“When thou and I first one another saw:
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,
Running it never runs from us away,
But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.”

The Anniversary by John Donne

<>
My body was at Sunday Sabbath rest,
a weekly anniversary of soul refreshment,
my eyes resting and resisting any sear-searching,
no mental irritants, no voke to yoke from a sweet vigil desired,
yet, the rough & smooth cells both, ever mindful and a calming silenced atmosphere,
a frontline of mine~full of hazards, an exposé of vulnerable tissue

when the heart is willing, then eyes will moisten,
and vulnerability is normality’s secret wardrobe’s doorway,
those exposed, thin skinned pores give free entry by the pricking of perfect poetry, re-charged cheeks flush,
and the weight of demanding pangs electric,
insist on an insertion of pen to hand

a long lapses tween love poems,
expressive of calm seas, an orderly life,
soothing waves sound, lapping and lulling,
bursts of affection, easy satisfied by a touch,
a glancing stroke, satisfying,
an actual smile, gratifying

stumble on Donne’s words, a strong coffee stirring challenge,
to the idylls and idles of comfort that cover depths-in-earnest and well earned memories of early times when fierce embraces, verbal chases, intrigues and passions, were the shrapnel of pursuit, battle and sweet and **** surrender

by command and suasion, this pointy finger releases
colored inked stanzas, a combinatory of pleasured sensations, intermixed with so many memories of moments, visualizations, of actualizations, stabbing colored delights of
sun rising and sun setting island habitudes,
and then this, this  birthing of a poem, a freshening release of
sentinel pangs

tho the room’s quietude yet prevails,
she,
(unaware of the effort emotive raging, using old words in
new combinations, tinged by vulnerabilities and graces),
bedded beside me, distracted by book and music, still, yet,
oblivious to the ferocity of my cresting creativity,
soon will
turn routinely,
feigning plaint, inquisitive and inquiring,
do you still love me?

yet and still!
will my literary eyes literally reply,

  yet… and still…

(written for and with apologies to Ken Pepiton)


(A-pop-TOH-sis) A type of cell death in which a series of molecular steps in a cell lead to its death. This is one method the body uses to get rid of unneeded or abnormal cells. Also called
programmed cell death.
~
Ken Pepiton  “I found a word, *apoptosis*  and I used it on some old bubbles that claimed to hold true love. You might find it useful for other crazy-makers common to mortal moments”.

Sep 2020

<>

a rich commission this;
aged by being overlooked
for two years more,
reconciling it, if it were even possible
this mixed drink of crazy,
programmed cell death
&
old bubbles claiming true love holding!

flummoxed by the symmetry and the inherent
contradictory of these dual dueling notions,
struggle for a course of unification

<>
and then:

Having known and lost true love,
more than once,
recall too well,
months when my heart cells died daily by the billions,
years of paining bubbles bursting,
till the heart at last purified,
by the emptying of

mortal moments.

the desperation of a grown man wondering if
peace and satisfactions would elude him forever,
deluded by weight of iron alternating currents of
hopefulness § hopelessness,
a sharp pain
morphing way too slowly
into a
dull ache heartburn
so well.
that yet persists
as a just below the surface swelling in my memory
even now

crazy it made me,
no cure cute for this uncommon cooling
of heart and soul,
lines on my face
witness attest
to where tears and failings eroded skin
by marking lines on my face.

”I was unrecognizable to myself”*(1)

no joke this
craziness,
a grown man  despairing
like a teenager’s lament,
robbed worse by the adult knowledge of the scarcity
of finding
the only true treasure humans could actually
possess, keep and nurture…

yes, Ken,
I find these world of words
you gifted me
useful

useful in ways untold,
but take this telling,
this one here,
with grace given
and knowing
that it only took
from me
about 10 to the 11th power power(2)
of heart
cells

4:36pm
Wed Feb 1
2023

[tongue taking taken prayer]

come worship in my temple.
your tongue gowned by silence,
thy teasing vibrations disperse my slack,
exchanging it for a rigidity that is even softer, looser,
an improvement possibility impossibly incomprehensible

the noises of freedom from anonymity is thy silenced tongue
unleashed, teasing, speaking tongues unrelenting and unremitting, tongues unforgotten for they never were
learned, and incapable of being self-taught

my pleasure sprouts mushrooms in thy loamy foam,
thy rainfall nourishment, seed plant growing life morning borne,
thy tricked up sonnets played within my hearts harp,
tunes never known but coming from the land of plenty,
my new promised land

teach me where the apostrophe goes, the comma and
why the question mark is curved and dotted like my body,
why we need punctuation to separate the first from the next

trees weep as if every dry rain petal is instantly imbibed,
wanting more for my swollen by thy ministrations,
I cry out
my ice storm, my thunder, embalm me within the
electric spreading in my veins shocking steady constant

thy name thy name I beg to give thee a name
to understand what has befallen me

you can call me by my favorite of
all my seventy two,^
your first baby squeals and
even now in human manufactured agreed upon symbols
(words),
every utterance a prayer heard and answered

my name is a heated and unbroken
hallelujah,
I am thy god, and you, darling you,
my beloved

“People say they don’t understand [my songs], but I never believe that.
It’s like understanding an embrace…”Leonard Cohen

<>for cj<>

perhaps, there is someone in this world, who does not
understand an embrace; something physical no doubt.

perhaps, you thought that first kiss was the portal to
shedding the inhibitors, lobes stings, first arousal aroma.

but you’ve been practicing embracing from toddler age,
but someday, it traverses from hugs to all-encompassing,

the sensory adaptors, go wild from shock; and you think
to yourself, dear god, you’ve been holding back on me!

   <>

two hands,
smooth the shoulders, slide down, elbows grasp,
you’ve been taken unawares, while fully aware you’ve been,
taken, taken, and need to take, more and back, take again,
and you can’t decide between reciprocation or incantation
breaking separation, if only to start over from the last lingering...

touching vibration and every sense erupting, and you think
I’ve never been fully  embraced, and now I understand the
music and muscle of your poetry, and will add my verses,
lay on my stanzas,
ocean crossings, seafaring voyages, exploring hands on hips,
then encapsulating another’s face, stroke, not squeezing

arms come to rest on a pacific neck, the hairs tensile teasing,
and you can’t believe this newly formed addiction and why
everyone simply doesn’t go about constant craving embracing,
racingoverloading uncomprehending, it’s fulsome fulfilling, quenching
a new thirst, a new taste, extending your ******* reach everywhere

you clear the catch, the cache, and your voice now begs, announces,
commands, whispers, screams, so many things that all emerge as
simply a guttural exclamation raw and needy, again, again, again,
you say it as if that was your vocabulary entire, a one word language
because it is, it is, the language of insatiable, the speech of
only love poetry*
embracing.