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.

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.

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 For You, Upon Seeing A Rainbow

Rainbow in PR
Poems flow easier when the air is stacked with lava vapor and mint

And Lucinda is singing o’ sweet despair, somewhere south-west of me.

Your essence awaits my arrival, everywhere I follow these aching feet,

Like a recurring old melody, it climbs up my torso, breaching my peace.

Feeling your breadth take residence under my fifty-something skin

I come alive, the way I’ve never lived, instantly transformed, released

Of all I fear, soothed again by energy emanating from your fingertips.

I surrender to you. I let go of the grip. I plunge, head first, into your sea.

No reassurance. No answers. No need to know our lives beyond this.

A Poem and a Selfie

WHO ARE YOU? You Asked.

I am the rays behind your clouds,
a true believer at your church,
the earliest singer celebrating
what your life would become.

I am each distinctive brushstroke
in the portrait of your hands,
as they pray to know the answer
to the questions that you face.

I am the last few pages of a book
you read alone in bed. The words
you remember the next morning,
when the blue of your eyes awake.

A childhood friend, a lost pet found
a decade later in the afternoon rain.
A forgiving thought for an old hurt,
the healed wound, this is who I am.

Your Sunday paper. The roll of waves
laying their passion at Jersey’s edge.
The morning cravings of coffee.
Long afternoon walks by yourself.

I’m laughter now. Tears then.
We met before and meet today.
Apart we walked these roads—
together we’ll walk them again.

I am the cabin that sits by your lake,
the light when the dawn breaks.
The voice you trust, the hand you held.
Yesterday. Tomorrow. And today.

I am your eternal companion.
An optimist blessing your fate.
Your improvised poet. Your expert lover.
Your tireless supporter. Mate of your soul.

A Poem (And A Photograph)

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Waiting

New York, like my heart, is desolate since you left
and the presence of yesterday remains encrusted
to the lining of my lungs.

You’re not here and I can’t think of much else
or find solace in the corners bent on hiding
the face of hope from my face.

I cant stand being inside this skin
you’ve not caressed in an eternity of loss.
I’ve tried escaping through the surface cracks.

Waiting is a foreign game I never learned to play
and yet, waiting seems to be the only way to get
to where love patiently awaits.

A Poem (And A Drawing)

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Grace


I entered the cathedral
of the sungod, slash sungodess
—their mythological names
escape me now— barefoot and
weary, under branched arches
of ash, maple and oak.
On a bell tower of tall clouds,
birds of color clang in unison,
the scattered flock called
to worship in the lit afternoon.

We gather, silently,
under the celestial dome
emptied of all need for repentance
because we did not sin,
in confidence, I’ve been told.
A priestess of sincere smiles,
like ripe fruits, blesses herself
and tells us to bless each other,
before yielding the altar
to a choir of youth.
A spiritual joins our voices
in joyous exuberance, clapping
to unrehearsed notes, clapping
bodies swaying in the wind,
tasting the certainty of heaven
in scales flavored with honey and milk.

The celebration winds down,
the service will soon fade
–as dew by early morning rays.
I sit in quiet reverence, breathing
ecstasy, eating truth. On this day,
in the majestic simplicity of nature,
on fiery wings, I saw grace descend
onto the shoulders of earth.