The summer’s ritual of an evening rain gushes down upon my large umbrella. I quickly step to dodge flooding puddles surrounding me. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing most of my life, avoiding disasters. But the person awaiting my arrival, he is my safe haven. Everything leading up to this moment, although it may have been disastrous at times, is exactly how it should have been. I pull to close the umbrella, brush a few raindrops from my face, take a deep sigh, and pull open the door to the coffee shop where we’ve arranged to meet. He stands to greet me. My nerves are shot, and I can’t for the life of me know where to begin. I squeeze out a nervous smile. We’ve already reconnected for the past year but, this is the first time I get to see him again and I’m uneasy. Do I start from step one, see where this goes? Do I immediately pull into the throes of a lover’s embrace? So many questions racing for an answer. I want to turn off the questions in my mind, sit here and stare at him for a while. Order a coffee & tea, and say something, anything to believe that this was all meant to be. I want him to teach me a few phrases I have yet to learn and do all the things we have left to do. And I know we will. We have the time. We have all the time. We have all the time for us.
Thanks for reading. This is an edited repost from August 2020.
When I think of Carlos,
a beautiful soul of a man,
emotional, heartfelt poetry bleeds through
Tears creep on the brink of every reading
His hand held over his heart to keep it in
He makes a mark wherever he goes
The rhythm of his words flow
And it leaves you speechless
All you can mouth is ‘wow…’
Pondering over poems to capture what I believe in
A work of art always in progress
Instead of writing, I digress
I want the poems to come to me
It should be so easy
Poems used to flow without trying
Have I run out of reasons for writing?
‘Dreams are boats’ one poet says
It leaves me wondering,
Have her dreams already sailed on?
Are they docked and staying afloat?
Has she a ticket to the party boat of dreams?
Or have her dreams met the fate of the Titanic?
Whichever type it is, big or small,
and the condition it may be,
It got me thinking
And that’s what beautiful imagery does in poetry
It leaves you wondering, wanting to dig deeper
If there’s no wonder, no mystery, why bother in the attempts of poetry?