All these years of expectancy, finding someone who will give me all things I want, all things I need
I beckon for someone to give me music, give me poetry, give me love, give me everything I need
But a voice inside cautions: no one can love you like you need, no one is all things true, no one out there is all for you
Connecting so effortlessly you give me words to hear, music to fill the air, books to read, and pictures to see Why can’t you be the one to provide all things I want, all things I need
I beckon again, give me music give me poetry give me love
Still the voice carries on: no one is all things true no one out there is all for you…
The Poetry Question queried which 5 books have influenced me over the years. A bit of a challenge as I’m constantly reading, and in my younger years I read a lot of Allen Ginsberg, but these are the ones that have shaped me the most in who I am today. I hope you enjoy and would love to hear your thoughts on what book(s) have influenced you over the years.
I’ve tumbled through the rolling hills, hiked to the snow-capped peaks, stargazed in the desert with Joshua trees and driven up the Pacific coast to get a closer look at that picturesque ocean where locals claim anything goes
I’ve snorkeled through Atlantic waters, crossed the longest bridges, drifted through meandering rivers, and flown over the deepest canyon ridges
I’ve traveled to many far-off lands, pondered what exactly happened at Stonehenge, unearthed layers of civilization, held history in my fingertips and seen everything there is to witness
Sunrise, sunset, and everything in between but what my heart longs to see is you, my love, with open arms standing in front of me no amount of land would stand in our way O, I’m moving mountains one by one just to see you again
Telepathically, your thoughts race over me They strike during the early morning hours It’s that time again But we won’t talk about that now
We’ll say so much that will fit in The space between the silence But those days where we lit up the sky, We won’t talk about that now
The fantasies creep in Some days, or most days, On what we’ve done behind locked doors Bodies exposed, breathing close But we don’t talk about that now
My grandfather, he ordered black coffee, a soup and salad before his meal, steak and potatoes, and always leaving room for dessert at buffets on the other side of town
A routine meal to this day is remembered as my favorite meals with him
My Dad loved on his Alaskan crab legs with a side of melted butter While Mom ordered chicken at a seafood restaurant She never offered to pay while Auntie told us, ‘Don’t take it for granted, she should say ‘Thanks’’
A routine meal that to this day is remembered as our family meals together
The holidays would arrive suddenly, every holiday, as our family rushed off to Sunday service.
Was this excursion a last minute decision? Is the calendar right? Always arriving late, we discreetly sneaked into the pews. With a family of five, surely no one would notice. But they did, they always notice.
A routine holiday that would years later be remembered as our holidays together
Every year, every holiday, every birthday, the same restaurants, the same routine, the same church service.
But at least we gathered in the familiar ways we knew what was to come. We could count on those moments, those familiar moments.
Now we look back without the chance to relive all those memories, without the words of togetherness without bickering without reconciling No more chasing each other around the yard No more climbing up the tree, my favorite tree All that is left are these memories While isolating from our high-strung family
Now we pass the memories on while making new ones; new choices of restaurants, holidays, vacations and promises of not being late (but who are we kidding, we’re always late)
And yet, some things will remain I’ll keep the same dessert in honor of my grandparents whose struggles and sacrifices for our family deserve to be rewarded with a slice of warm apple pie
I drove down to see you stood in your doorway unannounced you were there with another I again felt like an outsider I didn’t belong after I wrote you at length many love songs
My poems wrapped in a box delivered but only to be forgotten my heart still in shock you were going away never to be seen again until the month of May when I would fly thousands of miles just to see that smile
But you called and shared the news; you married her, and had a baby on the way, too
That visit in May was not as planned we were supposed to be walking the streets hand in hand not with a mutual friend not meeting your wife, breaking bread
But as you said, as long as we’re alive there’s a chance for magic in the air well, my love, we shall see that magic again once this heart has been repaired