Something Poem

Something Something Something my heart.
Something Something that's true.
Something Something Something from the start
Something Something I love you.

Autumn, Come Quick

Autumn, come quick,
burn into my soul these
last impressions of you.

Every vowel of hope, pinned
upon consonants of intention,
I suffer the misgivings
of this memory lapse.

Bella, In Repose

Still held: memories
Of conversations near-lost,
bitter/sweet remnants.

Etherea

A Nightmare rises;
fearing our love was nothing
but some quaint daydream.

Is It?

Sometimes
I think
This whole world
is built on lies.

But this is not us
is it?

Sometimes
I imagine
We are still close
and our friendship won't fad(e)

But that is not us
is it?

Madder

Nevermind me
and
Our silence grows angry.

Crystal-white Angels

With a por-crackle-fizz
firecrackers boom - light descendant,
crystal-white angels
peer out of sulfur haze.

A startle of noise
to remind me of your disappearnace
3 years ago today.

My House Talks

Late at night or in midday,
this house creaks and moans
and drives me mad.

There is no end to winds or rains
or coldness
or blankness.

Sum Zero

When life blurs like watercolor blue-gray
it should mean nothing to me.
- As it does to you. -

My heart doesn't work like that.

I do not count backwards when
I find reminders of sore spots
Or when we rise like combatants.

I do not let shadows mingle with light
and I will not count back to zero.

Any Convenient Jesus

I seek any convenient Jesus
or a Mary Magdalene
with which to confess or select
my new sins.

A diplomat in the night
or a friend where I can turn.
Someone to lay me prostrate
and wish away the shingles
from my eyes.

Moon

Filled with the breath of cold-colored winds
and a mid-summer downpour, moon is calling.

Through broken clouds and harsh rains, she is
a performance ignored.

The sharpest spinning circles hewn by
ancient giants, the moon pulls on
the melancholy, dreamer, and roundtowner
alike.

Steaming, beaming, constantly gleaming,
moon is calling.
Can you hear its roar?

This Weight

When I close my eyes in darkness,
I feel this weight.

"What do you see?"
"How do you feel?"

The night is cumbersome,
counted out slowly. I have
gathered my patience
anticipated your next move
and realized what is to come.

Softness

She is flooded with softness
and softness can undo a man;
break him to his barest parts
or restore him
to what he was once before.

One Last Dance

All I ask:
to be hip-handed
and locked in tight.

One last dance
to bring me through
long, dark nights, a string
of memories to forget.

One last 'I love you,'
All I ask,
heart-felt and whisper-sent
to know I am still
with you.

Giantsteps

Am I asking too much?
I know...giant steps.
I will give what I can.
I will let you roam.
I will give giant steps.

Just give me a moment
Just let me in.
Just tell me what you need.
Let me know if you cannot handle
These giant steps.

The Feather's Course

Nothing as elegant
as the swoon and sway
of the wind-thrown feather’s flight.

Every now and then
That resilience keeps us
When we feel like falling
out of the sky.

Diversions at 3 a.m.

Cuddled, popsicle
toes stirring me from dream-to
-dream: sleeping/waking.

Technicolor City

Sip in the mix of chaos and still
as false-winter dies in city streets,
door open, door closed,
Pick up the clutter of our lives again.
Make a resolution, break a promise
It`s been too long/too much
but I ask for one more...
neon blue, red, green moment with you
and the electric flicker of the city
reminds me that
I’m still vibrating,
forget to call, forget to smile,
Scars too numerous to count,
and too many to let the wound heal.
So I breathe as if today
was the last day granted.

Lemonade Sun

Relics remembered
after spring cleaning and garage sales
finding useful places in a new house
or another sale.

Ward and I take the tandem, a colossal weld of
Two bikes into one, to scour the city
For heroes: Roberto Clemente, Sandy Koufax
or Rod Carew

Packed into shoeboxes, our heroes
Wait to be separated from the rest.

We find ourselves one garage sale
Past curfew, returning home,
Finding our way to Theo's Pizzera.

A convenient stopping point,
too dark for bicycle riding.
Reluctant, my brother
runs an errand and brings us home.

Day Game

The lure of Cracker Jack prizes,
Fouled ball souvenirs, or an autograph
From Number 9...brings me back.

Crack – ball and bat
Smack – children popping beer cups
On the stadium floor,
Bringing me back to days
Of Charlie Hustle, Barry Bonds,
or Darryl Strawberry.

Those old round parks like
Riverfront or Three Rivers or
Someone’s backyard
With barn doors and clothes wires
and low-hanging apple trees,
waiting to catch a ball at the warning track.

Wiffle Ball baseball, children arguing
in the back yard. We wish we were
Casey at the bat and
For a little while, we are.