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.
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, 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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
(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.
Penguin Poems 