Machinations

Words are plastic, 
shapeable by the speaker and the listener, 
and as such are somewhat less than the thoughts and feelings that we wish to convey by them. But here across space, 
where the silence of your smile 
and the taste of your skin are distant stars in a twilight sky, 
words carry all of the Gravity left to us. 
Thus I offer you these machines, 
these words, 
to understand, work and shape as you will: 
Cold, Reaching, Resonance and Desire.

Love-Call (Beyond Hyperbolic Vertex)

I watch you, again,

As your sleeping soul rests,

And I feel my heart swelling

Again with Love for you

Almost against my will.

There is so much I’d pray for

As I stand here,                                                                  

But all my prayers are gone.

I asked God to let me find you and He did,

I sold my soul back to Him,

All my prayers (dreams) gone away,

To have you, and here you are.

If your understanding were mine,

You’d see my heart surrounding you-

This Love is all I have

You are the only Heaven I hope for

So I watch you, again,

As your sleeping soul rests

And long for the answer to my prayers

To answer my Love-call.

Element: Silver

Silver

We reflect in silent moments,

Growing together like moon in sky,

While we chain each other in the freedom

Of mutual, untarnished Gravity.

We free the night

As we conduct all the electricity in our hearts

To our bodies and lips to meet in

Perfect circuit.

We are mirrors into the soul of Life,

Reflecting in our passion, our lust,

Our very being, the inherent desire in the

Song of all Days;

Knowing that, as I see your face captured,

Momentarily,

In each drop of sweat that falls

From my forehead to your breast,

Even in Lust, the heart pauses to breathe.

I reflect upon the sweet pleasures

Of your tongue 

As well as the sweet pain of lonely nights

When you are not near.

We reflect,

Our hands greater utensils, precious,

Bringing our sensual repast to lips waiting,

Tongues flicking and backs undulating in sterling need

Of all the things we are,

All the things we know,

All that we bring out in one another

As we reflect Love

In infinite repetition.

Status Migrainosus 1: A Poet’s Thoughts Near Death

‘I have read, I have cried, and I have

Supped full with passion and horror,’

Thought the poet, his eyes preternaturally bright,

‘I have ticked away the seconds in a dry age

And have put pain to paper and turned rage to words,

As is a poet’s job.

But, most importantly, I stood in the night

And felt the breeze blow mortality;

I stood in a field of flowers under the sun

And knew the Power of God;

I played carelessly within the silverness of the moon

And relearned the untroubled days of childhood;

I held her hand, and watched that same moon

Rise in her eyes

And knew Love.’

The poet stops, sighs and wipes tears from his eyes.

He sits quietly for a moment and then continues:

‘These are the things that truly define me or men

Or Mankind; it’s not the things written or said,

It’s the things that are lived.’

The light in the poet’s eyes fades.

The poet dies.

Lure of Emptiness

I shall return to you some other Autumn

When the red leaves fly

And your thoughts and dreams once again

Swirl through the shadows of the mountains

Stirring me from my dust and waking me

From my visions.

And I shall be as a star or comet,

Brightening your sky as I burn

Myself out, throwing off

The shadows of unrest that have

Covered you in my absences.

Be content beloved, I am here only

To build you the crystal palaces

Of your unguarded moments.

This is my totality,

That I am enlaced in your atmosphere

Until the soft rains come

Again, to settle my dust

In the far corners.

I shall return to you some other Autumn,

When brother Summer has fled

And the cool and heavy clouds grow again,

Swirling in the shadows of the mountains,

Shaking the bones of my existence and moving me

Back into your circumference.

And I shall be Hunter’s moon radiant,

Limning your desires as I wane

Back to darkness, banishing  

The shades of unrest that have

Surrounded you in my slumber.

Rest now dearheart, I exist only

To attend your restless dreams,

To protect your unguarded soul.

This is my totality,

That I am enchained to your needs

Until Zephyr’s kiss again

Sweeps my tattered spirit

To the far corners.

Song of Rainy Days

I hold candlelight in my hand

as raindrops fall

like tears from Heaven

even they can’t quench this flame

(falling, falling)

there is a darkness all around

it falls from the sky

and from my naked soul

yet my ardor never wavers

(darkness, darkness)

this is my singular dream

the one that never fades

my song of rainy days

and icy breezes blowing

(passion, passion)

I hold candlelight against the night

and against the falling rain

and against the storm within

and my fire never wavers.

.

One Million Miles (Divergence)

(You are there and I am here a million miles away)

I tell my ears to ache

Not for your voice or the sound of your coming,

But they do not heed.

I tell my eyes to languish

Neither for your smile nor the sight of your passage,

But they give no regard.

I tell my heart to yearn

Never more for you or for your resonance,

But it does not take note.

I tell my lips to cherish

Not our Love or your endless beauty,

But they do not notice.

I tell my soul not to cry,

I tell these hot tears not to fall,

Knowing that it will, hating that they must,

As we go our separate ways.

For Mrs. Martin

What follows is something that I started writing 8 years ago. I had been married for 7 months to the day, and my wife and I were out shopping for Desjhauna, who turned 5 that day and Xenia, who was 4 weeks old at that point. (Stop doing the math!!!) I had called and spoken to Grandma that morning and our conversation had not gone well. She was very short with me, almost to the point of rudeness, which was so unlike her. After getting off the phone, I told myself that maybe she just didn't feel well because- she NEVER talked to me like that- and I'd just call her later and check on her. My father called me a few hours later to tell me that she was gone. I never got to make that call. I never got to say good-bye, but most times nobody does, do they?

Anyhoo, we made the drive down from Springfield, MA in a blur. The drive back was a horror story in it's own right, but that's another blog. I remember seeing cousins that I hadn't seen in years. I remember speaking at the service, but not what I said. I remember that it was cold and wet.  But mostly what I remember is the smell of Noxzema from a late night in July of 1978 and I remember putting off a phonecall that, as it turns out, I'd never get to make.

What follows is something that I started writing on the night she died. I suppose it was gonna be what I wanted to say at her funeral, but I never finished it. In all honesty, I haven't looked at it since sometime around February 20, 2004. I present it here, in it's raw unfinishedness, only because it rings so true to me after this space of years and to honor her on this 8th anniversary of her death. 

And because I never made that phonecall, never apologized for whatever I did that upset her.

And because we never really get to say goodbye...

Granny

2/18/2004

I am a different man than I was a week ago.  Not to say that I am better or worse, just different.  You see my Grandmother died today and I don’t know where home is anymore.  I only now understand that even in the home that I share with my wife and most of our children, she was such an important part.  What she taught me made my home, HOME and made the home she raised me in Heaven.  I remember so many days, so many nights feeling safe, feeling RIGHT because she made it possible for me to.  I am a father now, a husband and as much of a man as I know how to be, I have my own life, my own family, my own house and all the things in it and I know that I have been blessed.  But I don’t know where home is anymore, not with her gone.

See, I still remember her first words to me and my big brother that night in July 1978 that we first met, “Do ya’ll want something to eat?” she asked.  Now if you knew her, especially in the days before she started losing the energy that was so much a part of her, you understand what I mean.  That was her.  It was late that night I remember, I was only 4 going on 5, and the only people around that I knew were my Dad and my brother.  But this sweet Lady, who seemed like a giant back then, and that should tell you how long ago that was, made me feel safe. Made me feel comfortable, you know?  As far as Erik and I knew then, we were going to be visiting her for two weeks and I already felt at home after five minutes.  I still felt at home when I left for the first time 13 years later.

My Grandma was the sweetest little mean old lady you ever wanted to meet.  She had a smile that would warm your heart.  And for me, my brother and sister and various cousins, she had a strap that would burn your butt.  She was a great Grandmother, loving each of us in the different ways that we never knew we needed.  

Raindrops

I hear these raindrops

Fall, falling

Against windowpanes that no longer

Hold your reflection

Or feel the warmth

Of your breath.

We have much in common

These windows and I;

A shade pulled over us both

Now that you are gone.

But I remember those deeper raindrops,

Running, dripping, dancing

Along a body that was Thunder,

As we felt the warmth,

The wind, the power

Of our Storm.                                      

We made Love like Life,                                                                      

Myriad in expression,

Beautiful like you and I;

Nourishing the gardens of our hearts

When you were here.

I still see those tender raindrops

Rolling, streaming, being

First diamond wine birthed in passion

By your eyes as you blissed,

Later the hot/salt children                     

Of anger, forming the river

That eroded us,                                                     

Drowning our desire,

Washing away all of our promises

And carrying you on.