Category: Connection

Silent Thunder

I heard it call

so clearly.

Nearly went deaf

from the

rumbling roar

of its

cloud shattering fury.

I walked the beach

alone

that rainy day

and watched the heavens

darken.

Harken to the 

thunder’s commands.

Lightning pulled its

pale lavender tresses down

and kissed the ocean’s face

in heated passion.

Crashing, the waves

sent their foamy fingers

to shackle anchors

to my ankles

and pull me inside

and down

to drown

in fluid beauty.

Drawn to the edge, I wandered.

Challenging.

Foolish.

And the thunder saw me

and ceased its call,

cut its command.

I waited, dreading what I wanted

until

the panoramic parting

of the clouds

let through a patch

of wan sun.

The thunderous voice

began to soften,

and finally, mercifully

went silent.

Love is Where She Blooms

On her garden bench she smiles.

In her eyes, no cunning wiles,

only shyness.

Humble, sweet

innocence I will entreat.

Quickly to one knee I go,

hearts beat fast, but time goes slow.

Everyone she knows above,

witness this display of love.

See the ring here,

diamond bright.

Yes, I love you!

Yes, it’s right!

Say you love me too, my dear.

Don’t let my heart dangle here.

Lovingly she takes my hand,

tenderly slips on the band.

Fading now, the vision’s gone.

It’s her grave I’m standing on.

Springtime’s redolent perfumes

always linger

where she blooms.

Spring Yet Remains

Time passes, and seasons change.

I’ve walked this road with others who have

now departed, some not of their will, some not

of their power, but all the same,

not here.

It’ s lonelier now, yet no less lovely than

it’s always been.

It’s just that the silences grow deeper

toward the end.

Thoughts grow louder, and

small victories are

celebrated quietly in the heart

with whispered exclamations.

I feel gentle fingertips of a chilling herald wind

brush my cheek, and

smile at the inevitable winter.

And here in the cider- scented,

gathering autumn,

these vibrant colors

of my later years,

glorious before the blackened white

of my return home,

spring yet remains.

Sailing in the Misty Air

 

When drifting down these darkened banks

I see a million stars that draw

My wondering stare.

I find my thoughts

shine like the moon

on you,

your shadow walking

through the misty air.

 

I don’t know if you wait

or if you’re gone.

I only hope your smile

will greet me there.

But if you’re not,

I’ll grieve as life goes on,

and find my thoughts

turn into misty air.

 

I hear the gurgling crackle

of the waves.

The current’s hand

both pulls and pushes there.

The gentle wind does

stir the current so.

The fog starts waltzing

with the misty air.

 

I wonder if I’ll ever make it back

to kiss your lips,

and touch the raven hair

that tickles at my neck and chest

as care dissolves to love

upon the misty air.

 

Where Will I Find You?

Where will I find you?

“Where will you look?”

Over the mountain.

“Down in the nook.”

Into the valley

“Verdant and lush.”

Find you by sunset.

“Hurry and rush.”

“Where will I find you?”

Where will you look?

“Over the river.”

Down by the brook.

“Into the cottage.”

Through the red door.

“We’ll find each other.

Parting no more.”

I will.

I will survive no longer

I will live

I will surrender no longer

I will fight

I will suffer no longer

I will be content

I will stand still no longer

I will flow

I will hold on no longer

I will release

I will cry no longer

I will smile

I will hate no longer

I will love

I will be confined no longer

I will wander

For in the end,

if you can understand,

I will.

Francesca’s Love

I finally showed myself to him.

My heart I did reveal.

He turned and ran.

I caught him.

He became my evening meal.

His blood was rich,

his scream sublime.

And as I held his head

I bit his throat apart

and sucked.

He bled and bled and bled.

His skin grew cold.

His heart grew weak

as in my rage I slew.

“Did you not realize,” I asked,

“that I’m in love with you?”

And in the end he shuddered hard

within my arms and died.

“I loved you too.”

His final words.

I cried and cried and cried.

 

Too Old to Dream, Too Young to Know

They say ‘You grow too old to dream’

They say that ‘You’re too young to know’

Yet say  ‘You can do anything.’

So do I stay or do I grow?

For if I am too old to dream

my time here is already done.

And if I am too young to know

then teach me, so the rising sun

will never find me void of thought

as I look at the world through eyes

of what I’ve learned of love and wonder,

cynicism and surprise.

A jaded innocence possesses

all the years I’ve been alive;

still taking people at their word

though most of them are talking jive.

I’ll never get too old to dream.

I’ll never be too young to know.

I’ll keep exploring although it may seem

there’s nowhere left to go.

 

A Trip to Sangre-La

Look,

a tigress.

Her

green eyes

over the rim of the glass

of Sangria

stare through me

as she

contemplates

her next move.

I see her at the edge

of her territory,

confident, fearless,

and ready to explore

new boundaries.

Like a

broken-winged bird

resigned to its fate,

I can only stare

into the depths

of those

verdant,

ocular seas,

and wait

in hope

she strikes.

 

Emperor

From here I can look

all around

and survey my empire.

There, the distant hills gilded

in silver mist and emerald leaves

humble my own royal robes.

And here, the servants at my feet…

Young. Nubile. Fertile.

Mine to pluck like ripe fruit,

or slaughter as tender lambs.

My bride’s perfume is pleasant.

The eyes of my court are hard.

The halls of my palace

hold whispers of secrets and dreams.

My gardens host ghosts in the moonlight.

They tell me to be at peace,

take comfort,

sleep.

My borders do not

boil with rebellion,

and there is

no alarm of armies

at my gates.

I stand at the pinnacle of

all my achievements,

and realize that as I watch

the setting sun,

there is a smile

in the darkness of my grave

that

patiently waits…