Category Archives: love

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.

%d bloggers like this: