SE Reimer: Poems

Nov 2015 · 382

in deed

SE Reimer Nov 2015

in deed

(10w)

~

if God we trust indeed,
love we must, in deed!

~

post script.

we say we love, but our definition may need to be redefined. selah!

happy ten-word-Tuesday my poetic friends!

Nov 2015 · 441

paper or plastic?

SE Reimer Nov 2015

paper or plastic?

~

"paper or plastic?"
she asks as i stand;
her chatter, all
friend-like... warms
my heart while she scans,
and insures i’m a fan.
i reach for my jeans
and draw from my pocket,
my wallet falls open
(it's lost all elastic),
no green in its folds
cuz my wife got there first,
"guess this time i will
be paying with plastic."

"paper or plastic?"
my answer he asks,
my groceries all scanned
’cross the checkout counter,
in disarray they lie waiting,
for the next stop, my home;
but the trip to my car
at the end of the lot,
and the slamming of brakes
to bring my car to a stop,
yeah, that bag better hold!
"i think it is best...
do you mind if i ask
for a little of both?"

"paper or plastic?"
she asks with a smile!
the look on her face
does not beguile
the dance of her eyes,
as our food she prepares;
a feast for the palate
this Saturday’s eve.
my reply, unexpected,
off my tongue rolls,
with such ease...
“this ain’t no diner, love!
thanks, but no thanks,
i’d prefer china... please!"

~

*post script.

a fun one that has been tumbling around inside this silly head for months, just dying to come out. enjoy this, yet another glimpse ’neath the covers of this ADHD mind!!

Nov 2015 · 593

a country kinda girl

SE Reimer Nov 2015

a country kinda girl

(my Becky Sue)

~

she’s a country kinda girl
in a city girl life;
over thirty years later
still grateful she’s my wife.
she’s the one i wanna make up
before we start a fight;
she’s the one i wanna wake up
in the middle of the night.

dislikes her name because
it’s the kinda name she thinks
is given to a southern girl,
a straw between her teeth;
but i declare that i would wear
her name instead of mine,
introduce her to my friends,
the only one who turns these eyes.

she’s a country kinda girl
doing city girl things;
took us thirty years to silence
those who said its just a fling.
she’s the one i wanna make up
before we start a fight;
she’s the one i wanna wake up
in the middle of the night.

and i would volunteer
to be her waiter in the sky;
bring her drinks and snacky things
and soothe her fear to fly;
and i would love just once to be
the one to give her hair it's style,
run my fingers through it,
watch her break into a smile.

.she’s a country kinda girl
wearin’ pretty girl clothes,
underneath the covers
what she wears, i can't disclose;
yeah, she’s the one i wanna make up
before we start a fight,
she’s the one i wanna wake up
in the middle of the night.

me you wouldn't have to pay
to be the guy to sell her shoes,
watch her strut her stuff
buy or not, i couldn’t lose.
and i declare i’m gonna wear
my love for her all over me,
and i would die before i’d bring
her any kind of misery.

yes, any thing but thankfulness,
that she’ll always wear my ring.

she’s a country kinda girl,
walks in city girl shoes;
over thirty years later,
she’s the one that i still choose.
she’s the one i wanna make up
before we start a fight;
she’s the one i wanna wake up
in the middle of the night.

~

post script.

she is double nickels,
and now even more beautiful
than when i fell in love at sixteen!

Nov 2015 · 1.1k

tears for Paris

SE Reimer Nov 2015

tears for Paris

~

there is weeping
in the streets,
a cry heard on
the boulevard,
the place where
lovers meet;
no charge for this
performance,
for cover paid
can never save
the wounding
of this soul;
this act, no lore,
’tis their making...
become their theatre,
this act of war.
as arms outstretched,
awaiting hope
that never comes,
slowly die alone,
losing grip
on life
once clenched;
no more beating,
all lay bleeding
in the street
far below.
this place where
horror falls,
like darkness
'til their bodies,
one by one
are gathered up;
our heart in pieces,
their blood spilled
on the ground,
we lay flowers
here at home,
and on the hillsides
as we weep for you,
here across the sea,
as we watch
your fading light,
oh Paris, where
it's raining tears,
with you we,
the dawn await,
the coming mourning.

~

*post script.

how is a poet to act, to think, to feel when there is such devastation as this? we can only bleed in ink on page, as snippets of news, pictures, unedited video, all... paint a picture of horror, leaving behind brokenness and tears that will flow endlessly. oh Paris, we grieve for you... with you... over you!

Nov 2015 · 767

Tribute

SE Reimer Nov 2015

Tribute

~

(its message timeless and as real today as then,
this is a re-post from two years back)

one current note, this 2015 Veteran's Day,
i am grateful to say that 12 days hence
my son returns from a third middle east deployment;
there will be much to give thanks for!

~

Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine,
Air, space, land and sea;
Sailor, Corpman, Airman, Soldier,
Pilot, Ranger, Medic, SEAL,
or Merchant Mariner;
Barbary, 1812, American Revolution,
Civil, Spanish, Texan and Mexican,
WWI, WWII,
Korea, Vietnam,
Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan.

Khaki, green, white and blue,
Ship, tank, plane... all boots.
Knife, pistol, bomb or rifle,
Weapon, bandage, or Bible instead,
Each one’s veins filled with red.

Hostage rescue, protect and shield,
Capture, conquer, overcome, never yield;
Freedom, heartbreak, loss and grief,
Foreign, home, border, sky,
Ocean, desert, mountain, plain,
Water side, hillside, bedside, grave.

Parent, child, father, mother,
Auntie, uncle, niece or nephew,
Sister, brother, spouse and lover.
May your sweat on furtive brow,
Rouse our tribute, take knee and bow.
Buried, missing... wounded all,
Respect, endure, honor, release,
Forever may you rest in peace.

To each of you
Who’s paid a price,
With years, with limb,
With blood, with life,
For each of these,
Oh, warrior ferocious,
Wrapped around
A heart that’s precious;
My voice it sings,
Let freedom ring;
My heart, it bleeds,
My eyes, they weep;
My hand, it rises in salute;
And my soul is filled
This day for you
With pride that swells,
With love that beats,
A song of deepest,
Heartfelt
Gratitude!

Oh Warrior, you this day I salute!!!

~

*Post Script:

In tribute to:
- The 240th birthday of our United State Marines Corp
- Each veteran on this Veteran’s Day, here now and those no longer with us
- To a son who serves today, protecting combat skies

This country has fought in many wars. I mean no slight, or disrespect in any omission whatsoever, whether in field, unit, uniform or war (giving highlight to major US conflicts only). Each of us knows, deep in our hearts, that not all wars are just (read St. Augustine and St. Aquinas’ Just War concept here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Justwartheory ) and not all wars bind us together, but on this I hope and pray we can agree... the men, the women trained and sent are deserving of tribute, having given everything.
For, “greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”

This write then doesn’t pay tribute to war, to their command
nor the reasons for each one, be they righteous or no;
it pays tribute only to each military man and woman,
their heart and their soul!

Nov 2015 · 743

celestial flow

SE Reimer Nov 2015

celestial flow

~

dusk brings a chill
o’er the ocean,
this secret stage
where twilight fades
in regent haze;
transformed, replaced
with slow drift,
swirling, mist
softly rolling in.
above, the sand,
a salt-washed beach.
a brimming tide
awaits release
of curtain rising
far above, and there,
like bio-luminescence,
she shimmers in the ether;
ancient existence,
always with us,
seldom seen,
her light serene.
a fresh emergence
each moonless night,
a shimmering of colors,
like a nightly bow
an arch of
color-filled delight.
though this night rests,
not drawn and taut,
exuding peacefulness;
her horse in all its glory,
feeding in her pastured stars.
drawing, telling
children wonder-eyed
of her richness,
of her treasures,
loving, storied skies,
light years in the making.
her curtain lifted,
these moments served,
to but a few.
a sacred showing
to our breath-taking,
memory-making eyes.
hovering in her milky skin,
she dazzles, beckoning;
her adieu at sun’s return,
at our rising disappears.
awaits another
night's re-appearing,
her celestial flow
like a river of
imagination, rippling,
much to our surprise,
a gifting
to awakened eyes,
never captured,
only living on...
in memories,
in moments raptured.

~

*post script.

inspired by Mathew Newman,
of Mathew Newman Photography
who captures the night sky so skillfully,
of the milky way rising above the pacific ocean
along southern oregon's secret beach.
his name for the photo that inspired this,
"Celestial Flow", of course.

sorry, i am not permitted to include links
but simply add www. to both these below and you will find what inspired me:

facebook.com/MatthewNewmanPhotography/
or
matthewnewmanphotography.com/wp-content/gallery/gallery-1/CelestialFlowWeb.jpg

Nov 2015 · 392

fly fishing (10w)

SE Reimer Nov 2015

fly fishing (10w)

~

her tranquil surface abruptly awakened;
well-cast fly by rainbow taken.

~

*post script.

that moment when the rest of the world wakes up. (hyphenated words count as only one, right?),

Nov 2015 · 559

Why?

SE Reimer Nov 2015

Why?

(my answer to her "Scar")

~

drawn to her and here
by mutual friend,
a not-so-neutral standerby,
i am undone by reading
her entreating,
questions haunting...
why?

i too will never understand
how scars can heal
how love divides.
the hurting, haunting
ever daunting
rage and hate inside,
it turns me
to an ever wanting
knowledge...
why?

the answer comes
in whispered winds,
in knowings deep within.
this mortal plain
does not remain;
this clock
will one day stop;
this heart will beat
this side no more;
these feet will
draw unto this chest,
when fleeting moments,
thought-filled words,
my last i love you's
whispered from my breast.
and then the realness,
truest journey starts
where all i take
is what i've made
and carry there
within this heart.
a redefining mission.
as i introspective, listen,
to my Creator whispering,
"welcome to my new beginning!
you, i've waited long to hold;
'well done' on earth is not the end,
for she was just the womb.
this place, your home,
now birthed anew;
the journey now embarks.
i'm thrilled you packed
so carefully,
the treasures carried
in your heart."

~

post script.

more could be said, but why?
for we know the answer if
we listen to the whisperings within.

SPT, a gifted artist...
mostly because she asks
such beautiful,
soul-searching
questions!*

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1449901/scar/

Nov 2015 · 2.0k

catch-releasing

SE Reimer Nov 2015

catch-releasing

~

the smell of timbers,
aging in the sun and daily misting;
neath the shuffling sound,
footsteps of a man,
bucket filled with daily catchings,
the reeling in of memory’s castings,
of creosote's faint lifting,
drifting on the breezes;
of old tackle boxes,
of shrimp and lures;
the gatherings of hands,
ragged and weathered,
the collecting of years;
of hand-me-down hooks,
bobbers and sinkers,
the odd bits of dust,
gathered in corners,
pliers worn by use and rust,
save from drownings
grateful rainbows
one by one,
their too-short lives
extended with each
catch and release.

tired ropes wrapped
’round bent iron ties,
summer-time-baked...
cracked and dried,
by day's too old to count,
the numbers, the flutters,
since this heart began its bleeding,
it's journey beating,
floats of faded red and blue,
recall of a yesteryear
of a grandfather renewed;
the one-time, one-day
he and i walked
hand-in-hand
down a dusty road
to an old, wood fishing dock
on a grassy river bank;
dock and day long gone,
but love-scribed now,
deeply in this memory.
a day with rod and reel
when on a river long ago
a boy and a man,
an afternoon of fishing
to his heart listening.
a wistful day
of boyhood’s dreams
now in wishful haze;
forgotten midst
the growing years,
tumbling out in verse,
those smells, the sounds,
now reel out words
between the tears,
now catch-releasing,
a heart's docking...
and memory’s rebirth.

~

*post script.

funny, this memory thing... how we can be so not conscious of what lies ’neath its surface, but then is reclaimed in vivid, YouTube vision by the smallest sight, sound, or smell. with a childhood spent 8,000 miles and an ocean away from my home country, i have scarce few memories of my grandfather. today i am grateful to reclaim this one, a tearfully joyous recall of a six-year old's wonder-filled afternoon,
caught and released so long ago.

Nov 2015 · 640

plagiarist’s end

SE Reimer Nov 2015

plagiarist’s end

(a ten-word, tenured writ)

~

they found her lying...
beneath the weight
of stolen lines!

~

*post script.

this ten word post from 2013 somehow seemed rather apropos today... with only one necessary change... it's gender.

having begun my life of a poet as a 9-year old plagiarist, i know the shame of discovery... thankfully for me it was just fourth-grade and the shame of discovery opened eventually to a world of poetic uncovering.  i needed not copy anyone else for the seeds were already within!!!  my hope today is that she too will have such a revelation!

my original post script from 2013...

copycats never win (10w)
though these words are true, i sometimes wonder if Solomon was right... is there ANYTHING new under the sun; are any of my words really my own?  or did i read them somewhere and then they jumbled, tumbled out rearranged as "my own?"

Oct 2015 · 2.0k

inhale... exhale...

SE Reimer Oct 2015

inhale... exhale...

(the native way)

~

inhale... exhale...
the native way;
an exfoliation,
shedding of
her stunning gown,
plunging softly,
down, down, down,
conflagration’s
consummation,
pregnant pause
by nature’s laws,
until...
nativity’s birth
quenches,
spiritual thirst
experiences,
renewal of her
earthen existence!

exhale...
her lines...
fairly breathed;
inhale...
a respite...
well received!
an earthen blessing,
fallen resting;
inhale… exhale…
lulled to lay
in deepest slumber,
rocking, floating,
gentle ‘lighting
‘neath her boughs
of native wonder.
inhale… exhale…
inhale… exhale…
inhale… exhale…
breathe…
receive...
sweetest dreams!

~

post script.

Christi Michaels...
her exhalation, my inspiration
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1441952/indian-summer/
no more needs said... except,
thank you, Christi!

Oct 2015 · 985

conflagration

SE Reimer Oct 2015

conflagration

~

she shows her loss
in conflagration,
her death in
varied coloration;
in life support
of beautied kind,
she displays for
all mankind
her burst of
brilliant orange,
of rusty red,
and deep magenta,
of richest shades
in burnt sienna.
all are losses
soon to be,
loosed from limb,
and fallen...
from her tree,
to the earth
for all to see;
master of
this burning fire,
fulfills the eye
to heart’s desire,
she makes sweet love
with dying breath,
she breathes her last
with heaving breast,
and summons all
to watch her death,
to bid adieu
in living color,
and thus fulfills
her yearly drama;
showing loss is
more than death...
tis cold winter’s
icy breath
that breathes
anew each spring,
and thus the
cycle filled
she the chosen,
she the one,
to bring new life,
awakened sun;
renewed to us,
and thus,
the rays of hope
again, begun!

~

*post script.

my inspiration for this creation is simple... the posting of a dear HP friend, K. Mae, who wrote these simple and profound words here...
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1435498/see-through-loss/

thank you K, for helping to open these eyes to the riches that lie before us... even in loss!

Oct 2015 · 816

liquidation

SE Reimer Oct 2015

liquidation

~

where’s the rain
to save the day?
the silo empty,
the barn no hay.
the only pouring
we have seen
is from the counter
down the street.
gin and beer and
old Jim Beam,
the bar is full,
but glass is empty.
our men are weeping,
children hungry!
these fields that yielded
harvest plenty
under sweat of
daddy's brow,
now they’ll try’n
take my home;
state moves in
to steal our peace,
won’t leave us ’lone,
till we’ve been fleeced.
send a draught to
quench our pain;
end this drought with
drenching rain!
this to you we pray...

“pour from heaven’s door,
indulge us with an inundation;
from the bounty of your store
deluge us with a liquidation”

oh, keeper of
these cloudless skies,
send sweet rain
to wet these eyes!
for the lost ones
in this town,
to save this family,
save this farm,
from heartless souls
who mean us harm.
i am just a poor boy
whose cup has all run dry
no where else to turn,
nothing left to try.
flow in torrents,
pour in sheets,
send libations,
bring relief;
send the rain to
flood the street.
oh master of
the ocean deep,
pour your liquid,
pour your gold,
a’fore our children
grow too old.
no more saving
for some rainy day,
this to you we pray...

“pour from heaven’s door,
indulge us with an inundation;
with bounty from your store
deluge us with a liquidation”

~

*post script

the Western US is experiencing a four-year drought of
epic proportions and with water in such short supply,
family farms are burning up in the heat
with grave consequences looming large
on the not-so-distant horizon.
we witnessed this arid devestation
first hand a week ago traveling through
North and Central California, and
felt in just the tiniest way the crush
of water shortages at all her state
campgrounds. beautiful Shasta Lake
was dry except for a small stream
running through the lake bed...
how very sad; she is not the California
i remember in our last visit.

Oct 2015 · 1.2k

lost

SE Reimer Oct 2015

lost

~

there is a lighthouse churning
in the fury of the storm,
thirty-three for land are yearning,
loved ones waiting news at home;
a captain and his crew a'fight
brave souls that never cease to hope,
to bring their ship to port a'right
all pray for dawn that never comes.

fifty feet from trough to crest
she drops with groan to valley low,
to rise again with frothing peak,
her wild plunge from stern to bow
she is no place for wearied souls,
provides no quarter for the weak;
no port in sight, for thee no rest,
yet braver souls we need not seek.

her vessel old is wearing thin,
her searchers all but losing hope;
as only remnants one by one,
in bits and pieces still afloat
leaves watching world a sense of dread;
alone remains a sheen of grief,
these waters won’t release their dead;
El Faro won't you speak?

did you break apart in final hours?
or did you roll into the deep?
listing near the Crooked isle,
your precious cargo now we seek;
even one to tell your tale,
are all now lost; is all forlorn?
of those that stepped aboard to sail
will no one living come ashore?

though wreckage lost into the deep,
though family arms now torn apart,
in waves awash the mem’ries heap,
your tale lives on in untold hearts!
your souls cannot the ocean keep,
for fathers, sons, daughters, lovers,
unknown eyes for you now weep,
your names in prayer a world now utters!

all that to these waves go down.
you that ply this furied sea;
you, the brave, though lost have found
a harbor’s safety from the storm,
a port that offers welcome,
hope from strife forevermore,
safe in everlasting arms,
now rest eternal; peaceful be!

~

*post script.

this news story has increasingly gripped my attention since first breaking early last week. i began putting thoughts together earlier this week, but had hopes of publishing instead a writ ending on a joyous note. with the Coast Guard calling off their six-day search this evening, all are now being declared lost at sea on Oct. 1st, 2015. no joyous ending, no happy reunions... only sadness, like a sheen of grief over the Atlantic.

she was just shy of 800 feet in length, El Faro (the Lighthouse), a US flagged cargo vessel, en route from Jacksonville to San Juan; she carried 28 Americans and five Poles, to the depths near Crooked Island, Bahamas; her last transmission- “propulsion lost, listing 15 degrees”.

her tragic end, succumbing to the fifty foot seas of Hurricane Joaquin, leaving no survivors, none to tell her final hours; only one life ring and a body of broken evidence amongst the flotsam midst the waves.

rest in peace you brave souls thirty and three!
with your families we grieve!

Oct 2015 · 707

stolen heart

SE Reimer Oct 2015

stolen heart

~

lost a good friend
the other day.
the kindest friend,
my confidant,
the sweetest one i knew.
harsh the way he went
que sera, surreal,
and such a tragic accident!
walking on his way alone,
he caught his hand in hers;
his feet somehow
with hers locked step,
down he up and tripped,
and as he fell,
his hand outstretched
her golden ring
on finger slipped!
his feet now frozen fast,
his heart was stolen,
held within her clasp.
love, such a tragic thing...
burned by desire,
those flames grew higher,
'til all of him consumed.
x marks the spot
that he was struck,
blind-sided by her heart;
when flames die down
(if ere they do),
t'will be none left
of what he was,
none of his self
to be exhumed.
love, is a burnin' thing,
some say that love
is a fiery ring.
love captures hearts,
it blinds the lost,
love binds the heart,
to its life of cost,
requires giving things,
like diamond rings,
a giving up
of all that's mine,
for a life of sharing dreams,
the boundlessness of hope,
no waking up alone,
no walking on one’s own;
instead two feet
bound up with rope,
those single days are gone;
being buried long and deep.
goodbye to yours and mine
now living life together
high above its weathered stone.
and hanging from the gallows near.
a written sign with this,
“gone and married,
hearts on fire;
headed for
eternal bliss!”

~

*post script.

no hearts were broken
in the writing of this poem,
no feelings hurt,
and most importantly, no
friends lost... only gained!

when a friend posted a photo of
a sidewalk sign outside a café,
it prompted… no inspired, this write.
thank you, Raylene!

the sign read-
“i lost a good friend & drinkiin’ buddy
this past weekend in a tragic accident...
he got his finger caught in a wedding ring.”

LOL!

credit to Johnny Cash for lyrics
borrowed from his 1963 hit,
"Ring of Fire"

Sep 2015 · 1.6k

the lonesome overcomer

SE Reimer Sep 2015

the lonesome overcomer

~

(written in response to one by Beryl Dov)

constellationally speaking
a trophied man is one
whose weaknesses
he has overcome,
those the stars
foretold, ordained;
flaws and blemishes
the gods disdained,
who flies
with herculean
brawn and breadth;
who plies
the star ways
to their dizzying heights
and stairways
to their dismal depths.
he is…
like no other,
he is…
the lonesome
overcomer!

~

*post script.

for Beryl Dov, poet laureate, extraordinaire;
in response to his “The Lonely Astronomer”.
how anyone sees his as anything
negative is beyond me…
i see nothing but
an overcomer’s metaphor.
well done, friend!!

(and yes, by "man"
i do mean mankind)

The Lonely Astronomer:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1182761/the-lonely-astronomer/

Sep 2015 · 1.2k

in requiem

SE Reimer Sep 2015

in requiem

~

here our gathered shadows,
in this hallowed place,
'neath its high hewn beams,
within its vacuous space;
to these storied walls,
we add our sighs of suffering;
to these earthly halls
for you in love we bring
our ties of heart and this,
for you a proxied offering,
for you a plea for peace,
on your behalf entreat,
a prayer for hope, for rest.
as earthly labors cease,
as in the distance,
earthly mem’ry fades,
may all its toil,
its daily rage,
dispelled as vapor be,
and in its place
may love remain,
as you ever rest in peace.

~

*post script.

for those lost from these halls,
taken from us ’fore their time
for Ernest, the Seeker, the Dreamer!

Sep 2015 · 898

open invitation

SE Reimer Sep 2015

open invitation

~

a child's hand print,
and under
a color-filled
paint-by-number;
it bears
the usual adornments,
photographed moments,
magnetic attractions
from faraway places;
but my heart
it no longer begs
to leave this place,
stuck in time,
i am...
in space.
my mind can't conceive
this loss i can't see.
throw back these covers,
you will quickly discover
an empty dark hole,
where once stood a soul.
and now our
'frigerator's adornments
point outward no longer,
covered instead
with daily reminders
that point to this inward;
its gnawing
and clawing
this scratching
and hoping
and just this one,
an unanswered,
open invitation...
"please come home
for dinner,
just once more,
son!"
a candle is lit,
in your place
no one sits,
only this
empty plate,

awaits...

~

*post script.

i miss you, son!

in the river that is grief,
the current is not constant
but rather changes,
sometimes often,
daily even,
at other times
a low sense
of numbness pervades.
what is it of fall
that increases its flow?
it is not related to
any calendar date,
more a change in flow
with the season
such is grief.

Sep 2015 · 1.4k

tidal forces

SE Reimer Sep 2015

tidal forces

~

her coast line feels endless,
her straits and her bays,
each curve of her coves
is guiding the way.
to his infinite tracing,
his breaths and her sighs,
leave their hearts racing,
gives breath-taking rise,
to views borne of heaven,
swept up and then falls,
to the beach where he finds,
her seashell that calls.
his answer she hears
in the voice of his tide,
his infinite strength
she draws to her side;
the laugh of his thunder,
the crash of his roar,
from the crest of his shoulder,
to the breast of her shore;
she melts as he touches
the warmth of her portal,
as she reaches through sands
for his heart and his soul.
an angelic witness
to a union held fast;
his body of water,
her terra firma in clasp.

~

*post script.

seashore imagery
clings to this mind...
must be time to take a trip
to the ocean with my love.

Sep 2015 · 1.1k

crimson tide

SE Reimer Sep 2015

crimson tide

~

this tide of clouds is rolling in,
iridescent crimson, tangerine,
her swells in shades imagining;
walk with me upon this shore,
tide pools of the night explore,
’til the tide returns once more;
her color palette, crashing wave,
troupe de ballet, all ablaze,
this sea of memories engrave.

~

*post script.

this inspired by a particularly
color-filled sunset last night;
it resembled an incoming tide;
yes, of course i photographed it!
knowing that i cannot resist
a beautiful sunset, she asks,
'whatcha gonna do with
all those sunset pics?',
i respond, 'i suppose like
all good memories,
i just plan to hold them..
close.'

Sep 2015 · 1.1k

a mistress coercive

SE Reimer Sep 2015

a mistress coercive

(three in the morning)

~

the words flow with ease
in pictures and phrases,
but the cascade won't cease
till his book's out of pages.

now its three in the morning,
it’s not sheep he is counting;
the words still are flowing,
his frustration is mounting.

its an overdue balance,
this tossing and turning;
like a debt that he's owing,
yet for rest he is yearning.

then in sweaty exhaustion,
the night he is lighting;
in hopes of salvation,
turns his thoughts into writing.

words tumble in earnest,
in assembly of verses;
in a nocturnal skirmish,
with a mistress coercive.

yes, dreams are his master,
each night is his foe;
only daybreak his answer,
to this poetry flow.

~

post script.

(a bit like the last one)
while I am certain there are
plenty of exceptions,
you who experience this mistress...
you know who you are and
you know her siren call.

funny how days, weeks, sometimes months
can go by, and nothing... just a dry river bed...
and then... bam! the dam breaks!
and ****, there goes one’s sleep...
out the window and down the river!
it's as if someone is saying,
“forget sleep, silly boy...
you wanted poetry,
now write!”

Aug 2015 · 992

a poem is no gift

SE Reimer Aug 2015

a poem is no gift

~

a gift as you say,
if such there be,
is only a gift
when given to thee
with no strings attached,
and truly is free.
yet...
mine come the hard way,
no, my poems aren't free,
for it is no gift
when the "talent" you see,
though the writ and the wit
flow with ease, admittedly;
no, my poems are cunning,
they act like they're free,
yet in truth they are cruel
for my poems own me!

~

*post script.

written in response to a friend's words, " you have a gift", to which i can only say, "ha!" and to my fellow poets, you know who owns who; for if yours are like mine, they tumble around in phrases in the night, leaving you restless and wanting, til you rise and extract them onto paper, and ONLY then will they leave you alone!"

i think fellow poet Joe Cole has perfectly captured what i have wanted to articulate in these words to me: "The gift is in the mind, the use of words are the ability to gain the gift." well said, my friend!

Aug 2015 · 1.0k

our journey

SE Reimer Aug 2015

our journey

~

a tribute to the good times

cannot neglect the rough.

without a struggle comes no prize,

cocoon would yield no butterfly,

and without the rain the rose would die.

so when i'm tempted to forget

just how far we've come,

please remind me, dear...

please remind me that you love me;

sweet promise whisper in my ear.

repaint the mem'ries 'cross my mind,

kaleidoscope of precious times;

remind me that our journey

of a thousand miles began

these many years ago now,

the day you took my hand;

remind me that each day

is just another step,

toward dreams and goals and promises

that together will be kept.

~

*post script.

a re-post from earlier days.
i must be feeling particularly reminiscent today

one of the earlier poems i wrote for my wife...
had to be twenty plus years ago now.

Aug 2015 · 434

favorites

SE Reimer Aug 2015

favorites

~

color...
the changing palette of bluest green and softest brown,
that gaze out the soul panes that adorn your face tween nose and brow.

taste...
that hint of mint on your breath with the slightest note of chardonnay
that dances on my tongue during a long goodnight kiss.

smell...
the smell of fresh linen, soft cotton with hints of floral scent on sea breeze,
that lingers in your hair and in the air after a long, sweet embrace.

sound...
the hushed whispers of your voice as you tell me,
"i'll stay the night tonight... and every one hereafter, 'til i breathe my last!"

place...
the gentle rising, shaded shoulder of bare land where i lay my head
between your slender arm, your silky neck.

memory...
the natural way your head fits perfectly twixt my arm and chest,
like a memory foam all its own made just for you.

person...
you... in all your forms, adorned and unadorned;
in grief, laughter, in hope, ever after!

~

*post script.

happy anniversary, darling!
thirty-six years ago today
you made me the happiest
and most blessed man
on God's green earth!
if i could go back
and change things...
i'd change nothing!

Aug 2015 · 14.7k

romancing the sea

SE Reimer Aug 2015

romancing the sea

~

where clear blue sky meets water's deep
his sunbeams reach her waves to tease,
to warm her currents, foaming spray;
dawn to dusk when daylight fades,
till only afterglow remains,
an interlude of celestial stage.

he speaks to her on written sky
and in the mournful sea-bird's cry,
wraps sultry ribbons in her tresses,
his fingers linger in caresses,
and in soothing choreography
he gently stirs her ocean's breeze.

he sends her gifts of palm and dates,
wrapped on waves in salty sprays;
watches her with much delight,
he sings to her each eventide,
love songs with the calling gull,
and rocks her tween the gusts and lulls.

wedded at horizon’s edge,
devotion to her he has pledged,
to have forever and to hold,
his comfort to her storm-tossed soul;
his tender kiss on tear-stained cheek,
where clear blue sky meets water's deep.

~

post script.

when one gazes
into the vastness
of sea and sky,
of what is from
height to depth
an endless blue,
one cannot but think
of eternal devotion,
of the relationship
between two who have
pledged their forever troth!

as i wonder from what recesses
this one came, i remember…
our 36th wedding anniversary
is fast approaching...
i’ve been thinking of what to gift her
that will make her cry anew.

**thank you to Hello Poetry for
the tremendous honor bestowed
with their designation of this poem as the daily
and to all who have expressed their heartfelt
love and appreciation... your message
came through loud and clear...
there can be no denying it,
i am an incredibly blessed man
because of each of you!
thank you, truly,
from the bottom of my heart!

Aug 2015 · 407

heart condition

SE Reimer Aug 2015

heart condition

~

a dear friend of mine wrote this after losing
her best friend and mother, and almost immediately after,
also her beautiful voice. as with so many things we write
during our most trying times, these profound and poignant lines
were written during her voice-less struggle.

~

stress tightened it's noose on me,
i couldn't say a word.

people saw my lips move...
but little could be heard;

doctors asked me, 'does it hurt?'
and followed my, 'yes!', with, 'where?'

moving my fingers to my heart,
i softly whispered... 'there!'

~

*by Sunshine Dixon

~

post script.

i am grateful to be able to write that
after an extended period without it,
Sunshine's beautiful voice was finally restored.
i re-discovered this write while perusing through
some past correspondence and on seeing it
decided right then that it would be selfish
to not share my love for her voice
with all of you!

Aug 2015 · 904

breaking news

SE Reimer Aug 2015

breaking news

~

pre-script

it struck me recently,
our news is built on
heart break, loss, and mayhem.
some call it breaking news,
it may more aptly be called,
snap shot of a breaking point.

a news media article
though not always, often indicates...
no predicates,a breaking point,
the arrival at a tipping point,
an intersection where
we see one at their ungodly worst,
at their lowest ever, and it is here
that the world at large
BEGINS to read their story...

breaking news

the whole world gathers round
to dine on breaking news,
a feast of gluttonous portions
in shades of black and white;
each and every day, someone new,
the stories tell their dark of night;
the racing forward,
wheels spinning,
furious peddling of
a news cycle voracious,
greets the culmination of
someone’s breaking point;
a wildfire burning ferocious
in someone else's yard.

Jack has lost the family’s home,
Jill’s dreams have been downsized,
dear John’s letter says she’s gone,
Jane’s nerves broke down... again;
grief-stricken mum just lost her son,
a father broken, though once strong...

this breaking-point, colored-news
shades a darkened point of view,
reveals the end of brighter days;
a tipping point that shows the way
to hungry vulturous birds of prey.

i know mine... I think,
but what’s your breaking point?
if i reach mine afore you yours,
as you read the headline story,
have a little sympathy;
trace the path that led me here,
wear my shoes to feel the cost,
read between the lines they write
and don’t check me off as lost
but a few changes
of the script,
consider please,
just as easily,
“this could be me.”

~

*what is your breaking point?

Jul 2015 · 797

discovering Rumi

SE Reimer Jul 2015

discovering Rumi

~

from a world of unknowns
you entered my realm of all known;
your inquisitive mind,
questions of the divine,
my existence inquisition
to you answered the question;
to live is to feel,
to feel, to be real!
ancient life work as Sufi
juxtaposes our selfie.
this new fixation
giving life to rumination.

~

*post script.

those more privileged souls, well-studied in the anthropology of poetry will already know him, but to me he was virtual unknown until a recent daily script caught my eye; a reference to Rumi, one of the greatest of Sufi poets, Jalal al-Din Rumi wrote poems in the 13th century see http://hellopoetry.com/rumi/ . this poet challanges the entirety of my thought processing. only wish my discovery had come earlier in life.

Jun 2015 · 1.2k

running dry

SE Reimer Jun 2015

running dry

~

today a friend
reminded me,
a quote by
Elbert Hubbard,
"love grows by giving.
the love we give away
is the only love we keep.
the only way to retain love
is to give it away."

indeed,
so let it be
write the inscription
let my epitaph read,
"lived fully...
gave plenty
loved gently
died empty."

~

*and let the post script read...

"yes, his whisky ran dry
as he lived so he died."

May 2015 · 1.0k

muddled headlines

SE Reimer May 2015

muddled headlines

~

headline.
a middling's meddling muddled the mathmatical mix, messed up the milling, marring the miller's marriage merriment.

~

translation.
baker's assistant trying to help, triples only half of the ingredients in his boss's wedding cake. result... fail!

just imagining myself a news editor and having fun with word play. :)
(: Steve

May 2015 · 906

bridge

SE Reimer May 2015

bridge

~

magnetized, i stand,
muse of far off lands,
as for nourishment i reach,
these remind of thee;
reflections each are we,
soldiers all... sailors,
tossed about on stormy sea,
thirsty souls in paper boats,
as, in need of simple hope
each the other read,
you... my poetic anchor be;
as another’s soil i dream;
like magnets on my fridge
your words on page, my bridge
doorway to the heart of thee.

~

*post script.

to my poet friends, both known
and unknown with most un-met... yet,
this rambling spilled
as i reached this morning for
nourishment from my refrigerator
after reading your many wonderful
and uplifting writes.
my new profile pic
helps to tell the story.

wishing you peace
on this Memorial Day weekend...
may those lost to thee,
ever rest in peace!

(Memorial Day- a designated day
in the US for remembrance
of those beloved souls
whom we lost too soon.)

love to you...
each and every one,
old friends and new!

May 2015 · 661

our community

SE Reimer May 2015

our community

(to she who took liberties not hers to take)

~

may i caution you on critiques
of those whom you don't know,
those with whom you haven't
developed e'en the slightest rapport?
i'd charge you to think more simply,
to listen close and get to know
those who come here to be heard,
who offer smiles and lend an ear...
and in return receive a bit
of comfort, perhaps some hope.
if i thought that you would hear me
i'd suggest you may not much like
to swallow your own harsh words,
but now i see you've not bothered
to offer us even one
of your own poetic lines.
so instead i will suggest
that you find another site,
a place that gathers folks
full of themselves (and spite).
and should you chose to stay instead
please don't forget that here at HP
we value our community, as one,
from most prolific to the least;
those who write in English though
its not their language first;
teens who've had
no formal training,
and those with PhD;
all are valued here, and
we don't mind a thought or two,
but have first the decency,
get to know us 'fore you criticize,
and gift us a knowing you.

~

post script.

when i read a brand new HP member's harsh and unnecessary critique of the winner of this past Monday's daily, yet had offered not even one poem of their own here on HP, i felt a sense of betrayal for our teenaged community member who had with vulnerability written about herself as a "battered butterfly". i have no problem with fair critique, but i say you'd better know us first and we you. i appreciate this HP community... immensely!

and by the way, if i may say, kudos to our member she defended herself most graciously!

in final words to she for whom this is written, should she wish to humbly retract her words, i will readily forgive; i would gladly look forward to one day embracing her as part of this wonderful community! we all make mistakes... myself included.

May 2015 · 803

epilogue

SE Reimer May 2015

epilogue

~

someone told me once,
poets are a dime a dozen;
yes, "we've chosen a craft
that a pittance pays"
and are most oft
recognized only
by the ashes
of the pages,
the words
we leave behind.

yet, i say write,
write today
like your life
depends on it...

for most of us
it doesn't,

but for all of us
our epilogue
just might!

so write!

~

post script.

quote from a previous a couple of years back.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/479369/the-wordsmiths-ballad/

May 2015 · 7.0k

sunset dreams

SE Reimer May 2015

sunset dreams

~

oh sun set at sunset,
oh set sun divine;
oh sun set at sunset,
oh set sun on mine.

each finger a print,
each palm in your hands,
each color a glint,
from immeasurable sands.

no out-of-time dance,
’tis artistic mystique,
no step left to chance,
it’s unveiling unique;

each a palette’s adieu,
as sunset's wine tips
with a lover's, ‘helloo’,
to kiss twilight lips.

forever the lover,
a gifting, a sign,
as dusk throws its covers
o’er the love it enshrines.

oh sun set at sunset,
my lover is you,
oh sun set at sunset,
'sweetest dreams’ to you too.

~

*post script.

watching a sunset always reminds me
of the ardent kiss of two lover’s
bidding each other, ’good night!’

May 2015 · 1.3k

never forgotten

SE Reimer May 2015

never forgotten

~

“can a mother forget her child..."
though separated by the grave?
the son she bore and bathed,
the one whom life she gave,
the one she nursed and fed,
whom she carried on her side?
the son she taught to love,
to give, to walk, to pray,
him she watched with pride?
no, never... and a day,
not ever in one thousand years;
though the earth go on forever,
the son who was her babe
she'll not forget him, ever!

~

*post script.

celebrating my dearest wife, loving mother
and doting grandmother on this Mother’s Day!
sons she gave us, three she bore;
two with us... one gone on...
awaiting our arrival, home.

Isaiah 49:15

May 2015 · 1.1k

smile hugs

SE Reimer May 2015

smile hugs

~

smiles...
i tried to stack 'em
deep for you;
tried to pile 'em up,
make 'em fit
into a box,
to send to you
by post...
but o're they fell
on rounded edges,
as one by one
on their sides
they tipped!
so instead
i’ll send 'em
to you,
end to end,
nested,
just like this.

:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

once unpacked,
i hope sincerely
you will
gently pull,
lift them
from their
nesting places,
turn them
on their chins,
to their
widest bases,
then pull their
cheeks up
ever high,
so all we see is
smiling
faces!

Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü

and if just now
the corners
of your mouth
tugged upward,
even just a bit,
if a far'way glance
crossed your face,
right there
where you sit,
then you are
my recipient...
receiver of my smile,
personally sent
this smile hug,
from me, to thee,
across the miles!

Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü

now smile...
i hope you’ll
pass it on!!

~

*post script.

oh, come on...
you know you felt it
in your heart,
you felt it tug
even just a bit!
and even if you can't
acknowledge it,
you know this smile,
this hug across the miles
made you feel
just a little bit
warmer!
just admit...
you liked it!

Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü

i know i did...
cuz it looks sooooo good on you!!

(: yes, of course... you think i don't know its syrupy? :)

May 2015 · 538

coffee kisses (10w)

SE Reimer May 2015

coffee kisses (10w)

~

coffee kisses

'tween mister and misses,

sharing... life's tastiest wishes!

~

*post script.

my profile reveals a tiny secret
(: Steve

(: no... its not 10w Tuesday, but Sunday seemed so much more appropriate for this :)

May 2015 · 815

safe harbor

SE Reimer May 2015

safe harbor

~

the ebb and flow
her tidal pull
a lunar fullness
draws me home,
it’s gentle sway
at eventide
it pulls me closer
to her side.
this homeward port
a harbor safe
a slip secure
tis where i rest,
my home here sure
o'erlooks this bay
it’s here i lie;
all hopelessness
all tears i cry
swept clean as sand
at highest tide,
and in its place
here's what i find,
a hopefulness
a peace of mind,
a breathless beauty
a bright divine.
oh, cluttered soul
this life's debris
like clear blue sky
swept far from me
to ocean's deep.
here all the why's
i ask of life
are ever lost
though ne'er replied
once tempest tossed
now free to breath
safe in her arms
most restful sleep.

~

*post script.

there is something about coming home;
having a place of refuge, of safety...
more than just a roof over one’s head,
if it be a place of peace, it is a place of rest,
and there is nothing else, anywhere like it.
these last few nights, watching
a lunar cycle climbing to its peak,
i reflect on how much i am drawn to her,
like the tide... there is no other place
on earth, none where i’d rather be
than in the shelter, the comfort...
of her arms.

May 2015 · 666

last time I saw your face

SE Reimer May 2015

last time I saw your face

~

last time I saw your face
sweet spring day
anticipation
regret
juxtaposition
holding on, letting go,
my son, young man

last time I saw your face
sweet spring day
recollection
hope
distinction
never go, clinging to
young man, always my child

~

*post script.

she is haunted by memories. this one shared with me just this week.

by Becky, my wife of thirty-five years and mother to our three beautiful sons.
her first poem ever... as far as i know.

yes, she is beautiful... and is all that is life to me!

Apr 2015 · 669

mourning glory

SE Reimer Apr 2015

mourning glory

~

in drops and drips
her palette tips,
a mem'ry full of
kaleidoscope tricks
its tumbling skips;
this is morning glory
at their best.
once at attention
she stands now
at color-filled rest,
unfurling her glory,
tell her your story;
she’ll drink in your weeping
sharing with others
in manifold colors
all of these losses,
your sorrowful world,
spreading her palette of tears,
colors a'running astray.
those tears can't really
be wiped away;
there's more where
that came from, dear...
a boat load of color
to drown in and smother;
beauty-filled dripping,
til finally the
balance is tipping
the other way;
and for just a bit
there as she sits
the river that ran
in colorful brilliance
is dried up,
and *******,
and only then is she
able to stand up
another day.
she is mourning glory!
still here on earth,
her feet firmly planted,
but awaiting the end
of her color-filled story,
and wondering...
will she ever
again
find that treasure
she once held so close,
this side of heaven?
she may have to settle
to weep with the flowers;
passing her hours,
one sunset closer
to her forever;
her bouquet of scent
drifts away... spent,
one flower fading
slowly is trading
at color-filled dusk;
she’s mourning glory,
her colors returning
to dust.

~

*post script.

this, these lines, are not quite as they started out,
not what i thought it was meant to be...
but then life... it never is, is it?

"with hope" by Steven Curtis Chapman:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OfQ4TlYh3ik

Apr 2015 · 4.5k

cloud alliterations

SE Reimer Apr 2015

cloud alliterations

~

the

skies breath

aloud their sighs

as county-sized clouds

tower o'er the countryside

severed by the mountain's scythe

remnants scattered now like little spies

no hope of rebound to their former glory

only obliterated slices now the sun can’t hide

clouds reduced to skyscraper size must now suffice

and on it goes, cumulus fingers sliced by lofty granite spires.

~

*post script.

just a playful mix
of mindless alliteration
with a bit of concrete.

Apr 2015 · 534

deliberations

SE Reimer Apr 2015

deliberations

~

a sentencing phase?
not really!
it is instead
a punctuation
deliberation!
be it a period
or a comma
to his phrase,
a life gone…
so terribly wrong,
awry!
oats sewn in haste
becoming
tares of waste
for thrashing,
not for threshing!

his acts despicable,
his name
an alliteration
to us unspeakable;
the terrifying
seen as desperation,
now in need of
great deliberation.
his end undertaken
by those he counted
once as peers,
these twelve poor souls,
now gods
with feet of clay;
his determined fate
to destine and ordain.

is any among
these twelve a peer
to the one
so driven
to destruction?
undeserving of
an exclamation point
no peer am i
as i hypothesize,
at most i’d put
his name in
(parenthesis)
not above,
but underneath
that cold, hard stone;
and ‘neath his name
omit the dash
between his beginning
and his ending.

~

*post script.

(Dzhokhar Tsarnaev)

yes, it is a cold, hard subject,
yet one worth discussing
if only for the sake of
reminding ourselves that
some do not, will not ever
respond to the correction
and the instruction of
a civilized society.
the very basis for
the correction system
in a civilized society
should be one of hope...
hope of restoration,
hope of redemption,
hope of a soul's resurrection.
when hope is gone,
what action then?
and in what manner
are we then charged?

Apr 2015 · 1.7k

dots

SE Reimer Apr 2015

dots

~

she, the girl
in a polka dot dress;
his, the heart
that beats in distress;
another day gone,
he's missed her again;
is there a future
in which they can win?
a picture in a frame
for the two of them?

connecting dots
the way we do,
its a wonder
that we ever
find the path
that's north and true;
and pick our way,
connecting points
that lead us back to you!

he went left
when he should've
gone right;
dot connecting
at its worst!
shouldn'ta been there
in the middle of the night.
i'd be lying
if i told you
this time was his first!

connecting dots
the way we do,
its a wonder
that we ever
find the path
that's north and true;
and pick our way,
connecting points
that lead us back to you!

she pokes-at-dots,
she paints by number,
his dots and dashes
like morse code.
all to her seems so random,
though they're not
and right choices
go the distance;
a true heart
will always win!

connecting dots
the way we do,
its a wonder
that we ever
find the path
that's north and true;
and pick our way,
connecting points
that lead us back to you!

~

*post script.

same dots,
different picture;
same story,
different day;
wrong connections
change the future,
why then do we wish
we'd gone the right way?

Apr 2015 · 482

love 4 two @ six (in 10)

SE Reimer Apr 2015

love 4 two @ six (in 10)

~

i'll serve dinner,
drinks and romance,
if you'll wear...
ambiance!

~

*post script

yum-my

Apr 2015 · 483

sommelier (10w)

SE Reimer Apr 2015

sommelier (10w)

~

your words... soothing notes;
my coffee... extra bold;
exquisite pairing!

~

*post script.

my HP friends, reading your beautiful poetry this morning has me tipsy on your tasty words... lingering on your every flowing word!

Apr 2015 · 1.0k

’tween these lines

SE Reimer Apr 2015

’tween these lines

~

her tears flow easily
on the shoreline,
with each swell
their bitter rise;
she weeps between
the crashing waves,
carried...
with the ripping tide,
sobbing...
with each heaving crest.
’tis on these rocks
her heart was torn,
her thirsty soul
here cries unquenched,
clinging to
this coast forlorn...
this churning,
salty brine,
where nothing
stills the beating,
not the bleeding
of her heart,
though her blood
has all run dry;
nor the cracked rib
’neath her breast,
though its piercing shards
erase her cries.

i lie here weeping
’tween these lines,
her nightly tears
and sleepless sighs,
white-capped sheets
her stormy bed,
churning shoulders,
tossing head;
for hope seems lost
when hope is best
an ocean’s grave,
a watery rest.
life's minutes counted
’til they’re gone
will only cease
their restless throes
when heaven’s gates
o'ercome her foes.

~

post script.

*her smile... ’tis a thin veil o'er a razor's edge
that conceals a mother’s bleeding heart

the month of his birth
and the month of his departure...
despite the twenty-five years between,
follow in such close succession.
like a Holy Week all her own,
each step, each word, each task,
each i-remember-where-i-was-
when-i-heard-the-news,
relived in painful remembrance.
Lent... Holy Week... the Easter season...
with all its rich and meaningful traditions,
now includes our breaking bread and
drinking wine in our heartfelt
communion of his memory and
helps us to better understand
the heart of our loving Father above

Apr 2015 · 1.4k

scandalous love

SE Reimer Apr 2015

scandalous love

~

on an evening dark,
in a garden afar,
eternity settled,
in a pivotal hour.

a son on his knees,
a cry out for grace;
an angel dispatched,
is a father's embrace.

in flesh, see him grasping,
wrestling with fear;
in spirit, triumphant,
as death is laid bare.

a struggle intense,
sweat running as blood;
salvation begotten,
conceived out of love.

in example embodied,
such a terrifying word;
forever redeeming,
my fallen world.

in that moment defined,
the cup is embraced,
a purpose divine,
restoring this race.

submissive love;
"not my will but yours."
scandalous love;
my hope it secured.

~

*post script.

endurance of the scandalous,
the rescue of the scoundrel,
full measure of the marvelous,
to re-ignite in us His candle.

Good Friday, my dear friends!

Apr 2015 · 377

i a fool in love

SE Reimer Apr 2015

i a fool in love

~

neath the cauldron of the past
i gave away my only heart,
to mine i pressed her body close,
our heat cooled only by the earth.
many years have come and gone
they’ve added to our dance of prose,
do not think that i've not wondered
if i gave this heart too soon...

do not think this mind didn't stray,
but with my heart no longer mine to give
it wasn't mine to give away.
yes, some called me a fool too young;
they are right and this is true,
i am just a fool, still in love with you!

i have known the warmth of tender lips,
i still love the sway of your dancing hips
without a doubt some lines we stumble,
words best unsaid instead we fumble;
yet still I offer you this hand,
join me as on still plays the band,
just you and i lets add more lines,
more stanzas to our dance of prose.

do not think this mind didn't stray,
but with my heart no longer mine to give
it wasn't mine to give away.
yes, some called me a fool too young;
they are right and this is true,
i am just a fool, still choosing love with you!

~

*post script.

for my darling wife of thirty-five plus years. this i know, i've chosen well.

i believe our very first kiss was just beneath the rim of an ancient volcano... just the beginning of fireworks and heat!

Mar 2015 · 1.5k

on knowing love

SE Reimer Mar 2015

on knowing love

~

          it is a poignant thought...
          that in this life
          we often know more of a thing
          by its absence
          than by its presence;
          that we do not know,
          yes,
          truly know…
          love,
          in all
          its ins,
          its outs
          until life
          ends…


         for they who pass over         yet for they who remain
          to the other side,          on this other side,
       love to them becomes          love to them becomes
   a love transforming          a love of mourning
        an all-surrounding,         an all-surrounding,
             unconditional,          pained condition,
      a love ever-warming          a love ever-wanting
         and more perfectly          and more palpably,
         touchable, immutable,         touchable, immutable,
     and in its presence is         and in its absence is
more contentment          more torment
   and happiness         and distress
       a one belonging         an ever-longing
       love          love
         than any         than any
       theretofore         heretofore
        known;         known.

        ~

post script.

this musing is the result of reading your beautiful poetry
this morning and seeing how many wrote of heartbreak…
whether through death, divorce, break-up or misunderstanding,
each lends to the knowledge of what love is not
and therefore to what love is.
this plain is such a broken place, it is truly a wonder
any of us ever experience any love at all…
and yet thankfully we do.

*(creating columns on HP is at best a difficult proposition.  of course the format changes from device to device.  after much work this looks acceptable on my laptop, my ipad, and on my smartphone in landscape view only.  my smartphone in portrait view... not so much! :) however you choose to view it, enjoy!)

Mar 2015 · 810

stuck

SE Reimer Mar 2015

stuck

~

she paints in
well-articulated strokes,
in shades that boldly
show the seeker,
she brushes
in the open
window
the painful colors
of the searcher.
somewhere
in between,
she is the
doubter and believer;
on the edge
of learning who
and what she is;
struggling to chart
a course for
who and what
she will become.
she knows at least enough
to know her present
is not enough,
and knows too much to
call an ending
to her painful search.
she is trapped
between
lament and expectation,
between
pain and exaltation.
she is beautiful
but caught on
an ugly razor's edge.
between
the past and the future,
present...
but so distant
on this search
to her existence.
the if's, the why's
behind locked doors,
away from all
the peering eyes,
the adjournment
to her journey,
her acceptance
of acquittance;
her debt discharged,
the charge expunged;
forever free,
her best revenge.

~

*post script.

for she who came to us with broken wing,
who cannot move forward without
her own acquittance of her past.