Monthly Archives: January 2016

Flannel and Jackets

All that time ago,
 leaves crisp underfoot
 and Halloween waiting
 just around the corner,
 hiding winter in it’s
 closing hand.
So young you were,
 all flat hair,
 thick glasses,
 mouthful of braces.
 Yet, you were an angel
 and in every way perfect.
Cold nights so clear.
 Hand in hand at the party.
 That song we all knew.
 By ourselves under stars.
 Your heart beating so fast.
 A kiss, an embrace, your laughter.
I know you now, the girl you were,
 only in dreams and a bitter ache.
 Cold clear nights, dead leaves
 crisp and breaking underfoot,
 but nothing is the same.

Flesh Has No Memory

I can no longer feel
 you in my arms, small
 and strong and hollow.
Or your soft,
 unknowing fingertips
 that teased out
 the secrets of my body.
Or the rhythm
 of your humming bird heart,
 so desperate, so hungry,
 so innocent.
We were one,
 in a moment, somewhere
 in that little room,
 our sanctuary from heaven.
But that has passed.
 And these memories
 can’t recall your feel,
 you tenative tenderness.
Flesh has no memory

Warm Through Leather

Old motorbike, white and blue, new tires, full tank.
The moon pushes the sun in an argument of their rank.
So few stars here, even in the mountians, so few points of light.
Kickstart the engine. Her head on my shoulder, arms holding tight.
In the dark, the shard of the white headlight cutting into the black,
heading to someplace promised in a dream, and we’re never coming back.
The small, ramshackle houses give way to only trees and the battered highway.
Her body is against mine, and warm through leather, and showing the lost way.
The broken promises and the lost live and the bitter things that were our future,
the dreams and love and threadbare hope we had to hold on to and bitterly suture,
The sense that’s there a place in the sun or in the night or that there’s a kiss from the moon,
trying not to burn away our hope and sweetness, for something ours, that’s our sacred boon.
So over the mountain, to a place promised in a dream, to some place safe and beautiful,
where our love will grow, and our life will be something good, and laughter is pletiful.
She holds on and I can feel her breathing, I can feel her heart race, I can feel our weight.
We got to go to a place promised in dream, got to escape this place, before it’s too late.

Walking Home To Cambridge

Walking home to Cambridge, leaving London, leaving the lights,
those shining places, that thunderous sound, those lovely young girls.
I saw the face in a shadow and it walks with me as I’m going home again,
but home is not the place for me now; only my mind holds any dream for me.
The leaves are golden and yellow and bright, bright red, the sky a soft blue.
I dream of Emily dancing in the grass. A song playing seemed like it told everything
as she turned to me and smiled, long chestnut locks falling over her wicked eyes.
I dream of making love under stars, her softness and warmth, not that she left me behind.
The road is endless, and even when I’m back in my Cambridge home, it will travel on.
The road doesn’t end at the door, or in my bed. There’s not a woman waiting for me with
welcoming arms and a kiss on my grizzled cheek. Not a woman here to wipe away my tears.
I’m traveling down that road even standing still, with the shadows and demons picking skin.
In my old room, with that plastic rocket ship and tattered poster of Marilyn Monroe ,
the records grown dusty, the bed weighed down by the universe and the scoured mind.
I hope in dreams I can catch Emily’s hand again, and call her down like an angel of devouring.
Dreams, the only place to run, the only refuge in a blacked out mind. Count the cost of desire.

Thoughts So Free

We’ve been over the waves and under the sea,
into the cold darkness, and have fought back to the sun.
Maybe that romantic love is not for us, but more than friends,
maybe veterans of the same war, who know the same wounds.
I would lay with you beneath the sky, looking up at the stars
and let our thoughts be blown like dandelion seeds into
the solar winds and freely germinate on some better world.
Simple pleasure shared, just like children, just thoughts so free.
Maybe up in this mountain meadow we wouldn’t hear the waves
that tried to drown us, suck us into the shadows, that blotted the sun.
Maybe the waves will not even be a dull roar, and we can love the sun.
Love each other, as old soldiers tired of war, as old friends.


The winter is early this year.

Flakes of snow fall,
Shed from angel’s wings.
Their breath so cold
Chases away the day,
And bring dreams of her.
The bar is warm, loud, dim.
She welcomes me from the cold.
Her heart is a dynamo
Lighting up the stars.
Her eyes we’re plucked
To make the moon
And the sun.
Harmless flirtation.
Her sweetness, kindness,
Touches and smiles free
Like the snow falling.
Snow covers the filth in white.
Snow let’s me sleep quietly.
Alone in my room, one last beer,
And then dreams of light
That her hearts threads through me,
The stars orbiting her head, a crown.
Dream of her dynamo heart beating
With all the light god ever gave us.
Dedicated to RLP

Only From Angels

She is a ghost, grey gossamer and a breath of a chill.
In this summer hot attic, full of mold and dust,
I come to see her.
Her eyes see me, and her words and distant bells.
I tell her of the world outside, and how nothing changes.
She tells me of fields of wild flowers
and napping by a clear, silver brook, and of the darkness
that was ever outside the corner of her eye, and the song
that came only from angels.
The chill is soothing, and in the hot quiet, we dream together,
our thoughts and memories mingled like fresh air and jasmine,
as the sun marches on.
She loves me. We cannot touch. She loves me. I cherish it.
The world outside is sorrow and disonnection, trying to catch eyes.
She loves me, and that is enough.

My Head In Her Lap

My head in her lap.
 The TV playing on and on.
 Blues shimmering on walls.
 I don’t have to worry now,
 worry about tomorrow.
Half heard jokes, late show.
 Idle chatter about this or that.
 I dream my lover is queen.
 I drop my tears on her feet.
My head in her lap
 as sun breaks open the night.
 She fell asleep too,
 her thin hand resting

on my cheek.

Morning, and she is here.
 I don’t worry about today.
 She’ll be going to work soon.
 Pull it all together now;
 I’ll be going too.

Billions of Years Ago

Billions and billions of years ago, just after the birth of the sun
rocks in the void collided and stuck together and become one.
Over time something grew and changed and become the first life.
From them came you and me and everyone, every daddy and every wife.
 It’s cold now in winter, but before it was just you and me, and know we’re more.
We’re rocks colliding in the void, and we’re sticking together, better than before.
Other mommies and children, and young people, and some old and wise.
We’re moving toward a tribe and family, every day, every time the sun does rise.

And like the once barren earth, we’re fill with life and wonders and such glory.
The world we knew is gone, but we’re holding on tightly, it’s not the end of the story.
There’ll still be a world for you when you’re all grown up, a life for you too live.
We must love each other, and hold close to each other, love is what the light can give.

Summer House

Hard, rickety bed where we lay making love, hesitant, unsure.
Should I kiss you now, or carress your thigh, or smile into your eyes?
Fumbling closer in the hot, summer sunshine that pours through a dirty window.
Summer heat makes us sweat in our closeness,
making our breath ragged without exertion and our kisses swallowing fire.
Still, this place is our peace now that the world has faded away forever.
Will this day bring new life? Boy? Girl? Cain or Abel?
Make a place, a new garden, a place to hide, in this left over house
grown over with kudzu and tall, golden grass.
Summer is here now, and we are hot and sticky and wise,
but the world has faded away forever and winter is on it’s way,
even as our shame is shed like a second skin.