abandoned sea of flames

My stomach starts to churn,
it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you
and your letter burns
with an aching that quickly forms swells
in the corner of my eye;
I know this feeling all too well.

My hand reaches for the source
of the pounding, yet I question myself:
Why did I stop this river from flowing?
Responses form that would never greet
your ears, and never leave my lips.

I toss the letter, abandon the flame
that begs for ignition, and
dry my face.

Show’s Over

Image credit Andrey Kuzmin

The production commenced
with actors on stage
portraying the love we once had-
the grasp of her cheek,
the look in her eyes,
as he folded over himself
to make her swoon his way.

Amongst an empty crowd,
the curtain’s now drawn,
the actors have gone home,
the final act is done,
it’s time to get on.

Hanging on for an encore,
hoping for another show,
relishing in the memories
and never letting go,
I can still feel that soft cheek,
feel those eyes resting upon me,
and those chains not letting me free.

The show’s over
but it plays on
relentlessly in the forefront
of this lover’s mind.

Undying Flame

Images and words
suddenly appear,
words I’ve longed for
hitting deep
as they wrap around
and envelop me,
overwhelming yet satisfying.

Since our last meeting
your ghostly presence arrived
in the oddest of places:
romantic restaurants,
quaint cafes,
art galleries,
long car drives,
concert halls,
walking in a park,
every room of the house,
and late at night in bed.

Days leading up
to the most significant life events,
it was you
always there
intervening
and me not finding the right words
to express the emptiness,
the loss,
the longing,
the wanting.

Reunions are great, they say,
as long as you don’t have to deal with the past,
as long as it doesn’t control your present, and
as long as the flame doesn’t consume you.

Yet, here I am standing steadily in the burning flames with you again.

The Truth

This poem is pulled from snippets of Esteban Rodriguez’s poem, El Rio. These snippets pulled together brought out a truth that spoke to me. Check out his poem in Non.PlusLit.

ready to give up
what they knew they’d never be

aware what he believes in
will not always remain

and though you want to believe
when he tells you this
you find nothing when you look

each time you place yourself in the middle of it
and which you hope
if the time should come

Even in sleep
gazing
some nights
unsure if they’re signals
accidents
or warnings
if he does what awaits
or stay if his limbs grow numb
accept the nothingness
he prays he has the strength to wake up
he will be found and dragged to a place where you eventually
promise him to not suffer

unsure how you got here
or if any part of this is real
you find a man you believe
only he doesn’t remember you
or of the decades he spent
knowing as you know now
the path leading back
would not welcome his return

Wildflowers Amongst Ruins

Photo captured in England, 2018

Old ruins
Forgotten and unkempt
Discovered years later
Remembering the days
Preserving the magic
While gardens bloom all around

Let the wildflowers grow
Where there once were none
Let the magic be remembered
For all and for one


This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

We Don’t Talk About That

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

Not now, not even close…

Drove To See You

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


Listen to more of my poems on SoundCloud

Mementos

One by one counting memories:
An old photograph of us at the beach,
A sweater that won’t rid itself of your scent,
Books and CDs that you lent,
I’ve packed them away
They won’t see another day

I’ve packed the boxes,
Made the plans,
The rooms are empty
But I am motionless

Is it that familiar look?
Is it that morning glow
That paints itself through that morning window?
No, it’s these damn memories that aren’t letting go


Listen to more of my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

Meet Me in the Rain

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Meet me in the rain
So I can explain
The sun’s gone
And it’s been too long

I look at your pictures on the wall
I shouldn’t keep them up for too long
I miss the sound of you down the hall
So I avoid the sound of you at all

It’s as if the flood gates of heaven opened up from God’s weeping
Deep down I know it wasn’t you I should be keeping