Read Aloud

Go where you go
when you leave

open the book
turn to your favorite page
and read aloud
what is already known by heart

Exhale

introduce your soul
to the landscapes;
let them become friends
holding hands in a smile's painting

the rocks will no longer
stun your feet with pain;
they will still be rough,
but more like sand,
exfoliating each step

There should be
 no choosing between worlds
think of them as oscillating fans
stand in the center
and breathe in the harmony

Helpless

I looked into his eyes

So brown and sad

Like two fallen tree branches

Disconnected from their home

Floating downstream

All that my blue eyes could do

Was follow them

as they headed toward a waterfall

Eyes so engaging

So transparent
So helpless

My arms wanted to reach out

And bring him back to land

They considered this for a moment

Paused at half the distance

But the weight of my worry

Might have made him sink
Perhaps it would sink us both

So I just hoped

For a current to change its course

and someday lead him home again

All I could do was hope

Gone Reading

Don't bother with a search for me tonight
for I'll be nowhere within time's keen sight
I am visiting a lonely poet
and there is music in this lair
We are tangled up in heaven's web
dodging each earthly prayer
Perseus is promising to free me
if I kiss away space's outer despair
so I jump 14 times, from line to line
over iambic pentameters
 all the way there
and 154 ardent stars
 all applaud and burst into joyous tears.
But this certainly, is not a sonnet,
and I am obviously no Shakespeare.

 I wrote this simple, silly note
just to let you know
I'm with another friend tonight
 So please forgive me,
when you don't find me here

A Message For November

I wrote my poems on late summer leaves

With white crayon,

And through tall, wild grass,

I walked away

So careful not to step on wishes;

There seemed to be a lot of them

 Surrounding my bare feet that day

A message for November;

We would have waited for one another

If either of us could stay

But there is so much living

And changing to do,

And only the trees have time

To stand around and sway

Any lover of life and nature

Would know what I wrote

And why I left my words

so clustered there

When it’s time for those words
 to be read

They’ll have one last dance

With the breezy air

But I know,

when the wind freezes,

You, who never

Exits a party too soon,

 will hold out

Two open hands

To catch their mortal fall

And spin them around some more,

Like youth in golden dreams

Beneath a winter moon

When the dizziness subsides

those words will spread out
inside a heart shaped wish
and life will make more sense

as it ends
just as it begins

signed
Love Always

In The Shape of You

The sky cracked

When thunder raged.

Life screamed

Inside its cage,

And a thousand years

Then found my age
.

A diary of fire,

Each day’s page

Lit my mind.

The air possessed
by burning sage.

Wavy golden flames

Danced the length
around and down my head.

Felt like time yanked my dreams,

and left me on a sheetless bed.

Then I thought I heard a whisper

From a voice I'm sure I once knew

I turned to find a shadow

shaped much like
the core of you

What I heard exactly,

 I wish I could say.

Love spoke through me

In a wordless way.

Many have greeted me

With a strong hug and such;

though, until you

I never quite felt a touch.

No longer a hamster

 Trapped inside a spinning movie reel.
This heart found the strength to leap

and a warm, bright place to heal

And you know, my love,
If eternity was an ocean,
If Heaven's Gold were free,
I would ship you straight home
to live and rest with me.

If only all things were
what they cannot be

Half My Life Ago

Half my life ago
I wanted that
 to be my whole life
I wanted to be finished
without being complete

Half my life ago
was where the journey
I hoped for from the beginning
of my life
 was close to a start

Half my life ago
I had a moment of weakness
and looked away
instead of ahead

Half  my life ago
I was in desperate need
 of a glimpse
of what I should be
and all I could do
but I was tired
and didn't have the strength to


Half my life ago
I couldn't see
all of the hearts
and souls running toward me
Some of them old
some of them new
But I held on, anyway
and I see them now
even though the pain
sometimes still punches through

The next half
promises
it gets better
and so far that's been true
I'm here now,
and no matter how difficult it gets
 I plan to be here tomorrow, too.

Paint

The new pail of paint
unopened
in the old shed

A familiar city
still standing
a little shattered
quite worn
and embarrassed
 of its blemished
unwashed face,
 littered sidewalks
where loitering weeds
seep into the soil
and petrify the bloom
until the shaken petals fall
and become another statistic

the mouth of the town
muted,
stuffed with degrading profanity
and tobacco smoke
cancer grabbing the throat
and claiming centuries of stories
new souls will never learn


Marathon runners
chasing after Euphoria
they can hear her
laughing in the distance
so they run further
run harder
with hearts beating up
neglected  streets...

hit and run
hit and run
don't look back to
see the dying cry over the dead
their dread will slow the paces
keep your gaze ahead

But when the runners reach the cliff
they won't know which way to turn
the laughter they heard
is an echo
thrown from glove to glove
in a field of Gods
that won't let them play

and somewhere miles behind
is the new paint
still in the old shed
wishing someone would
throw it on the city
and dress it fresh
so it can see its own reflection in the river
stand proudly
and once again feel pretty

There Will Be Poetry Here

There will be poetry here
if that scares you
or turns you off
I imagine your life
must be an empty box
and I'm scared for you, too

but I know you just haven't
realized what your mind finds
when it escapes
where your body goes
when it comes back.

You love poetry
You do!

No?

You turn on the radio
and nothing happens
only a stiff silence
no changing tune

You open your door
to a comatose world
the river, the birds,
the grass,
all motionless

The occasional swoosh
of late evening trips
escape your ear
there is no traffic here
Nobody is going anywhere

You reach out your hand
and feel only the unreliable void
of a pitch-black starless night
drowning without a pool
an eternity of being dropped
and there is nothing to fall back on

Your helpless hands
only want something to hold on to
Your hands want to save you...

Well mine do, too

Poetry is a familiar sound
you don't realize
you need
to fall asleep

It is where you put your feet
after a long day of living
and it IS the living
the dying
it is the cool water
flying
off the palms
to console a heated face
after an afternoon of crying

We all need to be saved
a thousand different ways
for thousands of repeated days
So your hands try to help you

Well mine do, too

There will be poetry here
You can take that as a warning
or an invitation

I hope you'll stop by

I Am Not Here

Tonight I will not call upon the elements
to shake or bake
or sink
my thoughts
in poetic ink

Tonight
I will not fly
to rest a note
on a cloud passing by
for a messenger to deliver
to something so much more than I

I will be quiet,
grounded
neither nearsighted
nor far
and will simply
 let all things be
 nothing more
or less than what they are

I will stay inside
my skyless room
with no burning candles
 to coax a kind light
to shun the gloom

The metaphors will be left
beside my house keys
and they definitely will not rhyme
perhaps I'll take them out
some other time

I will not rouse a sleeping poet
I'll leave those dreams undisturbed
and stay awake on my own
my breath will breathe alone

So if anyone asks
if anyone should care
tell them you haven't seen me
I am not here