Kisses Missed

There were many kisses
So many kisses I missed
While walking blind
Down dead end paths
Following mirages of futures
That never arrived
Passing doors of possibility
Oblivious
Heedless of the sweet lights
Glowing inside
Which hindsight revealed
Far, far too late
Looking backwards with a pang
Of lost opportunity

How many unseen doors
How many pathways lie hidden
Blurred by the present
And the chase of foggy futures
How many more kisses am I adding
Every year
To that list
Of kisses missed?

dVerse Open Link Night Week 109

A Hug

A hug
Such a simple thing
Holds a power beyond measure
With two arms you can encompass
Your entire world
A hug
Is acceptance
It is healing
The medicine of life
It is comfort
It is expression
Of words that do not exist
In the press of two bodies
A warm flush
A rush
Ethereal and electric
Where both time
And the heart
Pause
In a moment
Of quiet power

NaPoWriMo 2013 post #4

Behind the Door

The door is kept shut
Locked
The key hidden safely
Under time’s fallen leaves
It only opens briefly
Flickering moments
Like a deep breath reminder
That life exists outside

Inside
Dreams fill the air
A perfume rich and heady
But still
Only dreams
Vapors of the mind
A fantasy
Of imaginary existence

And if dreams became reality
Would I still dream of them?
Or push them away
As if they were something
Fun to think about
But not what I wanted
Not really
Only a veil
Woven of daydreams

For NaPoWriMo 2013 day 2 and dVerse Open Link Night #90.

Growing Up

At ten years old
I didn’t know
How to drive a car
Or balance a checkbook
Or that love isn’t always forever

At twenty years old
I didn’t know
How to balance a job
With going to college
Or what I wanted to do with my life

At thirty years old
I didn’t know
How to look beyond myself
Or that I was letting
My marriage slowly slip away

At forty years old
All that I know
Is that growing up
Like growing older
Is a process that never ends

 

For Stuart McPherson’s “Growing Up” prompt on dVerse.

Continuance of the World

The continuance of the world
Continuity
Cycle
Beginning and end are the same
The world begins and ends every day
Not one day
Cyclic
Constantly apocalyptic
An endless ending
And a fathomless beginning
Each day
New
Season into season
Blending
Bleeding
Colors running together
So that who can say
Where one ends
And another begins
In the continuance of the world

 

In the words of REM, it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

Time

This is for Mary’s prompt over at dVerse about time.  Fittingly for the topic, I’ve taken an old poem about time I wrote when I was younger and re-written it from my current perspective. 

Every day must end

Every day will end

Taking with it more

Than you are willing to let go

Time

The destroyer

The absolute

Pauses for nothing in its path

Stops for nothing

Turns for no one

Constantly sweeping away

The collected dust of our experience

 

Every day will end

Events will be gone

Lost

Erased

Remembered

Yet even memories fade

The facts of history become altered

And time destroys truth

 

Evil comes, and the day ends

Good is done, and the day ends

The battles of love and war are fought

And the day ends

This day and this day and this day

Faster than you can think

“I should have remembered more”

A month becomes as a day

A year becomes as a month

Another day ends

And time

Is not on your side

Speak Softly

I thought I’d go ahead and re-post this one for Open Link Night over at dVerse since it is one of my personal favorites. 🙂

Speak softly

Gentle child

And tell me what you’ve seen

What you’ve heard

What’s been done

Where you’ve been

Who are you?

I knew you

Or someone like you

In pastel colored days

When the sky was always a haze

And the foul minded

Sheet metal world didn’t exist

 

That was love

Obliviousness

Sweet pale blindness

A youthful ecstasy

So that the gods sighed with nostalgia

Time took away my blindfold

As well as you

And when I opened my eyes

The world was black

 

Speak softly

Gentle girl

And tell me

Is the world still as it seemed?

Can I still look through rose colored glasses?

Or will it look like fire?

Engulfing a civilization

On the brink of discovery

Can I still look through rose colored glasses

And see you?

 

Reality has no lover

Time knows no shame

And fate has no fear

Of crushing a love

Of murdering feeling

Like a firing squad of the damned

 

Speak softly

Gentle lady

My mind is sore

And I am scream sick

Tortured by reality’s half-sung chorus

Speak of your highway

And those who have toured there

Like a documentary

Filling my head with new mysteries

I can only pretend to understand

 

Ruin comes quickly

As a new fad sweeping the nation

And passes just as muddled and confused

Resurrection comes at a high price

 

Your words, dear lady,

Are the words of god

On a clear night

On the open plain

Speak softly

A Beautiful Sadness

This is in response to a prompt from Stuart McPherson over at dVerse.  I wish I had a photo to put with it, but the closest I’ve got is a sketch I did with quill and ink several years ago while visiting this place.  This is about a country road in the tiny village of Ashford Hollow, NY where several generations of my ancestors lived, and the old graveyard on the hill there where they are buried.

A Beautiful Sadness

A windswept hill

Along a lonely country road

Where rustic farmhouses barely changed

In over a hundred years

Dot the forested hillsides

Sitting amongst golden fields of hay

And the leafy green rows

Of corn fluttering in the breeze

And the cows lowing serenely

Behind post fences

 

This is home

Though I have never lived on this hill

The blood in my veins recalls

Days of horse drawn wagons

And self-reliance

 

There

Across the field

Stood the homestead where

My grandmother was born

And there

Just down the dusty dirt road

Her parents, grandparents, great-grandparents

Lived, worked, played, loved

Helping to settle and tame the wilderness

 

And here they are still

On this windy country hilltop

Gathered together

Beside the corn stalks and pastures

Weather beaten stones of grey and white

Look out over the valley

Silent as the bones beneath my feet

Unable to answer

All the questions I could ask them

But greeting me in their silence

And welcoming me home

Ink sketch looking from the Dutch Hill Road cemetery across the valley to Rocks Springs Road, Ashford Hollow, NY

Vacation Gold

Crystal water

Floating weightless

Suspended

Beneath the bluest sky

And golden sunlight

There’s nowhere to go

Nothing has to be done

Just breathe

And enjoy life

Freedom

The limitless possibilities

Of hours unbound

Not a dark cloud in sight

Except for the specter of knowing

When vacation is over

Time will again

No longer be mine

So I float away

Forget the future

Because today I work

For myself

And the sun pays my wages

In gold

Angels, Part 2

Taste the sugar of my resurgence

Though it may be short lived

And the ends may have changed

Truth will out

Even when it’s painful

And it tries to be viscious

The truth is its own worst enemy

Shamed

In a corner of the mind

Like a revolutionary

Trying to spread its gospel

Lies are a painkiller

But I have no more need of them

 

Pastels run into darks

They are stained and left wasted

Like loving someone who doesn’t exist

So that in the end

Existence depends

On what you exist for

 

Where it leads you

Is back to the start

Time

A theif

Leaves you where you began

Looking for something

And being non-existent

 

-May 5, 1996