love – Beyond Panic

That Time They Called Us ‘Nightskins’

Man, the hardcore nerds came at us with that word,

thinking it was an insult,

meaning it as a slur

When we embraced it,

they were caught off guard.

When we thought it was cool, dope, or

(fill in your generation’s vernacular here)

it died on their lips because:

Number 1: they didn’t expect it.

Number 2: they felt stupid.

Number 3: they did not understand

what we do about our ancestors:

It was at night they planned to leave,

and ran, and ran, and ran, and died

for their freedom

It was at night they sang the music to

to strengthen them for the next day’s labors and trials.

It was at night they made the babies for massa,

(or by massa) and took no comfort,

crying out for the days that brought

the grief of their sale and separation,

the gratitude for family that stayed,

for rare moments that brought peace of mind and solitude,

for vigorous health and hard earned joy

All in the middle of the madness they faced

on this hostile cotton colored colony hellbent

on keeping and making the concept of ‘us and them’ viable,

while allegedly following a God they claim says ‘All.’

But here, I’ll always be ‘them,’ no matter what I do.

We don’t need you, your presence, approval, or permission.

We are the NightSkins, and you’ll never be that

cool, dope, or (fill in your generation’s vernacular here).

Safe Are You from Love

Safe are you from love, dear heart,

and safe are you from light,

the soft light of the candles that will make her ‘yes’

so bright.

Safe are you from loving touch

and warm embrace and smile.

Safe because with passing time

you harden all the while.

Safe are you from smiling eyes,

and soft and soothing talk.

Safe are you from kisses,

and the long, romantic walk.

Retreat from love hereafter, heart.

Your scars, at last, have healed.

Seek not new love, nor happiness.

Stay lonely.

Silent.

Sealed.

Quilted

Patches of good times,

pieces of bad,

quilted and stitched

in the life that we had.

Remnants of memories

sepia tones,

yellowing love ages

into our bones.

Did I do this thing

or did you say that?

And does it matter now

love has gone flat?

You sit in your chair,

and I’ll sit in mine,

alone and together,

and lost in the wine.

Arguments, fighting

familiar as dust.

Then after midnight

it’s make love or bust.

Time to be quiet,

even our sighs.

As silence settles

we watch the moon rise.

Tomorrow then, we will

remember this day,

more fragments of memories

to put away.

As life gets more peaceful

the older you grow.

the sun lights your quilt up

with just the right glow.

The Treasure of Us

I found it quite by accident,

long after

you were gone.

A sunbeam

through the dirty window

was resting on it,

a celestial beacon

a navigator’s star,

or a savior’s herald.

Emotions stirred,

slow and sluggish,

a snail waking from sleep.

I hesitated, standing in

the acrid, arid attic dust,

my heart warring

with my mind,

Do I open

the treasure of us?

Long buried memories

of times past,

of youth and strength,

of love and passion,

of you smiling,

of us, in love.

I could open

the creaky wooden lid,

softened, like me,

by age.

I could grasp

the rich fabric to my cheek,

and twirl the bright coins in my fingers,

admiring their sparkle and flash

in the fading light.

I could let slip

through my fingers

the bloody cloth and the fool’s gold.

But it’s all of a piece, isn’t it?

And I would have

peace now.

I wiped my tears,

and left

the treasure of us

unopened.

I will hold it

in my heart,

in these last days.

For that is enough,

and somehow

more than riches.

Flowers for Wishes

Flowers for wishes

Flowers for dreams

Flowers for nothing

is all that it seems.

Flowers are falling

from heaven above.

Flowers are given

when one is in love.

Flowers for loneliness

Flowers for tears

Flowers for happiness

driving out fears.

Flowers are falling

in fields green and gold.

Flowers for young children

soon growing old.

Flowers for wishes

from out of the blue,

wishing you’d love me,

if wishes come true.

A Changing Season Marking Time

A changing season

marking time,

Another silly ‘season’-rhyme,

Another sun-splashed

Autumn day,

A leaf-strewn path

to run and play,

Another golden light

to see

Another day

with you and me.

I love to spend

the seasons here

though slowly

they leak life and youth,

But you are constant

as the seasons

and I hold to it as truth:

That will never change.

Kairi’s Serenade

Kairi comes down

by the

moonlit water

to play for

on random summer evenings

Not of this world any longer,

I cannot hear her,

but I can see.

Ah, there she is.

Fair and dark are her features,

Dark and fair is her song.

Spinning, playing a bright flourish,

she smiles at a memory,

and I feel the press of its

warmth against my molding bones

as if she hugged my spirit.

I wonder if she feels

my presence?

At times, when she plays,

there are tears.

I long to take them away, to

wipe them tenderly

and tell her all is well,

before we kiss,

before we part.

I hold onto that moment

that never was,

never will be,

and it will ever have to be

enough.

As Kairi turns to go,

the melody is severed,

and the notes are interwoven

with the stars.

I feel what I can only call

a smile pervade my being.

No, there will be no tears tonight,

just the song, dark and fair, it’s plaintive echo

traveling through the lichen covered

headstones of the forgotten, as Kairi, fair and dark,

vanishes into the mist, and over the hill.

Winter Fire

I remember the

white snow

swirling in the wind

to the bass drum of

thunder far above,

striking the dark slate clouds

that sparked with silver blue

lightning.

I remember the regal green pines

staunch and statuesque against

the crepuscular gloom.

I remember the firelight

just so,

making a nimbus of

your hair.

I remember thinking: This holy being holds my heart.

And my love leaped into

the fire,

and grew warm as

the blush of your cheeks

when I kissed you,

and you took my face

in your hands to

kiss me back,

igniting torrid feelings

that shamed the

winter storm,

and made the fire a

pale and sickly

imitation

of what we share.

You are

my winter fire,

and we will never be

extinguished.

Sifting Shifting Sand

All my duties come to naught,

and as for all the things I bought,

I place the high-def screens in

front of things that really matter,

And put the things that really matter

inside the screen.

Pictures of family

Pictures of memories

Pictures of successes

Pictures of loss and regret

Pictures of friends who lost

the battle to live forever…

And today,

here I stand

utterly alone,

wrapped in sullen silence,

chilled by cold thoughts and

ironic imaginings

of what might have been

after all this time.

Sifting shifting sand,

unable to find what I deemed insignificant

and buried,

only to realize all that

ever matters

is the life you’re living

Now.