingly, and confessing by her lips
why not?

way, way back, head messed, life stabbing you in the chest,
but you come back from the nearly dead, even
gob~kissed by sudden entrance of fame and
small fortune's effing effortless fortitudinal
attitudinal shifting sands

now you're the dude, and you create the
frost~sting on the cake, and everyone wants
to be your lover
and taste your paste

you're thin and tall, walking the streets
of Midtown like a lanky cowboy, thumbs
hooked tucked behind the extra wide leather belt,
proving your
upper east side cred,
two if by day,
east village
one if by night,
and
you even write poetry, when
riding high, and on low down
when you're
down low,
and sometimes
back then, it even
made her cry

nowadays it often doesn't play,
maybe get a "nice" or an emoji 👍,
but often ignored like she's heard it
all once too many times before,
really, how many ways can you
praise the women who saved you
from yourself, doctored your ***,
who cut conceit from your brain,
with a surgical silver steak knife,  
and
who shed real live tears
when you wrote just for
her,
only love poetry…

"When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong"

Lyric from the song "The Rose

<>

Who?
among us has not let this stray dog thought
litter their human mind,
coming in from the far side,

when bruised and battered, you, on the bottom chancing,
dredging for some chance expectation that
you chances have not all
been used up,
luck run out

you've all experienced the decaying angst
of when this long love thing goes awry away,
some often. some not much.some in tumbling brevity,
some after decad-ent years of agonizing, before
scissors snapping the last fraying plain
white string that lastly
remained

she sees me cornerd on the love seat,
and laughing accusesme of
writing only love poetry
for another, while
smiling winks,
at her only
love poet,
who
kisses
her each hand
when the sunlight mixes
with early light and his heart
can see it illuminate our faces

tire
of waiting to grasp you,
reading almost every word you write, leaves me pleased,
and yet,
incomplete,
and yet,
bereft,

how can this be fair,
how can this be justice,.
I tire of just~ice,  
when warmth is
the blessing needy for our unceasing,
your arms to grasp
your forehead to kiss  
my arms on your arms
in the idealylic embrace

What do I have to do with my time but write poetry
and seek you out,  plan to trip in every neighborhood,
in every country and touch on continents where I have yet to tread!

So answer me this,  
with one simple word,
direct me to the nearest one,
the airport closest to you,
to close and confirm our humanity,
our Unification and the place will
I call, nominate, we become a citizen of:
The United State of Us...

postscript
I will  
Travel heavy,
every body part in case, for you to rearrange
in whatever shape you find most to please!
How can I only write love poetry
if I have not told you face-to-face,
the most elemental benediction:

you are my Lord, my grace
complect me into your ****** lace,
and give us this day our own daily,
unique to our new birthplace

she stood by me even when
most of my disasters
were of mine own creative actions,
but in the crises that always
unexpectedly
rose up dramatically
when driving off road,
where there were
no guardrail guarantees

so when the doc says
“sir, needed surgery right away,”
She unashamedly inquires
“ok, what about tomorrow”
making us all chuckle,
and doc a smile/responder,
“how about 6:00am the day after?”
and you accept (me observing)
with
a stern smile of pretending concession

so when recovery consists of
three ++ walks a day through
the corridors of the Unit
which morphed from an endless huge
to a
small prison courtyard,
where in a day everyone,
patients doctors and
rotating shifts of nurses
are greeted by me,
idiot extrovert,
with an intitial
giant hello and a wink,
which after first three
“shuffles around the block”
has become a
saluting exultation,
a look of surprise
with a
“You Again!”

that gets the inevitable
twinkle from everyone

somehow
this greeting came home with us
and thereafter when,
she stirred awake
to see me shuffling in with
coffee and a quarter cup
of crunchy Kashi & banana
mixed in with Yoga~urt,
(a/k/a nana & banana smoothie)
and a too loud
“You Again!”
which infallible makes
an AM grumpy disappear
and
soon becomes
a time honored
ritual

now that I’ve honored the oath
which was promised jokingly
by me to She,
that I be the last to depart,
cause doing it twice,
was an unbearable job,
and long enough gone
and I am back in my
own private recovery
honeyed (yellow) painted
single room,
The Enpty Pillow
with imaginary smiley face,
hears a mourning yellowing phrase
once-a-day,
a vitamin supplement necessary

and when the grandchildren
make
their obligatory dragged along
monthly visitation they be greeted
by old friends
a firm hug and an
emboldened
“You Again”
and their smile says
“you’re embarrassing us”
+++ childlike acceptance

and the rivulets ridiculousness

that accompany this scripting,
+ any accidental overhearing,
or get even getting a read,

is fresh brought out of
tears storage
and each teary one with
a Hey!
meant to be cheery
greet & repeat:

😉us again!😉