A little boy, he sits
Pondering the world
Outside, butt on the sidewalk
Upset, but without frowns.
Parents wandering somewhere in town.
Judging those who come across
When they themselves are truly lost.
They have no right to judge
No one can speak for the world while they still hold a grudge.
He sighs...does no one else understand.
He certainly can't explain using just his hands.
He wants to speak for the world
But is unable to form any words.
You said you would.
We drank a little whiskey and I smiled at your goofy grin. I laughed when you bet me a stop sign that I would get sick on my 21st. Little did you know, I can handle my liquor magnificently. We put some music on and swung-out to that 40s rhythm.
You promised you loved me.
You swore you would never leave.
You said you would always hold my hand.
I turned 21 last week and I sat in my cold apartment, alone. I did not drink, I did not smile, I did not laugh, I did not dance. Instead tears burned through my cheeks like acid rain. Instead my nose leaked into countless tissues. Instead I ignored my world.
The promises are broken.
Swearing is just curse words, now.
My hand is empty.
I turned 21 last week. I did not get sick. Now, all I can think is
Where the hell is my stop sign?
If you see a hawk
on a bough at field's edge
beyond the corner you should have turned
maybe it's a sign to go on.
Such as during an improvisation on
Flamingo or I've Got You Under My Skin
you play in the wrong key or mode completely
maybe it's a sign to go on, in the wrong key.
Or when my sons cry not wanting
to be alone, I'm upstairs writing
or just enjoying trees in every direction
it too may be a sign to go on alone.
I was tipsy last night,
Quite enjoyed it.
Drinking just a thimbleful one time a year,
And there was I, a stumblebum, but clear
Dutifully fulfilling all that needed
To be done.
A charming, wonderful sensation – fun.
And yet, I thought about my liver.
Will I ever, no, I’ll never
Be a drinker,
I’m too much a thinker
And a Jew.
And if you didn’t know
We Jews are not great drinkers,
Just great thinkers,
Contrite sinners on Yom Kippur
Alcohol not in our tribe.
And so, it is not likely I’ll imbibe
Too many jiggers wine or booze;
Too many calories
And I don’t want to lose
My liver’s life too soon –
Or looks, or senses or the boon
Of brain and knowing
Who I am
And who I’m born
We would start kissing
The no soliciting sign
Under the moon not resisting
Her glistening eyes
The air was calm
But her hair was wild
Curls and twirls strung on
Around a glistening smile
Her eyes were intoxicated
When they met mine
She's picture perfect illustrated
When she speaks
I love to hear her
Sweet with Speckles of freckles
I fear her
Is strong enough
To make me fall and crumble to my knees
Scary but still we continue below the sign
See, when I'm with her it's not wasted time
This here is
She looked at me and asked,
Tell me about the sun in the sky
Tell me how it feels to have the rays peek through your eyes and into your body.
Tell me how the sunlight warms your skin and kisses your hair.
I looked at her, confused and concerned.
Yet she gave me this look in her eyes, like a stubborn bull, and she would not let me back down. This women of this radiance. Who dress falls on her like it was made for her. Everyone of those flowers stitched for her, but the lines seamless. I feel like I would picture her running through a field barefooted, for no reason than because she can.
A women who I look at to be.
I blinked back, acknowledging her stare but needing time to think.
Not much of a talker, I press my lips together, breathe and let my introvert go.
Well - I begin
The sun is just a huge star right? I look to her for validation but her eyes trance me and more words spill out of me.
And you can ‘buy’ stars and name them after people right? More looking, and my head follows my eyes to the ground.
I always thought that whoever gets the sun named after them is a pretty lucky fellow.
I continue with no hesitation-
The sun is warm tea
Not too hot, such as fresh off the kettle
And not too cold, like when sitting on the balcony all morning.
It has the flawless recipe. The perfect amount of the spice, honey and sugar flowing through you. Down your throat like a peaceful waterfall, not rambunctious and over powering, but a steady flow of heavy water kissing the surface of the lake before it descends into it’s body.
I feel tears rolling down my cheek, and I don’t question why, because I begin to feel a warm daisy in my stomach, slowing blossoming, giving me a reason to continue on.
The sun is a child’s smile.
It’s not hurtful like wind
Or like adults.
The nature made the sun, and the sun made nature.
They move in rhythm, never focused on anything but themselves.
But no, not in a selfish way
More of an understanding way.
Toddlers leaping giggling at the only thing to be described as nothing at all.
I pause, knowing that it’s not all sunny everyday.
The sun is, not always there.
The sun is sometimes covered behind gray condensation, as if it’s playing peek-a-boo with a toddler.
I never understood how toddlers just thought something was gone when it was covered,
But with the sun it makes perfect sense.
Even on the cloudy days I must remember, the sun is a flower in the sky
A sign of peace
A sign of happiness
A sign of hope that may not always be visible, but you know it will come back one day, every day.
The lighthouse stands tall
A warning for all
It shines so bright
It's precious beacon of light
Guiding the wary back to shore
Many voyages gone before
All safely now return
As long as oil in lantern burn
Soft cone through the night
Giving life preserving sight
Like a gentle outstretched hand
Leading sailors back to land
Oh holy spirit of my God
With still voice you gently prod
Bringing those who wayward roam
Leading the lost back to home
So let the light of the spirit shine
And touch this wayward heart of mine
May I heed the warning sign
And be guided home in time