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!😉

Incompossible

<>

  not mutually possible:
INCONSISTENT, INCOMPATIBLE

<>

inconsistent, yes,
incompatible, never

we have lived and loved
each other since
a singular moment
in grade school

profound!
(what a perfect compositional word!)
friendship, intuitively embraced,
circumstances dictated an
on/off interspersed
coexistence decades in length,
a hit or miss geographical
distancing,
thst technology overcame
with no evaporative loss
of 
sensational connectivity
across great times and
greater distances

we trialed and
errored our landlines,
for a time,
we lived together,
then nearby,
with other spouses, who knew
and tolerated, our exceptional
to the rules of coexistences,
we were closer than close,
the space between us was of wafer size, nearly invisible to the naked eyes of others, but unchanging
as much as it was unique and
uncharted
periods of absence of years measurable
and the first conversation
began exactly where the long ago prior had ceased

never fully accepted,
surely not ever
fully
tolerated + understood,
we stumbled upon a word,

incompossible

that captured the
drama, the hopefulness,
the hopelessness of
our separated conjoining
as a summary perfect
of us

a true tale,
a novel of pro-found
loss and gain
that cannot be be told
or totaled,
a sum of summary,
an unavowed marriage of
souls with no legality,

and yet

by its very in-completed nature,
it was perfected by it's very unending undefinable defiance
of definition:
we made the
incompossible,
possible,
the incompatible,
patible,
unfounded by circumstances,
unbounded in our intuition,
we yet live in a hopeful
state of unfulfilled totality of

almost fufillment

~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!😉

~ for patty M's faith firm~

it ain't easy, when you relate, restrict and delegate,
when you draw a narrow lane on a highway that says
ONLY LOVE POETRY

it does not say
slow cars stay to the right,
only trucks,
or
no trucks


I love seasonality,
without thickly thinking
you take a break
from the poetry writing

one day I'll figure out a way
to monetize my love poems,
publish them as Shakespeare's couple(t)s,
"new edition plus
a couple of
newfound poems!"

maybe some fools will buy some thinking Shakespeare has been, resurrected!

love grows goes hot all over and
grow slower older
and grow colder,
in between those fine
ticklish teasing moments

when the miracle of resurrection repeats itself

something is said
a gesture is made
a finger strokes the cheek,
unexpected
and it all comes
rushing back again,
overfilling
that coffee cup mug she bought
just(ice)
for you

ain't gonna check how long it's been
since last I declaimed, disclaimed,
inflamed,
these pages with an only love poem

but I do know this:
it is something I think about,
It is something I know about,
it is something I feel about
daily
even on the nothing days,
when routine takes over
I know you couldn't remember of its passage,
is the waking up and the lying down to sleep

but the poets eyes are always open.m,senses his always alert,
what's that thing they always say,

his heart just wasn't in it!

~for Jonathan Larson (2)~
~~~~
where poets dare to tread
knowing the jeopardy to
themselves when their truths
are outed by the light shedding
come the morning’s birthing,
my ending unwritten,
the methodology unknown (1)
<•>
the tabulations final sum
identified by a =  
couplet doublet line
underlining, undermining,
tho the sign indeterminate,
pos or neg,
worse yet maybe,
zero sun-shiny outed,
well,
rue-sighing
must be one of but just
them three tri-bipolar optionalities

the script unwrit
the possibilities vast,
alone nursing home,
an empty dull
barely furnished,
studio apartment
an unnoticed blah, blah blah;
that’s ok

there will be no vast array,
conclave of family & friends,
his stateless status
formed by a choice reenforced by time,
a man chose a solitary tilt,
till it
was a deathly rigid reality factual,
free willed
~~
the irony sweetbitter,:
he who loved love
sometimes writing wrinkles
of only love poetry
but was
stumped
by its consequences continual
&
stumbled
in and out, deep or not at all ,
but only periodic,
alternating decades from
age ninteen

his leavings will be
minimal,
his trail,
dusted under,
and his sense of wonderment
at the atomic elemental
extant and yet undiscovered,
is where will live his
only wisps of his whispers,
heard  ‘pon the backs
of rushing to nowhere
guest gusts of
canyon winds
of his york;
city of naissance

do not protest
nor deviate with debate,
the future unpredictable
and yet curved hewn from,
made from straight block stone
of absolute clarity
of speckled Barre gray granite
~~
mistake this not
for bewailing,
catlike caterwauling,
ever even the bitters,
of short-lived
the in~between now
and resting place finale
indeterminate,
~~
but follow a path of words,
an Appalachian Trial
roving  through forest & civilization,
multiple states,
safe and dangerous
worldly, wormwood wordfuls
all jumble uttered simultaneous

<>
so we dare to ask out loud,
will I die in dignity,
the answer a stale prequel
question obvious answered
in his heritage-styled genes,
with another wink
of a question;

what is dignity?
~~
alone, surrounded by
no one,
matters not,
headstone irrelevant
for this good morning
of cherishing
words and tunes,
adding a line
here and there,
is dignity enough,
and this,
well known to him,
within his collapsing vein's depths,

so the answer
smooth planed and plain:

This,
this is dignity
one more time,
one more winding
spiraling downwards
uplifting
poem

and a
never ending~never the less
&
nevermore
forevermore
satisfactory
answer

“Synesthesia is a neurological condition in which stimulation of one sense involuntarily triggers experiences in another sense. This means that people with synesthesia may see colors when they hear music, taste shapes when they read words, or feel textures when they smell certain scents. It is a rare and unique phenomenon that affects about 2-4% of the population. Synesthesia is not a disease or a mental disorder, and it does not interfere with daily life”

would sell my soul
cheap very cheap
to have this kinetic
blessing

think of the life
of love’s illusions
you could sketch,
the intersection
of all the senses
in one glorious
syntax
speaking of the
synthesis
of perfection moments

to decorate ordinary existence
for others

to be a human filtering
kaleidoscope
this poet’s word~world enthralling,
mesmerizing

imagine a love poem
erupting,
the sound and the fury,
the volcanic coloring heat
upon your flushed cheeks,
the symphony of
tiny erupting pinpricks

when first you
kiss
the great love of
your life

For everyone to
understand,
persuasively share,
the exact ecstatic crystallization
of that single second as well as you…

~Especially For our own poet, Immortality~

we all dream for a few seconds,
mostly when we are younger,
like, say, s e v e n t e e n, that
something, we might be~come,
known for, perhaps even believing
our names|our poems might be read,
a hundred and one years on…

periodic, episodic,doesn’t last long,
though it
does get repeated every
now and then, and  then again,
each time, the notion disappears
faster, sure, better things to dream
about, better hopes more closely
held, tangible tasting, envisioning,
deserving for intensely scheming,
using that double edged
s~word,
realistic,
and even, in the
planning, schemin’ dreamin’
always a nagging fearin’
can
they really
could come true

others fantasize,
, that class of crazy dreamers,
standing at an airport gate,
hear a call out your name,
and someone will,
from behind, tap you on the
shoulder and asks, shyly

hey, you wouldn’t be that person
who writes
poetry on HP?

unlikely of course, odds against,
whoa,
even worse
than winning a lottery jackpot prize

but then again, surprise always
favors biting you on,
well, them tender places,
and a day comes,
when  a younger poet, amazes, takes the time,
makes the effort to look up your older
writs, languishing in bits of bytes on an
unknown server, aged  graying from
relentless time,
and the absence of eyes,
being read, thereby re~realized,
revitalized,
visualized, inhaling light+ air,
away wiping
the dust and webs of  suffered mortality
and, that silly notion escapes it grave,
and you writer, run into an encounter
with an old fantasy, resurrected and
you too reread that old poem, issuing s
voluble ****!, not half bad, and restoring
that momentary potent potentiality of
it
surviving past the beyond date of expiry,
and then, another is read, & another,
swallowing a pill stronger
than a a Doctors’s best gurss forecast
of 20 more years you’ll live,
for an actualized prophecy now
is tangent tangible,
like mouth to mouth-resuscitation
and you, unusually,
think once more about tomorrow,
exhaling the headyatmosphere
of a rainy forest,
well appreciating, laughing at the future,
for here, she has shared but penned
but twenty four original poems,

me,
thousands open and disguised, and my newly formed grin is now for her,
for now my breath and its baggage of a fantasy, may
be coming her
reality realized?

and I will surely still be an
avid cheerleader
for her, for you, a
devoted
follower-in-absentia