A Poem and A Photograph

There can be no rebirth without death

There Can Not Be a Rebirth Without a Death

I rushed to this place of beginnings to trap these words
Before they dissipate into the Sunday dusk.
Love was breathing on me all day, walking side by
side, as I wondered around the roads you carved
Onto the white matter that had not produced one
Memorable story, till God introduced us to each other.

Can I talk to you about loss? I can only mention this
Since finding your picture next to mine on an altar
Revealed the truth of my condition: wounded heart,
Born wanting sweetness not grown in the region
I was reared. The kind of loss not based on a having
or a loosing, but an always, a never, a darkness.

Can I talk to you about loneliness? The type experienced
In the company of others, shared over decades of empty
Gestures and unfulfilled promises, bred in regret,
Hidden behind a smile and the accommodating touch
I learned to demand and receive for no apparent reason
Other than a convenience exchanged in time and space.

Can I talk to you about fear? The suffocating kind, familiar,
Constant. The one deciding that venturing outside isn’t right.
It predicts that around each corner, a darker alley lies. And
When you make a run for it, it blows out the light lighting
The tentative path you long studied and planned, as the way
Leading back to possibilities that feel deserving at times.

Can I talk to you about time? I am becoming its friend—
Recognizing the generous ways it allows the rebirth
Of a fate we believed had been abandoned, left for dead.
Destiny can not be lost in the never-ending circling
Of the minute hand, it is made truth and blessing now,
inspiration, present-moment shared and realized.

Can I talk to you about love? Just a reminder of sorts:
Each time it opens my heart, out pours patience and grace,
With the kindness and belief that bears all things worthy. Hopeful,
Enduring love, devoid of arrogance or envy. Newly born
Into the eternal space we occupy today. Faithful lovers,
Here to manifest the gods’ perfect creation. Nothing less.

“The Love of My Life,” she called him

and he thought, everyone should have a Love of My Life, to be able to write love poems to them, like this one:

Blessing The Wounds

You sent me alone to the concert hall
Where only half the notes played
Until the music discovered your face—
Your smile alive, in the smiles of my friends.

You called to say you weren’t coming
But when I turn around, there you are,
Reflected on each one of my walls and
Weaved in the silky sheets that cover my bed.

I spread you on my morning bread,
Drink your sweat to calm my thirst.
My palms rest on your skin. My fingerprints
I press, branding forever your flesh.

Thirty days I walked, my eyes shut
And in the darkness of my steps
I follow the warmth of your breath
Through the dessert to the valley beyond.

Blessing the wounds we’ve carried,
Our true love joins us in the search for home.
We learn leaving from some lovers,
Only one can teach us the way back.

A Poem And A Photograph

IMG_1327

Inconclusive Thoughts

Inconclusive thoughts
And convictions. Unfinished
Building of character. The job
Not yet completed.
The slippery task of defining
My life, escaping again
Through fingers of frost.
As I speed through
This hazy early morning of thought,
I see rain, and then,
The slow lifting of ancient fog.

A Poem and a Photograph

Chained

POEM #—I DON’T KNOW…

Pretty much the way of the title my life without you goes:

‘Not knowing where the light of the world went’ when I am

without you.

Without you,

I loose the straight line that connects me to the center of all

good I’ve discovered in forty years of walking the roads,

without you.

Without you,

I don’t have to contend with friction or images of conflict

that show up in this mirrored instant we hold to each other.

Without you, all expectations, yearnings, expressions of lust,

are orphans born into the world, meaningless thoughts

going nowhere or disappearing into the darkness outside,

without you.

Without you,

I’ve often imagined my days, getting used to the impossible

thought you bear, like the cross where a dream dies alone,

without you.

Without you,

is also you without me, the letting go of the hand, the tearing

of heart tissue, the void in the eyes I become when I am

without you

—or you without me.

Reading Love Poems at The Christopher Street Coffeehouse, NYC

I was invited by my good friend–and singer/songwriter extraordinaire–Andy Marino, to read my work at this venue. I call these poems Attempts @ Poetry. They’re love poems written for a woman I’ve loved for 17 years. Or maybe it’s a thousand years, I lose count. Her name is Viola. She washed ashore on my island one day…

A Poem and a Photograph

NJ Sun and Sky - 12025

Love of My Lives

I am still your man, here still.

And after centuries measured

by small epiphanies,

my arms remain open,

my eyes your eyes seek.

Walking apart or abreast

my soul is complete

only when yours is near,

the spirit healed by your kiss.

Lovers, praying partners,

and friends we’ve been,

even secret members

of the same crime family.

Dancers in a cosmic ball

whose ancient rhythms

only the broken-hearted perceive.

Enemies and allies we’ve been—

fellow travelers in the far east.

Here I am, your man still,

still holding on to your hand.

Here to make reality

a holy promise made

the Spring I was shaken awake

—to meet once and for  all

with clean hands, clear eyes,

open hearts and a blessing

for each other upon our lips.

A Poem and a Photograph

Sun Embraces The Earth

Blessing The Wounds

You sent me alone to the concert hall
Where only half the notes played
Until the music discovered your face—
Your smile alive in the smiles of my friends.

You called to say you weren’t coming
But when I turn around, there you are,
Reflected on each one of my walls and
Weaved in the silky sheets that cover my bed.

I spread you on my morning bread,
Drink your sweat to calm my thirst.
My palms rest on your skin. I press
My fingerprints, branding forever your flesh.

Thirty days I walked, my eyes shut
And in the darkness of my steps
I follow the warmth of your breath
Through the dessert to the valley beyond.

We learn leaving from some lovers,
Only one can teach us the way back.
Blessing the wounds we’ve carried,
Our true love joins us in the search for home.