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I fell in love on the Alcan Highway
A slender black figure with electric blue eyes
Her hair, the color of the clouds
And a blanket on her bosom ran down to an evergreen blouse

I fell in love on the Alcan Highway
In the east, she appeared through a mountaintop shade
Her heart beat a heavenly warmth
That let me weather all my inner earthquakes and Derecho storms

I fell in love on the Alcan Highway
She wore scars on her skin, the toll of untamed landscape
Her voice, of a delicate rain
As she made her way to me, she swayed in a groove of mistral wind

I fell in love on the Alcan Highway
Gunning for the end of the road on the horizon
Chasing my piece of civilization
Blinded by neon lights, memory’s a curse on my god-damned eyes

I find that I cry
Mainly with one eye,
The right one.
‘More eager, perhaps?’
my judgemental mind snaps.
Why not ‘more honest or brave,
Free of purpose, like a wave’ ?

The left eye always takes
heaps of time till it breaks.
It struggles to let go.

Lined up like soldiers in a row,
across lush shadows on the road,
the houses are bathed in white gold.
I can clearly see that,
as I sit here with my eyes shut.

A man walks determined and fast,
cutting the silence. He too now has passed.
Cars drive by, close to the ground,
Sending in the air shivers of sound.
As each goes by, it makes more and more sense
To sit quietly still, like birds on a fence.

Dismantle my identity until I am,
bare, as the sheets that envelop my virtuosity
His lips & hands survey my body
Like a lesson he yearns to learn & teach.
Somehow our lips intertwine. Clawing his backside, we straddle;

Torturing my rose pedal, he traces the way;
Tickling my juice box, devouring my saccharine,
Vicky is no longer a secret.
Silk between my toes as I arch my back
Fighting to be liberated, like I am under attack,
Mouth full of my bliss, his handle disappears
Then reappears…on repeat

A cry of liberation,
Strangled, muzzled by this craving,
Matching thrust to thrust, every angle
This is everything!

1) She was on the ground staring upward. The shadows from the curtains made impressions that mottled the lesions on her skin. She wanted to rearrange, fluff the curtains, taste the snow once more. But also didn’t want to rise from her position.

2) On the carpet beneath her leg, a stain. The last time she bled. Over an hour ago. She was fatigued from holding the hole shut. Shiny flakes of snow landed on the window’s edge. Shuttered away in waves lost in space and vagrant time.

3) The old man had said this storm would be different. He said it would be over soon. He said it was a place inside her, seconds would separate the end of her life, and perhaps her son, too. It would take seconds of her life. For a second.

4) He forced her up, placed his palm toward ceiling, as if turning snow to rain. The curtains breathed, then eventually sun glared through them. He closed his eyes behind thick glasses. She rolled around, pressed, focus applied to the hole.

5) Only arms dancing, and the guise of characters outside in transit. His fingers like the pinchers of a lobster, the sun penetrating, the irony rich and unfettered. She felt it could only be a slow dance, a dive to the finish now.

6) One last sun slant, a last glimpse of the snowy shards of dawn. At another time it might have been different, a stark contrast to this demise. Now it seemed inevitable, this end, as she raised her hand to part the curtains fully, one last blistering time.

7) Her son came in to find her. Collapsed. He knew it would happen, and he was not surprised. He scooped her up, and carried her into the kitchen. Propped her on a chair. Stared into the sink. Traces of snow against the window. Cook one more meal he begged.

8) The old man started with his pronouncements. He was pontificating to emptiness, and all ears turned deaf against his dogma. The son slipped out, their clients found other indelible impressions and eventually silhouettes were buried in the sand.

9) The shadows from the curtains made his rapid demise even less sustainable. Variable temperatures, and hidden dreams. Every day the old man knew less who he is. The patterns mocked him, appear to leave a slight permanence on his formidable skin.

How dare you despair?
The cold blue air is filled
With clouds and birds and sunlight
Sharp cut shadows
Slicing my slice of the world
Into diamonds and paths toward spring

Birds flit and feed and sing
Busy and furiously fighting March winds
Too cold to stop till blue twilight
When they shout a reminder they’ll be back
Next sunrise come what may
I risk to bet on sure things

Cliché focus

Your snaps embarrass
Opinions no value
I don’t need to waste my time on you
if all you want is you you you

You cannot see
So
Don’t zoom on me
Don’t click on me
No flicks for kicks
Leave me out of your selfie

I am here to lift and shift you
I will blow you off
your comfort zone
You might get lost
with exhaustion
I will stress you out
and
make you dizzy
I will challenge all your senses
and your temper may explode
Or
I bore you to death
I am Time well spent

if all you want is you you you
You cannot see
So
Don’t zoom on me
Don’t click on me
No flicks for kicks
Leave me out of your selfie

I give you magic
I show you dreams
outstanding beauty
something you have never seen

I am ancient
an old star
on this planet
I am timeless
I am always in fashion

if all you want is you you you
You cannot see
So
don’t zoom on me
Don’t click on me
No flicks for kicks
Leave me out of your selfie

Throw your flip flops away
and get dressed for me
I want your best for me
I want your impatience
Let me tempt your heart
to stand still
Your superfluous is mine to kill

I am the Queen
queen of the seas
I am Venice .

You’re in Barcelona and I’m still in Nice, with the residue of times I now miss.
Im hoping the feeling has travelled with you,
That you share the same feeling that I have for you.
Sometimes your head may try to break it,
Trust in the process I know we can make it.
We’ve got a love that is bigger than oceans.
We’ve got a love that’ll climb over mountains.

Coming down, the stars in the sky, are falling in free fall, there’s no turning back.
I’ve got a quick question, to do with the night.
Where does the moon go, when a new day burns bright?
Is there still something more I can say?
To keep the moon glowing, and the sun from day?
I feel like I’ve lost you, and I feel so damn awful.
My mumma once told me, you’ve got to be careful.

I’ve been here before, not once, not twice,
But a whole too many times for just one life.
It’s the changing of season, the changing of leaves,
From green, to brown, to earth, to deceased.
This doesn’t feel like our final act,
The summer will come, our souls made a pact.
I miss you so dearly, I need you so clearly.
That feeling of infinity when you’re still near me.
I want you back, so we can play,
That same track of loving and hugging all day.

Coming down, the stars in the sky, are falling in freefall, there’s no turning back.
I’ve got a quick question, to do with the night.
Where does the moon go, when a new day burns bright?
Is there still something i’m missing today?
Is there still something more I can say?
To keep the moon glowing, and the sun from the day?
What happens to us when the night turns to day?
What happens to us, when there’s no more to say?
I feel like I’ve lost you, and I feel so damn awful.
My mumma once told me, you’ve got to be careful.

I’m about to go
I don’t know
Scared the shit out

Calling names
No ones out
Just about to go
I don’t know
Who am I
So I’m out

No one’s there for me
to be free
For in symphony

I’m in love
No heart feelings to be sold

Call me out
Tell a joke
Pinched to the core

Let the feeling flow
Than it drops to be
We are symphony

Rolling river
Trimming fever
Gold and ice
Are too at ease
Blending minds
Logging in

Be the steady
Be your dream
Tell me loud
I’ve screwed in

Miss your voice
Miss your dreams
Your perfume and your shish

Lost the game, lost the sorrow
I’ve gained and have loosed
Lost the borrow, lost the game

Let us loose to be free again

© 2021 by Peter D. Bové

http://www.peterbove.com/

Ancient sorrows
From days gone by
In worlds we only dream of
Hues of shadowy stories
That bring us to our knees
Bewildered we reminisce
Of great heroic feats
I’ll send them to you one evening
In a postcard with postage due
Maybe then we will remember
The days when life was true
We’ll walk together then
And smoke our cigarettes
In the smoky marsh of memories
And know from whence we came
Longing to go back there
Teary eyed and blue

arlene s bice

it was a quiet, warm, sunny mid afternoon
they came cruising down the main thoroughfare
from the river end of town, trees overhanging
moving slowly, one bike after another
after another, on the shady avenue
Harleys in low gear, low rumble
black leather jacketed all, jeans
even the girls riding shotgun
in black helmets, high boots
to the far end of town still under trees
to Huber-Moore Victorian funeral home
bikes neatly parked all in a row

local police were alarmed!
“No, no” said Chief Phil
“no problem here. Relax.”
he knew what this was
friends paying respect
no gang war or rivals

respectfully they climbed the hill
across the wide, covered porch
stepped over the threshold
into the hushed. tiled foyer
sorry to be there, wouldn’t think of not

“Hey Mom” followed by hugs
young men I knew as 6 year olds
still sweet, tender, towering over me
a few saying Mrs. Morrison though my
name returned to Bice a long time ago
caring, hearts heavy, considerate

my son lay dead, drowning accident
impossible to believe
they all came to say good-bye
hug me one more time

a small reception was held in the hall at
Hope Hose Humane First Aid Squad
they were the same who volunteered
to dredge the whole day through
the bikers passed the hat
collected $400 to donate
to this caring group

we drank, we ate
everyone had a story
about Guy
he was that kind of a kid
who became a man
and left.