Dreamt?

Dreamt?
I dreamt about you last night
I dreamt about the breeze of our freedom
The two of us, gliding through the air…

It felt so real that I woke up exhilarated
I stretched out to squeeze your hand,
but I couldn’t find you there
Not because you didn’t want to be
Only because you couldn’t be
In that moment, it seemed a bit unfair

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Yet, as I got out of bed, I was smiling

Returning, easily, to that lofty height
To where you and I often seem to be…

Lost, in the us of every new experience
Sharing a rush of unpredictable pleasure
The next unknown, the now of you and me
Soaring, together, high above it all
With a fresh wind, pushing us along
Close enough to touch, and high enough to see

backlit bird clouds dark

backlit bird clouds dark

 

 

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Meeting

                                  Meeting 


I arrive with wine, and little apprehension

Entering your home, my worries are very few
Confident that you are kind, that you are genuine
because your wonderful daughter is a part of you


As I look around, a comfort settles over me
Instantly, I am at ease, and even more sure
We say our hellos and she squeezes my hand

Moments later she takes me on a tour

I see warm colours, and family photos
lovingly displayed, up and down the hall
Your own creations, and your creativity,
gracing each room, and on every wall

Crafty signs, stitch work, and oil paintings
Your personal touches, so easily found
Children and teens, newlyweds and grandkids,
all of your loved ones, leaning or hanging around

Tangibly vibrant, with a flick of each switch
The now and the then, brought to light
The young couple, handsome and pretty
Their beginning, framed, in black and white

We stroll through your memories, new and old,
The long journey of a husband and a wife
A visual journal, of his story and yours,
Room to room, so full of a life

As we join everyone in your living room
I look to you, straight across, sitting in a chair
Our glances meet, knowingly, for a moment
neither overly concerned, but both of us aware


Just as I had hoped, with this important step,
I was adding perspective to my happy reality
But it was also tweaking my ongoing interest
with peoples’ grasps on their own mortality


I find myself staring, as we are having dinner

catching myself, just before you do
I am lost, inside my natural curiosity,
wondering about your point of view

I imagine what you might be thinking
Another Easter dinner, like any other year?
Are you blissfully oblivious to who is new,
and simply thankful that everyone is here?

Are you thinking about who is missing,
a little sad, and reminiscent as you look around?
Or are you soaking in the whole atmosphere
Every familiar sight, every happy sound?

Your grandchildren, all talking excitedly
That perfect mix of exuberance and loud
The smiles of three uniquely beautiful daughters
Your constant smile, telling me you are proud

Your living legacy, right here before you
Those most important, just being themselves
A vital portrait of your loving family
brought down from off the shelves

Your smile subsides only when you speak
Voice cracking, behind the few words you say
You seem quietly content, at the head of the table
as I gradually get to know you, on this April day


Everyone slowly heads towards the door,
saying thank-you and exchanging good-byes
I see your expression change, ever so slightly,
a
s a twinge of melancholy forms in your eyes

Merengue

Esta vida es mía,20180322_111749
pero este corazon es suyo.
Esta sonrisa es mia,
pero la razon eres tú.

This life is mine, but this heart is yours.
This smile is mine, but the reason is you.


Merengue


My mind drifts from you

as twenty years
find me here
  The people and faces
food and music
  reminders, so very clear
Images engrained
the inevitable memories
that all seem so near
Skies, and waters blue
in waves of recollection
vivid, as they reappear

Tones and textures
some too familiar
to a life that I knew
Dances and flavours
the spice of life
shared by just two
Una foto familiar
of smiles and sunshine
of lives that doubly grew
Of another time
In another place
a different ocean view

Years of love
that still fill my tears
on any given day
Streams of thought
that line my cheek
that reach these words I say
Life has brought me
here to you
to a place I want to stay
But please be patient
as some of me
was washed out on my way

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Barely removed
from those lost depths
from the lowest of my low
With half of my life,
just tied up,
reluctantly, without a bow
We are flying high, together
with so many places
we still want to go
Yet, there is a large part
of who I am
that you still need to know

I know that to heal
I must face up to my pain
to repair from inside
Talk about the hurt
the lump in my throat
as I swallow some of my pride
I will get ever stronger
if I can resist the urge
to stay away or hide
I will be open, and be honest
to raise myself up
to gradually subside

I know I can talk to you
without any judgement
I’ve put my love in your hand
You always listen
you always remember
and you want to understand
We took off together
on this flight of our own
on a trip that we both planned
I am here with you
you are here for me
and I see no line in the sand

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La mejor foto que tengo,

es aquella en la cuál sonrío por ti.

— The best photograph I have,
is the one in which I am smiling because of you.

Here


HERE

I wake up here, to the sweet sound of nothing
To the peace and the quiet inside my head
To a hush, hiding in the dark
In the drowsy tranquility of your bed
I get lost in the deep lull of my thoughts
In the dulcet tones of my repose
I hear the faintest echo of your breathing
as it comes, and ever so gradually goes

I hear your body move across the sheets
You graze my ear, as you touch my hair
My arm brushes slightly against the duvet
 as I reach to find you there
I feel the weight of your head upon my chest
I feel the warmth of your hand on my thigh
The silence is broken, for the briefest moment
by the contented exhale of my sigh

Here, in the calm of your presence
Here, with the ease of your touch
There is a peace, here in this quiet
And it’s telling me so much
In the comfort of our silence
Here, within this soothing serenity 
I close my eyes, and I listen,
 and Sunday morning whispers to me

If there were just a few more hours
to this perfect time of day
If only, the din of our realities
would kindly stay away
If we could just keep the afternoon
on the other side of the door
We could stay here, in the stillness
and I could hold you, a little more

No words that I need to say here
In the peace of this quiet, I know
I want to hold on to this feeling,
 and to never let it go
Here, in the comfort of our silence
There is no place I’d rather be
I close my eyes, and I listen,
as Sunday morning whispers to me

 

Solitary

Solitary
An enigma,
An illness,
A decision,
A hole.

Another question mark.
Another lost soul…

It’s hard to recognize someone
that no one knows
Difficult, to see,
what someone never shows
A lost face,
beneath a mask
A happier place,
inside a flask
A positive outlook,
an impossible task
So many questions,
you can’t find to ask

When a mind struggles, alone,
A brain storm, of their own
Swept up in in an instant
Where it’s dark and it’s distant
A solitary place,
they might go
Where every sky
must bring snow
Left with answers
that no one will know

It’s hard to comprehend something

that no one understands
Difficult, to grasp something,
when it’s out of your hands
A mystery,
wrapped up in a mind
A history
they drag behind
An act,
selfishly unkind
Too many reasons,
that are impossible to find

When a life ends, alone,

A sad choice, on their own
A final decision that’s made
When they are despondent or afraid
Solitary tears,
sliding down the drain
Cold and confounding,
like a January rain
Leaving little more,
than questions and pain

It’s hard to be sad

for someone who is gone
Difficult, now, for those
obliged to move on
An opened investigation
A closed case
A stark image,
they can’t replace
A terrible memory,
they can’t erase
A huge void,
with just a face

As I sit here, today, alone,

contemplating life, not just my own
I worry, about all that is to be,
What I may not understand, or see
The solitary angst,
my someones can’t bare
Changes in the seasons
When
there’s something in the air
The questions and answers,
we just have to share

I give my resolute vow…
I will be far more aware.
I will be here.
I will be there.

pexels-photo-288393.jpeg

Butterfly?

Butterfly?

Epihany

The same stubborn scenario
The same view every night
A silhouette, close to the edge
A moth under the light
The echo of my thoughts
On infinite repeat
A schizophrenic mind field
Of two and a half feet

Turned one hundred and eighty
In a blanketed cocoon
A butterfly to a moth
Under the light of the moon
A stark and palpable silence
An insurmountable rut
Urges, kept at arm’s length
Until my eyes flutter shut

Take me back to my muse
Release me from this storm
From the cold of my creation
The bitter back to the warm
From this tempest in a teapot
 These chilling winds of blame
 The frigid reality each night
The moth back to the flame

An exasperating tug of war
Across a span of diminished hope
There has to be some solace
Near the end of my rope
Nothing that I can do or say
Changes, impervious to gain
The collateral damage is done
A consequence to the pain

So many months, eaten away
The thin fabric of a ruse
Resentful of my own creation
 A moth disguised as a muse
Rose-coloured tunnel vision?
Wishful thinking all along?

For the sanity of lost time
It would help if I was wrong

Take me back to my muse
Release me from this regret
From the pall of uncertainty
That hangs over me yet
From the now back to the then
The difference of day to night
To open arms and an open mind
To a butterfly, in a better light

Silence

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Silence

 I hear the furnace kick in, on this cool morning.
An awakening nudge, from within the silence…
my creative silence.

It is then that I notice,
gradually notice more
The nuances of early morning
Just outside my door
The stillness of the lake
The shadows near the shore
A family of four ducks
And behind them two more
A peaceful place to begin my day
Alone, with some time to explore

A window to an opened mind.
A unique view, from within the silence…
my creative silence.

The façade of my introspection
Protective, but paper thin
Accessible, in the early morning
Without the voices or the din
An undisturbed opportunity
To summon, from within
The chance to visit places
Where I have seldom been
Insights, subtly perceptible
Like the drop of a pin

The sound of my ideas resonates,
clearly audible to me, from within the silence…
my creative silence.

Discernable refrains of thought
Echoing inside my peaceful shell
The intricacies of perception
From the depths of my well
The complexities of emotion
The conflicts that I must quell
Lost, and found, in the early morning
Immersed in what to tell
A place to elevate my opinions
Up from where they fell

I find my positive inspiration,
emerging, from within the silence…
my creative silence.

The early morning moves me
As the words start to flow
Drifting through the shadows
Like the ducks, in a row
Lines of innate substance
Gaining momentum as they go
Buoyant, lucid, more certain
Shedding inhibitions as they grow
Brought into the morning light
From this tranquil place I know

The quiet of the morning finds me here.
Where I can hear myself think…
within my creative silence.

 

IT

                         It

Me:
“If you question its existence
does it therefore exist?
If you never really had it
can it actually be missed?
If you’re not sure you ever found it
can it still be lost?
If you spent no time on it,
is there really any cost?”
(assume that’s the way I talk)

Him:
“Well, it is what is, I guess.”

 Me:
“It’s what?!? Okay then. See ya.”


A philosophical discussion,

that grinds suddenly to a halt.
It’s just a sign of the times
and it is no one’s fault.
He’s run out of words, I guess.
Has nothing else to add.
“It is what it is.” 
What it is buddy, is sad.”

It’s a harsh reality
once it comes out.
“It is what it is.”
As if there was any doubt.
It has to be final,
wouldn’t you say?
“It is what it is”,
so we’ll leave it that way.

I choose to make light of it
and I do mean to mock.
That expression surfaces

and it finishes the talk.
Rather than try to continue
it’s basically cut and run.
You say “it is what it is”
and the conversation’s done.

I know it’s a response, sort of,
but what does ‘it’ mean?
It leaves so many lines
to read in between.
So much to interpret
that it doesn’t mean shit.
“It is what it is”.
But really, what is it?

It is hard to stomach
when it comes around.
Many people say it now,
so you choke it down.
It leaves a bad taste
but you swallow your pride
“It is what it is” apparently,
so open wide.

I am glad someone told me
or I may never have known.
And now that we all know
its cover is blown.
“It is what it is”
and that’s where we’re at.
“It is what it is”,
now the bag has no cat.

It might be what it is, but,
seriously, what does it mean?
Can it be what it is, or was
if it has never been?
It may be what it is.
It may be just because.
It may never be again,
whatever it maybe was.

If it is what it is
is it all that bad?
Could it perhaps be something 
that you never had?
Can you forget about it
if you never really knew?
Well, “it is what it is”,
so I guess you just do.

So let’s just say “it is what it is”,
though I’m not sure it ever was.
If I can believe “it is what it is”,
then I suppose everyone does.
So, it must be what it is,
and that must be where it’s at.
“It is what it is”.
 I guess that’s that.

“That’s that”?
That’s what?!?
Oh no, here we go again.
Straight into another rut.
I’ve got no time for this, or ‘that’,
and now I need to take a wiz.
So let’s just say that that is that…
If that’s what it is?

Suspended

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Suspended
A wind worn branch,

reduced to a splinter.
I am a rabbit hole,
hidden beneath winter.

The morning starts out the same…
With smiles and good intentions
With energy and lofty goals
  But, the minutes are ticking
Toward the end of both
Toward the mid-day lull
Imagination grinding to a halt
Hitting the proverbial wall.

Wheels locked in place,
 gears wanting in power.
I am time standing still,
hand stuck on the hour.


The reluctant optimist,

 hopeful that there is more.
I am a tree lined road,
winding to the shore.

There is a fine line in place…
That separates good from great
That distinguishes less from more
 Potential, on the threshold of change
Sometimes it meets a path
Sometimes it’s on a ledge
The brink of a breakthrough
 Precariously near the edge.

An expanse from a destination,
 a misstep from being lost.

I am a suspension bridge,
 longing to be crossed.


The battered pitcher,
that’s been to the well.
I am the grizzled veteran,
  with stories left to tell.

Personal insights ready to be shared…
Seeing the importance of each day
Seeing the enormity of the little things
So much potential, yet to be met
Bringing along a passion for life
Bringing an open book to the table

The mind is more than willing
The body, fighting to be able.

A semi-automatic rifle,
unsure of where it’s aimed.
I am the winning lottery ticket,
waiting to be claimed.

 

 

Rebuild

Rebuild

Invested
for the long run.
Underwhelmed
by what your love earns.
Taxed daily
by the emotional costs
 and the reality
of diminishing returns.

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There has to be

more than this?
Can what is lost
again be found?
Can you go around
more than once?
Is there only so much
to go around?

You worry,
do I need too much?
as you hover
above your ego.
You look hard
at who you are,
and you wonder
where did ‘we’ go?

Another failure
is unacceptable.
What the heart lacks,
 the heart yearns.
Your input
influences your output.
The law of
diminishing returns.


You decide to search

within yourself.
Seeking out
your inner strength.
You find that
your heart is capable.
It can be stretched
another length.

Your original design
was excellent.
The plans you made
were sound.
The raw materials
of love and respect,
implore you
to stick around.

You decide that
you should start again
The flame is relit
 and your heart churns.
Lessons learned,
you invest together,
working to sustain
the initial returns.
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