A SAMPLER of POEMS
THE FINE THINGS DEFINE THINGS A beautiful woman in a red terry cloth robe dances barefoot across the slick hard wood floors. Her eyes hold secrets, a new world, a new life and she playfully tosses the keys that open and close all doors. CONTINUITY Saturday drifts away. The afternoon mortal as any man. Where are the gemstones that last forever? Where are the paths that cut deep into the stoic night? I whisper your name in plaintive abandon. The rush of the west wind tosses my deep brown hair. The morning, an illusion of infinite sunshine. Friday night returns before the memory can languish. The dawning of another lies ever at our feet. Soon the lines upon my face like the lines upon my father's. And still I whisper your name against the rage of the winter wind. QUESTING Sold out to the whims of shyness, sinister and insidious. An honest man makes his break- takes his break. Break with the child-gods, break with the masses. In the ornate shielded castle lies the ultimate prize, veiled and disguised. Now the die cast, the road chosen. You on the edge of redemption. The road always forks. UNIVERSAL LOVE The universe, they tell us is expanding. Endless, timeless and vast. The universe began with a big bang. My love for you is a universe unto itself.
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A FEW OTHERS
MISSING PERSON The classroom- an odd, ironic replica of itself even then. And you would not sing for me although a union of your sweet voice and the lovely words to say, "Do You Want To Know A Secret" or perhaps, "I Need You" would have been a beautiful marriage until the long fade has waned. Time changes nothing. Enter the cosmic phase. You, strung out on some brain rattle and yet, You spoke the first affirmative even when we were not rhetorical like the time you swore you wouldn't give me candy if I rang your doorbell On Halloween night. Time changes everything. Act three, an odd, ironic replica of itself even now. And we have transferred our marrow outside the borders that define us like the time I touched your hand and knew an epiphany of passion and only grieving and condemnation would light my path until fatigue claims it's harsh reward. Time changes nothing. SOUL OF THE SOLSTICE No vehicle stationary against the morning air, aged and chilled as fine wine sipped by those who embrace the indulgence of truth. Summer's final dawn left us fearful and disillusioned forsaking leftover kisses misplaced by lovers long ago abandon. This world speaks of duty and legacy, buy and sell, greed and misfortune won and lost again and again by repentant fishermen in seas of pity and sorrow. Autumn calls with balance due, not forgiven nor forgotten like when the eyes of the goddess first beguiled the wanton and exuberant crowd. BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, EVOLVING These are the things she changes: batteries in the children's toys, oil in her little red car, the clocks and watches twice a year, once when it's time to spring ahead and again when we fall back. There are more: She changes the tires when they go flat. She changes her mind sometimes. She changes her attitudes, her fashion, her hair color, her religion. She changes the locks on her heart and the way she drives, the way she thinks about herself. These are the things she says: I love you every morning and almost every night, don't stay out too long, your Dad is a bastard and I want to go away. Those things never change. Here are more things that do: the wallpaper in the study, the filter on the furnace, the bag on the vacuum cleaner, the light bulb in the lamp, the gravel in the cat box. She changes her shoes, her favorite magazine, changes her toothpaste, her earrings and the place she does her banking. She would never change: Her love of tiny babies, her cologne, her adoration of The Boss, her need for affection, her love of the written word, her dedication to her children. These too are things she changes: Channels on the television, brands of peanut butter, diapers when their dirty, the position of the lawn sprinklers, the night into the day, the dark into the light, the day into the night and the way I think about myself. QUIET TORMENT More than a month has passed and still the silence refuses to break. The last lingering rays of summer sunshine fade away into the gray and enigmatic sky. The eerie silence refuses to break. Distance. Distance and ratio measured out in technocratic symbols. A formula for sadness. Now the menacing clouds of winter lie just before our waking. And still the silence. PASSION PREVAILS Moon casts silence through the blameless night. Sky forebodes torrents of desire inside nowhere the moment of our kiss. Sand washed from a never land of idol expectations. We forecast the final outcome- the statement of our purpose- the reason for the season- the moment of our kiss. Scream in consummate fear and delight while waves crash the sullied craft. Education, degradation, insincere infatuation belies the passion promise the moment of our kiss. Still the beating heart, Still the howling wind. Night edges away in indignant fits of desperation alone, the secret monitor, the moment of our kiss.
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