Another thing to adore
another body to explore
a muse to rouse you
right on cue
I’m more than you think
a mind,
a soul,
a bad-ass beyond control
Comfort needed for my pain
loved longing for you again
take this two steps back
unsure how to react
I’ve spilled my love for you
Now I’m angered by you
Objectified,
a muse…
Month: June 2020
Words
This poem appears in my poetry collection Coffee Shop Sessions: Whatever It Takes, Even If It Doesn’t Take available on Amazon.
I need words
I need better words
Words of joy
Words of healing
Words to console me in times of need
Words of understanding
Words to make me feel complete
Words of love
Words of compassion
Words that show a deeper meaning than what appears in front of me
Words that you cannot find
Words that you cannot express
Words that will never enter your heart or mind
And will never leave your lips
I need words to hang onto
Words that lift me up
Words that will make me want to come back to you
Words that will make me want a future with you
Words,
I need words
Train to Nowhere [with audio]
The clock ticks in desperation to move us along,
to where we belong. Our eyes remain forward,
no longer looking back. The man in seat 2B sobs
with tears streaming down his face. He’s left his life
in his old place. I soak in the faces of passengers around
me, stern looks all around. All longing for company,
for answers that can’t be found. Looking over my shoulder,
the train across the way has the answers. The lady in
the window seat blows me a kiss; she has what we all
have missed. Looking behind me, the cold faces tell me
I should leave. The conductor denies my plea: this is the
wrong ticket, I belong on the other train, you see. As the
train departs the station, I rise to bang on every window and
door to set me free. The whistle continues to blow.
No one helps. Nothing budges. I’m stuck on a train to nowhere.
The train arrives at our destination. Heaps of garbage
as far as the eye can see while flocks of seagulls swarm overhead.
This, this is where the train of life has led me.
Based on the opening scene of Stardust Memories.
The Last Goodbye
Resting his knee,
he holds his face
to bury his sobs
as she is laid to rest
We hold hands
as I gently squeeze
knowing too well
this may be our last embrace
Feeling his warmth,
his mighty strong hands,
he held us together
when she left this land
It’s only one slip away
before you’re gone too soon
On the drive home,
our last goodbye became true
Three poems
a poem written three times, each version has its own distinct story, while a line or two remains the same.
heeding the pull
of my heart,
messengers of truth
warned us from the start
spoken dreams know
their own curse,
silencing them now
timepieces have reversed
our covert love
begged for air
as buried keepsakes
pained to be bare
our connection:
seductive,
aimless; as we weep,
counterproductive
failed to ignore the
pulls on my heartstrings
after attempts to neglect
repeatedly listening
intimate poetry, I know
every verse
returning to it again now,
timepieces have reversed
like seagulls flocking
along the breeze
deep magenta love
floated out to the sea
what started this connection
with a seductive whisper
fell asleep
with a silent whimper
sprouting from the underground,
reaching for the light,
messengers of truth
tell us the news
spoken dreams
awaken us now,
emboldened by our own worth,
timepieces have reversed
our covert existence,
like buried keepsakes
begged for air,
pained to be bare
our struggles,
spotlight moments in
Hollywood movies; as we weep,
the only way we’ll be seen
the dust
has not yet settled
we will not give up
until each of us is handed
a golden cup,
a symbol of worth
a symbol that we are
no longer defeated,
we are the new leaders
Sweet Pleasantries
A honk and a wave,
A smile greets you
Not able to place the face
But you comply
Exchange greetings
Then she questions your well-being
Scrolling through the latest developments
You pick an appropriate response,
‘I’m hanging in there. Happy Thanksgiving.’
She returns with the same
Then disappears into the sea of lights
She is too kind
This is not the time
To tell her how my life
Has been tormented
And wrecked apart
Sweet pleasantries are all I can muster
Before we need to pull apart
And be on our way
Another time will be had
To reflect on those things
That need to be discussed
Climbing up the walls
You discover them
One by one
Climbing up the walls
Searching for something to satisfy their hunger
They gather there
Smelling the sweetness calling them
They see their chance
A long journey has taken place
Will they reach their target
Or will they be wiped out
Only to start over again
Unsent letters
How many love letters
do I have to write before
they are sent, how many hours
do I spend and lament over
the impossible dream, the one
that can’t be seen, and more
and more it seems like
it’s never going to be
The Shape of Us
The shape of our love, our version of it,
exists in bubbling thoughts of former lives,
constant dreams of distant hearts
where our lives are entwined
Ripples of waves intersect
jetting dangerously close
but never on the same path
turning heads, looking back
How do we get off this track
without losing control,
without knowing
where it will go
The inhabitants look upon us
making waves in their home
They tell us to let the waves subside,
transform our shape and go
Uncomforting Comforts
our home is a picture-perfect scenery:
beds of roses,
smiling faces,
loyal dog,
friendly neighborhood
filled with children playing in the yard,
trails for running,
families bicycling…
we have everything:
a comfortable bed to lay in,
television to watch,
cars to drive,
employment to keep busy,
and mouths to be fed.
absolutely no reason, i remind myself, look around…
a husband who:
helps around the house,
is adored by his children,
embeds his family as my own…
absolutely no reason, i remind myself, look around…
after twenty years of:
challenges overcome,
dream vacations,
belly-aching laughs,
tears of frustration,
tears of joy,
it seems we built this to last
absolutely no reason, i remind myself, look around…
but staring at the ceiling
while he thrusts himself into me,
there’s a deepness i’m missing
where earthquakes would once rattle me.
what i’d give for an 8.0 right about now…
Coffee Shop Sessions 