Dear darling my one and only
You make my heart flatter in ways l cant explain
How could someone make me feel this way
The feeling is unexplainable but it brings joy to my innerself
I never understood the power of love until l met you
Oh my darling sweetheart
My heart has chosen you
You have found a perfect spot in my heart
You now have the only thing l swore l wouldn't give anyone
You have my heart now keep it safe
My precious darling

New Moon Melange

(for Harlan Rivers originally,
and now for Aparna,
who reminded me
how I used to write
in the golden era of
seven years of plenty, so long, so ago...)

                         <>

The softest cotton,
Wears ever softer with every use.

Contemplative introspection,

Like digging a castle & moat in the sandy beach,
You dread and joy, the knowing,
Incoming tide will arrive destructive inevitable,
Yet fill the moat, protect the kingdom,
Till is undone and returned to the blocks of minuscule,
Grains of sand.

Answers found, maybe lost, once more,
Necessitating questioning, non-stop processing,
And a rebuilding tomorrow... Pas de choix

But softer each time, easier with practice.

Even if convoluted, it is still a revolution.
Like twelve new moons, recycled.
(occasionally a lucky thirteenth appears)

Some of us are special chosen,
To essay, to assay, the condition human,
With a rock axe, tiny slivers chipped off,
And yet new moon stones uncovered,
needy of Cataloging,
introspection,

You can change the day,
The month,
The moon twelve, thirteen times,
Hell, You can change your **** hat,
But don't fool nobody,

You are one of the special,
You job to paint the verbal paintings,
And to ascertain the meaning interior.

For in doing so, you do all of us service.
For your eyes see it ever so differently,
For you, task, paint and reveal each
New Moon’s Melange,
your unchosen gift.
to you

when you’ve written too many poems
vaguest of recollections of the prior,
having not seen many for years,
till someone drops one on my path in a
wave-by-remember-me, did I write this?

all I know, all I’ve learned from this long gig,
the best poems from my fingertips that came
tap tap tapping, were the ones, the provocations,
driven by loving the poetry of others, or those
all about others.

my eager meager ain’t much to write home about,
but when your stuff is a trigger, gotta figure,
there’s a bottle in the ocean that just hit me
on the head, messaging me go forward,
pay thanks to those who evoke, yeah, provoke,
new spillages of inspiring gratitude for
relocating my New Moon Melange^

yep that’s it.


so is there
such a thing?
as re-remembering,
just knowing
my name is hard
(you understand),
the inspiration
oft forgot,
so I write it all
up and down,
insurance so to speak,
for re-remembering
when you stumble
on it, wont’t fumble.


yep that’s it.