Secretly bending glimpses,  
When pine and survey align
In tortuous accord –
Reflections of you,
Are not enough
Drew Barrie;
To insulate my heart
From the cleft between us.
Perennials, the color of
Periwinkle,
The smell of rain
And crayons
Return you to me,
Lend presence, vestiges,
Invoke
The gift of you,
Fortify my resolve
To one day reunite.

Numbness and ache,
Lavish tears set
Against the
Unimpeachable light,
Held in the glint in your eyes
Unequivocally green,
Each blink evokes allure,
Found in
A blushing smile -
Little one,
I observe in quiet
Adoration, amid
Our segregation,
Ardor undiminished,
Prayers give permanence
Uttered in a pause
Each
Breath drawn;
Ephemeral visions, alive,
Ballads and rhyme
Memories aflame, occupy
A sacred canopy,
Internal; profoundly
Savored
Never to erase.

Searching for treasure,
Collecting prized sand
And stone,
Your pockets, heavy
With plunder.

Somber tones fill
Gaps in our history,
Find new contrast,
Certain hues
Oscillating shades of gray
Stirring cues
Dearth of winter blue.
Trees bare, secluded,
Known in the bones,
This crisp boreal air —
February.
Moisture absent,
Like a father's words
Laconic;
Your irreducible gaze,
In the
Opaque imagination.

Oddly arid season,
Aloof precipitation,
The will of the wind
Indefatigable,
Sonnets of euphony, leave me
Undone,
Permit me to grieve,
Another year - gone.
Nervous Squirrels, sedentary
And quiet,
As if to mourn with me,
I miss my daughter.

The spring equinox,
Poised pavilion blended
Unfolds in bloom,
Elucidating
The approaching day
Of your birth.

Stunning you were,
Your prominent
Entry into creation,
Tiny noises,
Nestled and snug.
Reach
My effusive heart.
You are here,
Equipped with an
Absorbing mind
Wrapped,  
Perfectly  
Designed, in a petite
Fashioned frame.

Emotions, elastic -
Diffuse and Compress,
In distance friction
Attenuates,
Time and eternity
Extend to the periphery,
Agony
Absorbed into Zoe.
Grace and peace wash
Ashore, rinsing
Poetry pure;
Cleansing, with surprise
And vigor
Recall the loftiest
Of tokens.

I too
Encountered
An esteemed rock,
Smooth and orbed,
Summoning  
Long thoughts,
My citadel made
Of three,
Uniquely ensconced
Inside -
Priceless gems,  
Sustain me.

Enclaves of privilege
Gratified each vacant
Mirror,
Until notes and
Words gather to form
Your story,
Emergent,
The world shifts,
Altered anew.
Resurrection,
Simile to
Our reconciliation
Visceral and singular,
Exuberant teardrops
Flood, fall deeply
Approximating mercy,
Severe, sudden as
The April freshet.

In the lavender garden.

©2012 & 2016 W.S. Warner

Peter never understood why Wendy was meant to grow up
why she had to leave the blissfulness of Neverland

If there's an answer to his questions it would be that
she was dreaming of castles and voyages and someone to love
while he was mischieving pirates,chasing a never setting sun

I often wander if I'm more like her,
sincere, gentle, a duchess-to-be
a young girl who dwells in stories

or like the boy who wouldn't grow up,
nonchalant, full of lovely wonderful thoughts,
Peter Pan,the one who could fly

But what did he do when she left?
Is she a beautiful memory in a child's mind,
why didn't he abandon immortality for love?

Here's Wendy, back in Kensington Gardens
a lady asking herself what if I had stayed
why couldn't he abandon youth for her love?

And she will forever remain in his mind as a little girl,
who played family with and dreamed
but Wendy will be married and will be kissed
but not with him.

And Peter will always be a chasing dream,
a fairyland with pirates and ships,
a world of villains, mermaids and the boy who
didn't return her kiss.

I read, imagining his crooked smile growing up
or her staying forever
and none of these feels completely right

In the end, I am another lost boy who went to Neverland,
and flew and fought with a sword, and swam with mermaids
and danced around fire with the eyes of Tiger Lilly

Sometimes there I return, finding him lost in her thoughts,
but there again everyone's forgotten among the things we never say...

I’m writing to you because I miss you.

And you may be my one true love.

My first at least.

Though i didn’t know it when I met you.

I miss you

I miss the way you welcome me in

The way you understand me.

I miss the way you can see my truest self.

I miss the way I become myself when I am near you.

the way you are me and apart from me all at once

The way the stars look reflected in your eyes.

I never fear you though others do

I embrace your wildness

Your resilient good humor.

Your unique, nothing else like this, feeling.

The tear tracks on your heart from a thousand brutal fights and you still have so much love.

I kiss you and I can taste it

I can taste the fire, and the sunlight,

the trees and the vast distant rolling savannah.

When i touch you I can feel it

The drumming.

The gum boots, the stampedes, the thunder.

And when I close my eyes,

I can hear it.

The lions roar, the elephants trumpeting.

The thousands of tons of water at Victoria falls

The fish eagles cry

The singing boys at the choir school

The bushman's clicking language.

The cheetah's purr.

The wall of fire from the wild burning days.

The laughing.

The dancing. The singing. The fighting.

And as I breath, you breath,

As I rest, you lie awake, a quiet guardian in the night.

I lift up my hand and you take my fruit.

You silly little bushbaby.

I’ll give you my pineapple forever.

I hide behind the small acacia tree. and I see you.

I see the great king of Africa.

Isilo the Elephant.

The eyes so wise.

The tusks so fierce.

I am protected by you.

Beauty is to small a word to describe the way your body curves.

The blue of your skin. the green hues, the deep orange gold of winter hills.
The purple sunset.

The wetness after a storm.

The glowing embers in the night.

The dragons back. the most magical thing I have ever held in my eyes.
I miss you

Little grandmother on the hill.
Who bakes and meditates.
and drinks tea and gets her way
because *******, I deserve respect!

And little chocolate friends.
Your shandy on the rocks.
Your cottage in the woods.
Your cats and now your coming twins.

And the neighbors who play with eagles.

And Barrie who let me fly in his plane after only knowing his name five minutes.

And the witch who lived next door and could turn into a leopard.
And my grandfathers paintings that cover the old hotel.

The way people say my name.
The way I become myself.
And for the first time in my life,
I know who I am.
Released from my old stale life, I was rooted in magic, and earth, and love, and sacred eternal energy.
ADVENTURES so magic... I could cry.
I miss you so
I miss who I am around you.
I wish I could find you here.
I will find you again.
I will come back to you.
My beautiful country
One day

Sir James Matthew Barrie;
My childhood savior,
At last we meet.
I embarked on a journey
To seek out what you said
Would be an awfully big adventure
And gracious me, you were more than right!
This is a paradise.
Again, you saved my life.
Thanks for showing me the way out.

I wake up and see you.
I go to sleep. And see you.
I pick up my phone and see you.

I see - salty water marks on my pillows,
a heaving chest expanding and contracting with a tremble, and
I see a gray haze covering the surfaces I no longer wish to touch.
I see somber flowers and I see candles that struggle to give off light even in the dullest of days.

I see until the pain creeps back in and reclaims my clear eyes once again.

"All children, except one, grow up"
-JM Barrie

Growing up
is  a magical thing
more so than staying a child.
experiencing the miracle of time and life
Looking back at my memories
Of great happiness and great strife
growing into a new person
being a living being
that can live and love
is a magical thing

"Think of happy thoughts and you will fly."
"Peter Pan": J.M. Barrie

Although the Wrangler has left the ranch,
Within our hearts he'll be enshrined,
For now he's gone to the last roundup,
Leaving the rest of us behind.

The sky was the Wrangler's favorite rooftop;
Walls couldn't pen him in.
To him the slow destruction of nature's
Wonders was a cardinal sin.

The saddle was his poetry--
His homage to life, a living ode.
When not on his horse, you'd see him riding
His two-wheeled "horse" on the open road.

An expert storyteller he was.
How he delighted us with his tales!
His theory: a little embellishment
Never hurts when all else fails.

And write! How the Wrangler could write--
Each of his letters a work of art,
A masterpiece of expression, replete
With wit and charm that flowed from his heart.

Fishing, hunting, philosophizing,
Photography, and art to boot:
His varied interests, but interest in YOU
Was maybe his greatest attribute.

Sometimes when his patience dwindled,
He could lose it, and who could blame him.
His wife, Barrie, had to try
To tug on his reins to try to tame him.

A legend in his time, he was--
A striking presence wherever he went.
And spending money to help other
People--to him--was money well spent.

Although to the last roundup he's gone,
The Wrangler's lasting imprint survives.
As we say our good-byes, remember
How he enriched all of our lives.

-by Bob B (8-3-20)