poem

Start with ‘Hello’

the daily pattern,
clicking here and there,
looking for an update,
or something needed to say,
but it’s gone too soon,
like the fading of the day.

there was too much to say,
countless conversations
stuck in my head,
all I’ve needed to say.

talks about the books read,
or music heard,
how the day has been,
and inspiration for the latest writing.

talks about the weather,
upcoming plans,
wanderings under the stars and moon,
or when we first wake
greeting each other with longing hello’s.

so much has been unsaid
between these days
that I’m missing a reason
to say anything at all.

So, I’ll start with “Hello…”
and hope from there the rest flows.

poem

The Portrait of Disappointment

after Joni Mitchell*

after years of hoping things would change
and giving in to “well, that’s the way it is,”
look me in eyes and realize
this is who we are,
who we’ve become,
it’s finally come true –
our love’s become old news.

we never lived up to the story of make-believe;
when we face each other
I must believe this is the choice
we’ve been making.

every morning & every night,
from here on out
this the only way to keep going,
alone.

turn these dog-eared pages of our lives
for other truths to be told,
for other hands to hold.

from countless days of emptiness
from your professions,
your attempts at affirmations,
something in me knows better:

there’s more to love
than a collection of memories,
there’s more to see
than foil-wrapped treasuries.

what passed in the space between us?
a moment, a disappointment,
and I leave it all in the past.

what’s to come?
a path we’ve never tread,
yet time’s been stolen
and minutes slip away.

the clock stares and we wait
for affections from a new love,
a new life in a new bed.

The title comes from a comment Joni Mitchell made when describing the theme of her music, one part hopeful and one part “the portrait of disappointment.”

poem

Love Meant to Last

For a dear friend


I could never understand it, always questioned it.
Never could see the bond that was between you.
But it was love, the kind that was supposed to last.

From the beginning outsiders were struck by the
secret love notes, booty shaking teases, and contagious laughter;
surely, that kind of love was meant to last.

Over the years and through monumental struggles
there was hope love like that was meant to last.

When your own family was finally formed,
despite the destruction that came,
there was still hope for love once had to return.

The strength and willpower was admirable,
to have your family your own way,
no matter if love chose not to stay.

Afterwards, unconditional love was the only way,
a mother’s love, a father’s love,
but his love was too high a price to pay.

Now as he’s looking down on you from the other side
you remind them,
love like that was supposed to last.

poem

Walking The Corridors of My Mind

thoughts drift wondering
about those who have
walked the corridors
of my mind,
over the years
and through the doors
in and out of sight.

I see their faces,
hear their voices,
as they’ve entered dreams
and I wonder,
where have they gone?
what are they doing now?
do they wonder the same?

do they see the same blue
skies above?
do they feel the same aches
of aging?
do they have needs
to hear the music
but they’re
unfulfilled and left
wondering?

are they out there,
are they wondering the same
for me?

poem

Summer Love Swept Away

Photo by Hernan Pauccara on Pexels.com

I spotted you amongst the masses there
with only a moment to choose, I feared
this was headed nowhere.

Giving you a raised eye
I slipped you a napkin with my number,
figured this was a love you couldn’t deny.

We filled our summer days gone by
with dragonfly dreams. Our love
left like beach vacationers and passersby.

Heading back to where they’ve come
but deep in the night, they’ll remember
what those summer loves have done.

In this jaded seaside town
after the blazing sun has gone down
nothing remains but tumultuous sea sounds.

Like a discarded napkin
left by a shattered dish,
this love was swept away with the rubbish.
poem

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.

poem

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.

poem

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.

poem

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