say it was in the stars,
something supernatural led me to you.
say it was the moon
pulling my tides closer to you.
it’s something deeper
than a mere connection.
it’s something in the waiting
& it grows with our knowing.
you can’t put your finger on it.
there’s something there.
some will call it ‘love’
but it digs in so much further.
it’s in our details,
to the blissful silence
from a longing stare
deep into each other’s eyes.
it’s in the wanting
and never getting enough.
it’s in having someone who cares deeply;
nothing will ever change this feeling.
it’s in the way we don’t need to talk
but when we do
it sends signals
straight to our hearts.
it’s something we’ve never felt before.
a striking phenomenon.
how our hearts and thoughts run away with us.
for now, we’ll call it ‘love’ until we find a better word.
A rewrite from an earlier posting on June 6, 2020. Thanks for reading.
we hold those we love closer
in these dark times
to feel the warmth,
but you i love the most,
i’ll always dream
of holding you close
to hear your words
in the deep of the night.
writers ponder over verses
but words become mystified, inadequate.
where other poets generously use adjectives
and sweet metaphors
to describe the mysteries of life,
i have the simplest of thoughts:
i think of you,
i think of us,
i think of our love,
and i think we’ll be alright.
Image credit: AstroStar
out of darkness
the night sky sparkles above as a sailor’s friend reminds all of its surrounding splendor. the twinkling is the same as it’s always been but brighter than we’ve allowed ourselves to see. somewhere across the horizon, underneath the same vast sky you’ve been thinking of me and at last, we can finally breathe.
a rewrite from the original poem posted June 29, 2020
in a world forced into a hush,
our minds crave words spoken close.
our stories shared across time zones itch,
while inside we scream for release.
idly waiting for the tomorrows
when meetings will be filled with embraces,
we dream of kisses,
and we’ll read each other’s faces
and know exactly what it means,
not filled with frustration from a frozen screen.
we dream of soaking in moments
while delaying the tomorrows even further.
one day soon, we say, we’ll no longer meet in isolation
but gather with our loved ones.
we yearn to linger in the warmth,
the touch, the feeling of being close once again.
a rewrite from the original poem posted May 2, 2020.
we soak in the lines,
in between breaths taken.
each one we know leads to the next,
each one we know we should linger in a little longer,
and yet we jump,
hearts eager, blindly leaping.
I need to change my vocabulary,
remove the apologies & negativities, peel back the layers of insecurities. I’ve wrapped myself in them for so long, years of comfort built in the hiding. Yet each layer peeled back leads to discoveries, why certain layers were brought on at all. He recognizes them, understands them & slowly eases them away. I need to stop apologizing for what I’ve become. It’s not too late for change. I need to change my vocabulary, speak a new language, dress myself in new robes.
He looks to the left, a quick pause to check the commotion.
There’s shouting crying out on the street. Stomping boots,
signs in hand. It’s another day, another protest, nothing to
worry over. She questions him, “What’s happening?” It
could be anything, or nothing at all. They want attention
and this is the day they chose to be seen.
“You should go, I know I would if I could.” She embraces
the urge to signal solidarity. She recognizes the lonely pillar
of strength squawking into the void. She’s eager and enlivened
to join. “They need us,” she tells him. The artists, the movers,
the shakers. But they march where no one is watching. With
no real audience, nothing will change if no one is listening.
After Mary Oliver
have you noticed how certain poems linger
in the echoes of yesterday
how certain triggers replay
a certain phrase
how hanging onto words
engulfs an empty room
how walking through fields
begets velvet moonlit nights listening to you
how spinning a record after dropping a needle
births a mountain of longing and sorrow
have you ever noticed
that no matter how many times
you block out the sights and sounds,
they sprout their way back to your tomorrows