The slow, even stroke
Of your fingertips
Gliding along my body
Lulls me to sleep,
Even as it arouses.
I still miss you,
Miss what could have been.
But this knowing--this certainty--
That we wouldn't have made it far
Calls me home.
I can say, I love you,
And mean it in a friendly way.
Because you hold a piece of my heart--
I let you in.
And those fingertips
That glide across my skin
Tell me you miss me too
You miss what could have been.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Object Poem
Concise and lyrical in simplicity, the nativity is beckoning for your hope, your trust, your love. It speaks of acceptance and involvement with life. I have it in a place of honor, all year round. It reminds me of my children. It's a gift of heart, filled with loving-kindness--the type I have for my children and yours. We are that nativity, sheltered under the stars, the moon. We sacrifice for our children. We give it all. And that little baby in that nativity? He is me. He is you. He is concise and lyrical in simplicity, beckoning for your hope, your trust, your love.
Manchester Collection
I.
Lying in bed, with these scars on my wrist,
I meditate on happiness
On a me I no longer am
Greasy, delicious cheese pizza,
Crust thin, in its box on a red and black tiled floor.
A circle of friends, of laughter,
Mingling with swallows and the
Sounds of chewing.
Tarot cards spread out on the floor,
Next to the pizza,
Detailing what our lives will hold
Death was never foretold for me,I think,
As I trace my scars with a finger.
II.
Communion is eating in fellowship.
Thin crust cheese pizza
Is not the body of Christ,
Yet it brings us together in love.
Tabby's tarot cards are spread on the floor
Resting innocently, waiting to be read
Waiting to deal out our future lives,
To give away secrets we never knew.
I lean against the dressers
Enjoying the company and the food
I laugh when they laugh
I cry when they cry
Thin crust cheese pizza is not the body of Christ.
Yet it brings us together in love.
Fellowship in eating is communion.
III.
I walk down three flight of stairs with her.
I tell her I envy her easy way with people,
Tell her how personable she is.
I will learn a lot from her in the next few years.
We pay the boy who brought our pizza,
Probably a college student like us,
And travel back up three flights
To eat in fellowship with out new found friends
Tarot cards are spread as we take our first bites
And Tabby tells us the possibilities of the future
Skepticism and interest are written on my face,
But I don't think anyone could tell.
The pizza is good--
I've yet to find it's equal--
And thus began the tradition.
Before the break up that is.
Before the college years took their toll.
Before my breakdown and subsequent leaving.
That pizza is a tie to a happy time.
A time I cannot recreate, not re-enter...
Even with an open invitation.
Lying in bed, with these scars on my wrist,
I meditate on happiness
On a me I no longer am
Greasy, delicious cheese pizza,
Crust thin, in its box on a red and black tiled floor.
A circle of friends, of laughter,
Mingling with swallows and the
Sounds of chewing.
Tarot cards spread out on the floor,
Next to the pizza,
Detailing what our lives will hold
Death was never foretold for me,I think,
As I trace my scars with a finger.
II.
Communion is eating in fellowship.
Thin crust cheese pizza
Is not the body of Christ,
Yet it brings us together in love.
Tabby's tarot cards are spread on the floor
Resting innocently, waiting to be read
Waiting to deal out our future lives,
To give away secrets we never knew.
I lean against the dressers
Enjoying the company and the food
I laugh when they laugh
I cry when they cry
Thin crust cheese pizza is not the body of Christ.
Yet it brings us together in love.
Fellowship in eating is communion.
III.
I walk down three flight of stairs with her.
I tell her I envy her easy way with people,
Tell her how personable she is.
I will learn a lot from her in the next few years.
We pay the boy who brought our pizza,
Probably a college student like us,
And travel back up three flights
To eat in fellowship with out new found friends
Tarot cards are spread as we take our first bites
And Tabby tells us the possibilities of the future
Skepticism and interest are written on my face,
But I don't think anyone could tell.
The pizza is good--
I've yet to find it's equal--
And thus began the tradition.
Before the break up that is.
Before the college years took their toll.
Before my breakdown and subsequent leaving.
That pizza is a tie to a happy time.
A time I cannot recreate, not re-enter...
Even with an open invitation.
A Poem for Christmas
(written December 22, 2008)
There is a photograph
Of my brothers and I--
A Christmas with both
Mom and Dad,
Even after the divorce.
We look happy with our gifts,
With our family, being together.
Now, my brothers and I are grown.
We have five Christmas' to attend.
We're still happy, but it isn't the same
As when you're little.
I remember this photograph
Mostly because my Dad is in it.
It reminds me of a time that
Exists only in my imagination.
Of a time when the season was all
About Santa and Frosty the Snowman,
About the gifts and family
It's still about the gifts and family,
But it's also about Jesus.
He was in that photograph too--
In my smile.
There is a photograph
Of my brothers and I--
A Christmas with both
Mom and Dad,
Even after the divorce.
We look happy with our gifts,
With our family, being together.
Now, my brothers and I are grown.
We have five Christmas' to attend.
We're still happy, but it isn't the same
As when you're little.
I remember this photograph
Mostly because my Dad is in it.
It reminds me of a time that
Exists only in my imagination.
Of a time when the season was all
About Santa and Frosty the Snowman,
About the gifts and family
It's still about the gifts and family,
But it's also about Jesus.
He was in that photograph too--
In my smile.
The Verb
(written December 22, 2008)
I walk in from the cold
And heat envelops me
An instant sweeping change
I've had a few changes like that--
Irreversible.
Incomplete transitions,
Like a sentence without a verb.
You must supply the meat.
When you feel insubstantial
It's hard to bring anything to the table,
To be of use, of worth.
You must have that verb.
Without it--
You might get crossed out
By some editor's mark.
A big, red No.
But poetry--
You don't need complete sentences
Maybe that's why I'm at home here,
Sitting against this heater, writing again.
I walk in from the cold
And heat envelops me
An instant sweeping change
I've had a few changes like that--
Irreversible.
Incomplete transitions,
Like a sentence without a verb.
You must supply the meat.
When you feel insubstantial
It's hard to bring anything to the table,
To be of use, of worth.
You must have that verb.
Without it--
You might get crossed out
By some editor's mark.
A big, red No.
But poetry--
You don't need complete sentences
Maybe that's why I'm at home here,
Sitting against this heater, writing again.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
My Name
I'm seeing shadows again
Hearing my name when no one's around
Wishing it were you,
Instead of these demons that haunt me.
But you've left me.
I curl up in bed and will myself
To sleep sometimes,
When there's nothing else to do.
Yet, sometimes, I feel like even my depression
Has left me, but it isn't a good feeling.
It's an empty, hollow space that has
Depression's mark all over it.
I'd rather feel something.
Feel that first bright burn of love, or hurt
Feel the way a child can sneak into your heart,
And, oh so slowly, back out again as you grow apart.
I suppose it's the same for lovers.
Sometimes I think my feelings have left me,
As you did--
To nothingness.
I think that part, that numb, nothing part--
I think that's when I start to see shadows again
To hear my name in a voice
Seldom used.
Hearing my name when no one's around
Wishing it were you,
Instead of these demons that haunt me.
But you've left me.
I curl up in bed and will myself
To sleep sometimes,
When there's nothing else to do.
Yet, sometimes, I feel like even my depression
Has left me, but it isn't a good feeling.
It's an empty, hollow space that has
Depression's mark all over it.
I'd rather feel something.
Feel that first bright burn of love, or hurt
Feel the way a child can sneak into your heart,
And, oh so slowly, back out again as you grow apart.
I suppose it's the same for lovers.
Sometimes I think my feelings have left me,
As you did--
To nothingness.
I think that part, that numb, nothing part--
I think that's when I start to see shadows again
To hear my name in a voice
Seldom used.
Restlessness
Writing postcards to people I don't know,
I stay up past my bedtime.
Sleep will not claim me.
I try to sleep in.
There's no reason to get out of bed.
But I'm restless.
As always, I'm restless.
Is there ever a good enough reason to get out of bed?
I stay up past my bedtime.
Sleep will not claim me.
I try to sleep in.
There's no reason to get out of bed.
But I'm restless.
As always, I'm restless.
Is there ever a good enough reason to get out of bed?
Monsters Under the Covers
We are the monsters
We are the mistaken
Why is there always some
Negative thing to drag you down?
Down into murky waters,
Where you drown.
You choke on those waters,
On being a monster,
Because you are a monster.
But you are mistaken.
We are the mistaken
Why is there always some
Negative thing to drag you down?
Down into murky waters,
Where you drown.
You choke on those waters,
On being a monster,
Because you are a monster.
But you are mistaken.
Danger
I am burnt gold fingerprints
Like Hiroshima's bomb-
Laid waste.
Have you left me?
A long time ago.
I am crisp white sheets
Like a dry erase board--
I create
I am in as much danger now
as when you left.
Like Hiroshima's bomb-
Laid waste.
Have you left me?
A long time ago.
I am crisp white sheets
Like a dry erase board--
I create
I am in as much danger now
as when you left.
Dead Roses
(Written November 11, 2008)
I write myself into a depression
And begin to sob
It's 3 am and there's no one to call
No one online, for once.
So I'm alone,
Alone as only depression can make you
Who am I?
Am I just a mass of
engineered chemicals?
Do I really want to know?
A call to my therapist, Help!
And a recall of all my past mistakes
They hurtle around inside my head
Until I want to pull my hair out
Oblivion!
I need oblivion.
Dead roses and five Klonopin later,
I feel numb, finally.
I write myself into a depression
And begin to sob
It's 3 am and there's no one to call
No one online, for once.
So I'm alone,
Alone as only depression can make you
Who am I?
Am I just a mass of
engineered chemicals?
Do I really want to know?
A call to my therapist, Help!
And a recall of all my past mistakes
They hurtle around inside my head
Until I want to pull my hair out
Oblivion!
I need oblivion.
Dead roses and five Klonopin later,
I feel numb, finally.
Stacey
(Written November 1, 2008)
There is so much I won't do
So much I'm afraid of
But you...
You volunteer, you get involved.
You live in foreign countries,
speak foreign tongues.
How is it that you are my rock?
The one I need to talk to
When my life has blown up.
And it has, several times.
More times than I would like to count.
So thank you.
Thank you for being there.
There is so much I won't do
So much I'm afraid of
But you...
You volunteer, you get involved.
You live in foreign countries,
speak foreign tongues.
How is it that you are my rock?
The one I need to talk to
When my life has blown up.
And it has, several times.
More times than I would like to count.
So thank you.
Thank you for being there.
Make Believe
I don't think this has been posted on here yet....
(Written February 18, 2007)
love is like hope that fills empty places in your heart
it makes me weep to remember you, to ask you to give me something, anything, to remember
in all the darkness and in all the light, you are there
i hold dreams in my head, and they are happy
happy with that hint of sadness that speaks to the soul that knows it will not last
i dream of you, of elijiah and olivia, of being more thanI am.
You would make me more than I have been,
already have, with your love and your peace
your ability to feel to learn to know to grow
is this another love letter to the one etched in my heart?
is this another love letter to the children i will adopt?
is this a love letter to myself, the first?
i believe at times that the sadness of this world will crush me with its weight
But I know the laughter that bursts past my lips and the smiles and the child's delight covers all of it
i've made you think that i hate snow, because i dislike the lack of color, the cold
but it is beautiful and peaceful and exhausting
it dusts the earth with crystals and softness
covers us with drops of pearl and comfort, just as the green that follows restores the spirit,
as the falling of leaves reminds me forever of happy times spent in happy places
i feel this hole in my heart, more than you can know
i fill it with business and the love i still hold for you, but i remain a shell, a husk, a charred and burned out hovel
at the end of each day
my organs will turn to dust before i'd want to forsake you
my children will grow up with what i have been taught, with all that i have to give
they will live in magic, in make believe, i would give everything i have to give them that
to fulfill what i've always believed
their dark eyes will mirror mine and they will know how to love
how to givehow to grow
they'll have your sensibility and my determination, my mother's genorousity
as well as that spark that is purely them, they'll have all that because i will give it to them, i will model it and claim it and give and give and give
you are the closest thing i've ever come to devotion
and yes, every smile, every tear, every frustration and joy
every word i write and every hug i give is a love letter
to you. to me. to a future of make believe.
(Written February 18, 2007)
love is like hope that fills empty places in your heart
it makes me weep to remember you, to ask you to give me something, anything, to remember
in all the darkness and in all the light, you are there
i hold dreams in my head, and they are happy
happy with that hint of sadness that speaks to the soul that knows it will not last
i dream of you, of elijiah and olivia, of being more thanI am.
You would make me more than I have been,
already have, with your love and your peace
your ability to feel to learn to know to grow
is this another love letter to the one etched in my heart?
is this another love letter to the children i will adopt?
is this a love letter to myself, the first?
i believe at times that the sadness of this world will crush me with its weight
But I know the laughter that bursts past my lips and the smiles and the child's delight covers all of it
i've made you think that i hate snow, because i dislike the lack of color, the cold
but it is beautiful and peaceful and exhausting
it dusts the earth with crystals and softness
covers us with drops of pearl and comfort, just as the green that follows restores the spirit,
as the falling of leaves reminds me forever of happy times spent in happy places
i feel this hole in my heart, more than you can know
i fill it with business and the love i still hold for you, but i remain a shell, a husk, a charred and burned out hovel
at the end of each day
my organs will turn to dust before i'd want to forsake you
my children will grow up with what i have been taught, with all that i have to give
they will live in magic, in make believe, i would give everything i have to give them that
to fulfill what i've always believed
their dark eyes will mirror mine and they will know how to love
how to givehow to grow
they'll have your sensibility and my determination, my mother's genorousity
as well as that spark that is purely them, they'll have all that because i will give it to them, i will model it and claim it and give and give and give
you are the closest thing i've ever come to devotion
and yes, every smile, every tear, every frustration and joy
every word i write and every hug i give is a love letter
to you. to me. to a future of make believe.
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