1967

The Summer of Love,

I bit my baby-sitter.

She was beautiful.

 

The most important day of your life - VIDEO

Video from a recent performance - the World Cup wedding epic: "The most important day of your life."  Enjoy!

Love fell laughing

Love fell laughing into the gulf
between our feet. We burned the lies
to stay warm, those that had lashed us

together, hobbled. Some saw us
as one splendid flesh, to engulf
their own griefs. They were wrong What lies

in us is a hope that belies
all expectation. For both of us
we owe our lives to this new gulf

the gulf, hard-won, that lies between us.



Posted to share with friends at dVerse Poets Pub.

Maybe we all exist

Maybe we all exist
only to inflict pain
on the ones that we care
the most about, without
even being aware;

maybe we all exist
only to light the sky
and fill each other's dreams.
Neither one seems true. From
these desert years, it seems

maybe we all exist
to each other only
when we chance through the sieve
which asks our heart for "yes"
where it can only give

"maybe." We all exist
firstly to be ourselves;
willing to stand alone
and trust our heart's desire
to plumb their own unknown.

Sandcastle

Lying in the moon

we listen to our breathing

as your fingers trace

the graceful curve of my breast

rising and falling - for you.

At the dance

He likes her, but not like
that, you know what I mean?
Only, she doesn’t get
it, and he hasn’t found
a way to tell her yet.

He likes her, but not like
he would like a girlfriend.
His teenage heart beats loud
for one of her friends, who
can’t see him in the crowd.

He likes her, but not like
he should, the idiot.
It just wouldn’t occur
to his hair-gelled brain that
if he ever tells her

he likes her, but not like
that, he will be breaking
both their hearts. She won’t wait
for him, and when he comes
back, it will be too late.

What no one can understand

We must not keep doing
this. The words spill slowly,
with my hand in your hair,
in some lost restaurant
sixty miles from nowhere.

We must not keep doing
such damage to ourselves,
and those we love. The lift
our souls gained at the start
has turned into a gift

we must not keep. Doing
anything together
now holds our life in thrall
to fear, muscles clenched for
the axe we know will fall.

We must not keep doing
this, dear friend. For freedom’s
found not in what we choose,
but rather in the good
we at the last refuse.


A monchielle, written for a friend in a long-distant cafe.
To share with friends at the dVerse Poet's Pub.

La frutta *

(reading the paper placemat at Colombo’s)

Start at the heel of the boot,

at the sumptuously-named Lecce,

and run your finger around the graceful

toe, beaded with Sicilian heat.

Move slowly upwards, pausing at the knee

to genuflect at the Holy City, then on

to gaze in awe at the high-swept sinews

of the landscape leading up to Assisi.

Come around the thigh, taking time to

taste the savors of Bologna, Parma, Genoa,

circling over and round the graceful

inland swell of the northern provinces

and down, down again to glide

upon the glistening canals of

Venice, whispering softly as the

red wine disappears like a sunset.

[*dessert]

Twenty years

Whenever I see her
picture, or hear a friend
describe what she
is up to now, I can
still feel her holding me.

Whenever I see her
name in print, or I smell
the sweet perfume she wore
for me that spring, the lust
I felt still shakes my core.

Whenever I see her
in a dream I know that
my heart’s still open to
her summons, and she can
crawl inside me where- or

whenever. I see her
breath on my window, I
taste her salt. I left, yet
still after twenty years
these dry bones won’t forget.

The hand you are dealt

A good friend will cause you pain today. She
will not see why even if you try to
explain. You will think you are going mad.

You will wish to kill someone. Try not to.
Your other children will suffer enough
without you compounding things. Suck it up.

Try to avoid awards ceremonies.
Jealousy is ugly. Schadenfreude
is also to be frowned upon. Mostly.

Church will become the worst hour of your week.
You will spend the whole time praying no one
turns around. God will appear not to care.

There are no trophies for surviving.
You will not sleep well tonight, or ever.
You would not trade places with anyone.


(a fortune-cookie poem, originally written for a prompt from Robert Lee Brewer over at Poetic Asides)

To have and to hold

To have and to hold, from this day forward,
for better, for worse… Glowing words uttered
haltingly, like lines from a high school play,
learned by heart, yet still alien. Today
is a necessary burden, offered

to assuage the desires of well-mannered
society. A photo-op prepared
with eight-by-tens for all to take away
     to have and to hold

forever. But in truth, what just occurred
in this place, the flowers, lace, high-collared
dress, unity flame, champagne toast, DJ,
first dance, are but the entrance toll they pay
for life to which they have not yet matured,
     to have and to hold.

Sharing the love

 

Sometimes, when two people love each other
they want to share that love with the whole world.
It’s quite natural. And so late at night,
or even at lunchtime, they go to work

(and don’t kid yourself, often it IS work,
especially if you are on the porch,
or the patio, or at a camp site,
places you have to be extra careful).

For some couples it is really easy,
others have trouble, some even give up.
There can be showing off and jealousy
which is really hurtful and doesn’t help.

But most of the time, the hard work pays off.
They come out to you, sweat-soaked and aching,
still sticky from all of their exertions,
to announce: It’s here! Mint-Chocolate-Chip!

None of us are ready

None of us are ready
Tonight. We float in a
Sea of Tranquility
As the tide washes us
In, inexorably.

None of us are ready
And yet it is time. We
Travel after midnight
One hand upon the stars
As a new voice sings bright.

None of us are ready,
Our arms still tangled in
Each other’s hair, we lift
This wet thing to our chest
And say, “This is a gift

None of us are ready
To receive.” And it’s true.
Our swift humanity
Is chastened before such
Responsibility.

None of us are ready,
We are all newborn here.
But there is grace, and soon
Joy as we stumble home
Kissed by the mother moon.


The grammar involved in "none is" vs. "none are" makes my head spin.  I ended up sticking with "none are" though "none is" might work better in some people's eyes.  Hope you can get past this issue to appreciate the sentiment of the poem!  For friends at the marvelous dVerse Poets Pub.

Astronaut

My father was a famous astronaut,
A hero from the bright comics I bought
On Saturdays. Sometimes I heard the key
Turn gently in the lock long after we
Had gone to bed. And then my parents fought

Like lovers in my mother’s sheets, but not
Out loud as they might wake the baby. Caught
Between embarrassment and lust to see
     My father was

Still real, I clutched my rocket ship and fought
Back tears. His only letter is what got
Me through those years – to know God and country
Might come first, but he always cared for me
No matter what our friends and neighbors thought
     My father was.

Rules

A honeymoon poem, to share with friends over at the marvelous dVerse community.

This house is smaller than the brochure made
It look. There is barely room for our bags
In the front hall as we sign the guestbook.

Breakfast is between eight and eight thirty
We are informed, and would we prefer
A fry-up or just the continental?

Our hostess has a typewriter. The walls
Are filled with neat signs telling us things like
When we may use the bathroom (no long baths)

And that the lounge is open after six
For us to watch the TV or peruse
The two shelves of Mills and Boone romances.

But this is our first night, and thus we have
A romance of our own to consummate.
Pinned above our bed is a note that reads:

Guests are requested not to talk after
Ten p.m. We obey, shyly, taking
Our time, trying not to break any rules.

Late afternoon in my room

Why is it so sensual
To wash a lover’s hair?

Is it the scent of blossoms
Borne away on fingertips,
Or the gentle lapping of
Small waves at the water’s edge?

Is it the deep stillness that
Descends slowly on the heart,
Or the final yielding
Of control, the gift of trust?

Perhaps it is all of these
But this much I remember:

She bowed her head at the sink,
Letting the warm water run
And when she looked back at me
I knew I could not refuse.


Posted for the weekly Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.

Beautiful women make me nervous

It was a great pickup line, if I say so myself:

     What a fabulous feeling!
     You’re too lovely for my eyesight.
     But tonight, I’d say my love is big enough to handle it.

Unfortunately, I got flustered:

     My, my, I say! What a lovely sight.
     Your fabulous feeling butt is big enough for two.
     I’d love to handle it tonight.

Damn.

Passion wagon

(Hey, the lockout is over - here's a villanelle for the NFL - for friends over at dVerse, a great site to check out if you haven't already.)

You wonder what it is I’m thinking of
As we are locking lips here in the car?
I have to say my heart is filled with love

For all creation – the bee, the wood dove
And giant men in spandex near and far.
You wonder what it is I’m thinking of

As you fumble with the seatbelt and shove
Me backwards, inflicting the biggest scar
I have? To say my heart is filled with love

For you is true, but it is not enough.
You know how my libido seems sub-par?
You wonder what it is? I’m thinking of

Owners and players standing hand in glove
Proclaiming peace like buddies in a bar.
I have to say my heart is filled with love

For you, but mostly ‘cause you’re splayed above
Me like you caught a touchdown from Bart Starr.
You wonder what it is I’m thinking of?
I have to say, my heart is filled with love.

Pumping Iron

We started pumping iron on the porch
The summer that our river burst its banks.

He stood in the driveway with his shirt off
Glistening like a sword drawn from the sea,

Shouting, I am strong now. What have you left
To offer, old man, before I slay you?

Eye-to-eye we fought to keep our balance
Two strangers astride the Leviathan

Each one thrilled and yet terrified. It was
Blood-lust and it was hubris that tossed us

Until we washed up on our backs, arms raised
And flexed and raised again without talking.

Something’s blocking the sun, I said at last.
Your pride, he spat. No, I smiled, your biceps.

Blink of an eye

Hi, love. Sorry I missed your call – I know
It can get lonely at the hospital.
It will be great to have you home tonight.

I was out at Penney’s with our newborn
Buying him a birthday suit, extra long.
He looks so cute, you could just eat him up.

He’s been eating constantly, back to his
Birth weight, and then some. He does like ice cream,
Especially the stuff your mother brought us.

Nap times are good, he’s getting lots of sleep
But his days and nights are all turned around.
It must be from all that time in the womb.

Oh, and the driving instructor called us
She said there’s a spot for him next Friday,
Now that he’s learned to walk, and read, and shave.

When I asked the woman at United
If they would take care of him on the plane
There was an awkward pause, before she said

Sir, your son is sixteen – he’s an adult.
She’s right – he is the best of both of us.
And it happened in the blink of an eye.