At first glance, it seemed easy,
I, the traveler on a weary road to perhaps fame,
I tamed my mind to think in ways one would want to impress,
But like a toddler taking baby steps,
I fall, struggling to get back on my feet.
The route I took seemed all too ready to steady that feet,
Through stumbling tears, I made my smiles just as effortless,
I cried first, then I laughed,
Isn’t laughter sometimes created from tears?
The road was long, the road was windy,
The road took me to eternity,
I wondered at some point if I would reach eternity, yes, eternity,
But stop I did not, I traveled through time, I traveled through eternity.
There were days when I thought “not a second to waste”
Until one day I realized that it took time to reach eternity,
It was the long road I had chosen,
Through much travail, none of which man can know or hear of.
I trudged with time on the long road to eternity once,
Right now, I face, I stare ahead,
I have not seen the end,
No, there is no end,
I have only been on the trail to the “beginning.”
Looking at the empty streets.
Beauty needs to be seen.
I know you are happy out there
on the other side of emptiness,
yet the present is the choice
which remains. In admiration,
beauty, in poverty wealth
and in silence the sound,
I will put the gun down,
who stands beside me matters more.
I’ll remember this second,
on the other side of what was emptiness,
I’ll remember this present, but the streets
will be alive again, only that which needs
to be seen will be.
Petrified
His gaze against the shadows of the bars
has grown so weary
it deflates in fades
Suppressing the entirety of his remorse
‘To him, there seem to be a thousand bars
and back behind those one thousand bars no world’.
The soft
The righteous
The other step
runs away with the breath of space
In a time undefined by reason
In the smallest of shifts and turns, circling
moves like a dance of strength around a core
in which an eccentric
stands upright
In time there always remains a question
The faith that transcends
The magic curtain slides
from side to side
soundlessly — He is there.
So many possibilities to be free from the beginning, and uproot the past of burden burgeoning like a flower’s ability to withstand change in unpredictable soil and yet still feel alive.
He expands through the tension
the calmness of limbs — and stems
in the heart which fate prescribes to be a mighty will stood parallel to them.
Love is unintentional decision making upon the choosing of a
Solidified destiny
A clairvoyant
romantic
Bat wings in my heart
Calm bleeding
Smiling full
This life is my teacher
Take me to a room
without an education please
Put down a book that moves the table and reads the script from my last piece
Not the other way around
Magical thinking describes our destiny, the rest is fate
I’m not here to school you
Death happens
And clutter builds into a false enamel
Eventual decay
If not maintained
Fleeing toxicity is a freedom beyond understanding
Outside the peripheral
grief spins me upside down
The last flower petal remains
With it’s scent forever reminding
me
Of our song
In solitude
When the streets are lit with lamp designs
And Arabian nights alive in the instrumentals
My senses
mystified
Living within our home without
The perfect combination
Of chivalry, compassion, and attention to the details
This is an emotionally available man
Sin is a perception
Redemption; clarity
Pure mist
The clearance of past partners
Leaves my space
To make rooms upon the doors newly turned
for an atmosphere of hope
The written letter reads as I write:
To my love, I love you with all my being.
For You are everything I asked for when
My mind left me
My consciousness awoke for you to be found by me now.
And that cannot be duplicated.
For I am Gratefully blessed. By you.
To Our eternity.
Cheers to our eternity.
This is my Bench; I deem her to be. She minds the Sea dutifully; in silence, splendidly.
Firmly in place on this rock jagged cliff, barrier free, scene panoramic
for the eye’s inner theme: keen, translucent clarity.
This strong tawny throne atop pedestal high, my toes exposed cannot touch
ground; my bare legs swing like those of a child from long time ago. How I had
forgotten how simple fun can so easily be; grace should be said here, deservedly.
The Sun in brilliance stakes his scorched claim; Sister Wind fans back chillingly.
The Ocean’s spittle dampens my face, cools my arms, taunts me to
dare even to breathe. I sit in awe, my smallness aware, how grateful to be.
“Consume me,” says this wild Lady Sea, serving salty martinis, a sun-kissed tease.
So I imbibe, with desire athirst, until drunk with beauty and wonder entwined,
consume her elixir in greed, one last sip to satisfy time.
Two seagulls banter just who will be first to dive into frothy waves white, slicing,
taunting, gravity suspend, to finally break free, a daring bait tease,
vying for bounties now richly exposed, hidden below the shimmery gleam.
Snippets of laughter, tinkling chimes, pepper the sea salt air; and then Sister Wind’s
bellowing roar: “I will be heard,” insistent demand. I hear her song,
passion intent made perfectly clear; I willingly obey, submissively.
A toddler set free lithely skips on the Ocean’s soft edge; wet sand tracing tiny toes
tanned, mapping the claim of this little girl’s glee. A new path to wander and fearlessly be:
magic unleashed, whimsical, untamed, wildly free.
A golden-crowned pigeon in wedding dress white regally sashays into my
sight. “Look at me,” she coos, boastful in sheer royalty. I acquiesce, then bow
in humility to Queen of the Bench, Her Most of Royal High Majesty.
My lips taste the salt of this deep turquoise Sea, seasoned just so, a chef’s risque
dream. Sand, salt and sea; recipe of senses set loose, how simple, how free,
like lovers embraced in a delicate kiss, tender in its intensity.
I long to sail to this Ocean’s far end, taste her salt-sweetness, chilled champagne tea,
reach the magical side of a wanderer’s dream, that thunderous
stream, rushing to wherever it leads, however far faraway is.
Yes, this Bench is mine, and always will be. My solace, reprieve, when tears are on brim;
exposing a world that few really see, dare comprehend, baring her secrets
Those sugar-coated, tender reassuring words
he once spoke
With his brimming eyes and gentle lips
That whatever the odds
Together, you will sail through the fiercest of waves
Climb through the peakest of hills
Cross even the furthest oceans and seas
Just to stay in each others’ warmth and never leave.
But now there’s nothing you can do but to kiss
the shapelessness of his empty words, sentence and phrase.
Perhaps, those promises you held upon
Are nothing but mere letters and chants thrown by the folly of his tongue.
A broken vow,
A fantasy told;
A happily ever after that should have been sealed with that one blissful kiss——However, it all ended as a miss.
O love if thou did not exist
would a kiss on lips be missed
could a heart from love refrain
and never know the joy the pain
of feeling love in every way
the highs the lows the come what may
the caution to the wind we throw
when love arrives and lets us know
a light goes on within the heart
hope begins and love imparts
a precious gift we hope will grow
if this seed with care we sow
Sunset over Palos Verdes
watching from Signal Hill,
I took a photograph still life
as the fading bright blue sky
became a golden glow
and spilt red over the hills.
Still married
but thinking this is over,
this is it, for us.
So I took my husband to the hill
to watch one last sunset together.
I snapped a study in sunset and silhouettes:
tall black form imitating a spouting oil well
reaching for a lone star
in the deep blue sky above it
as its silhouette hid the sun;
and a rectangle black block beside it
with a square hole imitating a picture frame
that frames nothing
but the empty sky beyond.
In between, the lines and curves
of a concrete bench etched
near my soon to be ex
standing near a stone pedestal.
His one arm rested on stone,
one arm at his hip as he contemplated his fate.
A telescope fades in the shadows
as the sun, invisible behind the sculpture,
hides suspended in mid-setting.
I was not yet resigned to divorce,
he was already resigned to convince me.
As we watched the sun fade into the future,
I captured one last moment of our sunset days.
He looked across the basin between reddened hills,
meditating upon his bipolar future.
I silently watched him from behind,
nostalgic to the end
for the setting of our final days
You’re a beautiful loser
in that red surfer tee-shirt
and blue panel van
even the paint smears on your labourer forearms
and your possum-in-the-headlights stare
add wairua to your duckling grace
You cut off those dreadlocks
which you’d cultivated for years
and the other night you told me
as we stood in the club bar melee
maybe you’d been too hasty
I liked the image they gave you
kind of piratical, wild-man, free-man
but you’re still a beautiful loser
though now you’ll need to wear a hat
when the ozone hole stretches
Like the hole in your pocket
the cell phone bill makes
when your wife phones too often
just to talk about nothing
or, “What’ll we have for dinner?”
because she gets a bit lonely
only talking to your babies
and she’s really in love
with her beautiful loser
So you’re a small-town production
short hair, short expectations, short patience
with politics, religion, social engineers
you suspect the reds and the greens
much like your father in his time
he was a beautiful loser, too
and you don’t want to be like him
but seem to be anyway
with your construction job prospects
loan repayments and family ties
You say you’re overweight
try to resist bar-snack temptation
to me you look plump with good health
but you are how you feel
and we all bear a secret image
of disappointment close to our hearts
and I can say what I like
but you have to believe
that you’re a beautiful loser.
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