Tag Archives: love

The Thorns They Must Share

Out in the California desert, they hid.

The man. The woman. The lonely kid.

An old abandoned mansion. Old grace.

Came to rest, to escape, in this old place.

A nymph living in the dried up river bed.

In the kid’s ear at night, cold, sweet said

“The end comes a thief, comes unspoken.

The desert is just a sigh in a laugh broken.”

The man, the woman, not Adam, or Eve,

children of men, unquenchable fire believe,

trying to rebuild Eden in hard, cracked soil.

But this world of men, of hope, always spoil.

The owl, predator and abductor, in cold suns

calls down the mice for the devils it never outruns.

“We horde the seed and the blossom, second life.

We take your children and changelings fill your wife.”

The man, the woman, are not free in the dry plains.

There are not coming fires or angry, cleansing rains.

The saucers, the angels, demons and God we’re there.

The poison was in the hope, in the clean, harsh air.

The wolf, the child of Satan, scorns stray dog, bare teeth,

The stray runs into the night, the wolf’s domain, to grief.

“Hey young one.” The strays says. “God’s children burn now.

But there’s a pinprick of sweetness when you make the vow.”

The lonely kid looks to the city. Hides a magazine with a girl so pretty.

The wolf chases the stray around the sky, and us, whom angels pity.

The girl has long dark locks, soft eyes, and her body is pale and bare.

The angel sees the rocks soil where love blooms, what thorns it must share.

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Cherry Blossoms

The morning sky is as soft, tender and pink

as the cherry blossoms beginning to bloom,

the first of spring.

Riding on her new bike. A simple, pretty dress.

Will he see her? Will she smile for him, passing?

Will it be love?

She stops on the boardwalk, looks to the waves.

The beach is so quiet, so sacred, in the first light.

The war is over. The war is over.

She is free.

Whispers

Stained glass of the church;
Jesus turning water to wine.
You are angelic in cobalt hue
I know only that you are mine.

The evening is falling, a year gone.
We sit in the pew. I hold you near.
I want to ask you to marry me.
I’m not sure your answer my dear.

Cold in the sanctuary of the church.
What prayers do we know for lovers?
I love you, with all the light left in me.
I love with all my broken prayer covers.

In that dim, sumptuous blue we kiss.
Tenderness touches our sacred light.
I hear your whispers when you sleep.
I listen for their softness, awake at night.

8th of December


Forensics Tournament Afterword

Forensic tournament afterword.

Sneaking a smoke in front of the host school.

Your Kool makes a veil, around your head,

angelic and wispy, menthol scent of burnt offering.

Big black parka’s faux fur lined hood is a halo,

and your dark hair is buffeted by the cold wind.

It’s November, and these tournaments will be over

by Christmas, but early nights and cold winds are sacred to us.

You broke again Ally. You won again. I’m an also ran.

Your pieces are sacred and bright. Mine are desperate, sad.

But we both wrestle with demons, whose tails choke our hearts.

We both find solace in winter, when no one makes any promises.

Your cigarette is burned out, and it’s time to get on the bus,

and ride over the plateau back home to Heritage, and we’ll sit

beside each other, maybe your head on my shoulder,

and we won’t say a word, but we’ll feel closer than heaven allows.

Head back to the crowd inside, all those other kids,

all those friends that feel distant and full of words.

You hold my hand until we get to the door, then your hand drops.

But though we know The Devil, we also know hope, and I know you love me.

And I know, I love you…………

 

Weight Reassuring

November.
Long Vespa ride,
Mountain tourist town.
Her weight, soft parka, hands around me.
Calming in the cold. In the grey morning.
The wind is a hissing whisper.
Still people around.
Changing leaves. Christmas time.
Red and yellow leaves so bright.
A little boy smiles at her.
Shyly hides behind his mother’s leg.
We go in the aquarium.
Dim and blue, the water of the womb.
Womb of the ocean we were born in.
Womb of the fang, hunger and light.
We hold hands. Weight reassuring.
Mermaid swimmers at noon.
We sit close. She is momentarily childlike.
Just happy in innocent fun. Wide eyed.
The mermaids have bright tails that sparkle.
The mermaids blow kisses in heart shaped bubbles.
Ice cream after in the food court.
A chocolate cone. Her favorite treat.
We talk of being between two worlds.
Water and land. Love and fear. Heaven and earth.
She says her wings are growing back.
We avoid lotuses. Some much day left.
We must be awake while the sun sleeps.
We must be awake, in the fires to come.
She is holding on as we ride through scarred trees.
The hissing whisper has become a robin’s song.

 

Morning Is The Gift of Light

Walking through The Fort on my way to work,
coldest morning yet this fall, wearing my heavy coat
instead of my soft and comforting hoodie.
The sun is just shaking itself awake, sluggishly, tiredly,
trying to shake off sleep, the lethargy of the nighttime
and light our way down here again.
Rebekah, a brilliant poet friend, is on my mind, my heart.
I hold onto the tender thoughts she brings, let the rising sun
and my adoration of her light my way in a roiling world.
Love, when the world is burning, and heaven looks away.
Be a star amidst the flames, light instead of raging heat.
Rebekah’s words echo, and she and the sun show the way.

 

She Will Not

Quiet. Cool forest. Little creek.
I hear angels. I hear them speak.

Autumn comes. She will not.
Her battle won. Her battle fought.

Ghosts can’t haunt the bandstand.
I sleep there, her Armageddon planned.

 

A lock of her hair hold scents of perfume.
It’s seal holds our hands fast, hurries doom.

I lost my way home. I was directed too.
In cold, stony ground, her orchids grew.

A derelict department store has the grail.
The church took the casket, kept her wedding veil.

 

Autumn is a sweet kiss before she slumbers.
I’ll have to stay awake, keep dialing God’s numbers.

She is close, but being unable to touch hurts.
Stay away from the club on Farragut’s outskirts.

I keep a lock of her soul in my whirling wings.
I hear her. I hear heaven. How this wonder stings!

For The Sky, For Love

The lights of the glass mansion shine in this September night,

a distant star, a tiny sun, a light of another life, not ours.

She in her red party dress. stockings, high heels off, running

her feet over the water of the darkened pool, singing a sad song.

Me in now untucked shirt, jacket and slacks, black socks,

glass of champagne, watching her, as if she were a fey come above.

The lightning bugs are long gone, and there’s quiet here, but for the hungry

insects and humming stars, and the peaceful fury of our wild hopes.

She is a child of the water, but the wormwood of this pool, or stinging

regrets that have made there home in it, but it’s all we have tonight.

I am a child of the air, of the warm autumn winds and winter gales,

one or the other, blink of an eye from September to February.

We walk hand in hand to the river, crystal and cold, and pure because

it’s teeth eat our blood and anything unguarded.

We strip naked and walk in, crying out with the chill, and the stars

are all the light of our cracked spirits, as we touch, we kiss.

Beneath the water, dark and velvet blue, one in the dark, in the silence,

coming up in an embrace, those stars in her eyelashes showing His Blessing.

We float, side by side, naked and shivering, watching the night sky above,

knowing we’ll be back her again, after the universe spins back to us.

She sings that song, that still prayer of yearning, for the sky, for love,

for a moment’s peace as The Devil makes dissonant all thoughts of tenderness.

And for a moment, our wild hopes are pure, and the hungry insects are full,

and the stars are enough, to light our way back to Eden, to each other.


The Great, Grey Sea

She’s asleep in the back seat, at peace it seems.
Maybe she’s having sweet and beautiful dreams.

A soft love song plays on the radio, soothing me.
I’m not stopping this care until we make it to the sea.

The stars are more than I’ve ever seen, angels at rest.
We’re leaving home, those bastards, devils of the west.

 

I glance back in the rearview mirror, at her sweet face.
A cottage on a barrier island, that is just the right place.

I don’t want we’re running into, but know what from.
A tarnished wedding band, and a piece of land, got the sum.

She’s sleeping without the demon, for the first time tonight.
We’re hounded by things both within and beyond our sight.

 

A love song can put magic spells to the madness you feel.
Make it a solid thing, a thing you can believe is real.

The road’s wide open before us, and hope, if nothing for sure.
Love and hope, a place to be still, that is the angels sacred cure.

The sea changes and is still the same, like her, like her wild heart.
She will be scarred forever, but we have a chance at a new start.

 

Sleep and dream, my love, we’ll be free in the morning.