Address

Address

It feels sudden, suddenly, and overwhelming,

when I hear the brakes of the truck
as it backs in, to load up my past,
to transport my life until now.
I feel both jolts of clarity, and of reality, 
going straight to my heart,
having been consumed, for so long,
by the why, as much as the how.

Two decades of possessions, one of mixed emotions,

accumulation, and memories,
sometimes, that seemed so right,
that somehow, slowly, seemed wrong.
Strangers, gathering up all that I have,
packing up all of the years,
carrying them out the door,
and then moving them along.


I think, eventually, or soon, I will find out

that this was a momentous day.
When I finally get to breathe, 
and to slow things down, and to have a look.
I will see a vital and necessary step
on the way back to me.
I will recognize another pivotal and decisive stride
that I bravely undertook.

Soon enough, I will remember all that is so very good.
I will be sitting, and settled, in my new home.
Unconstrained. With the rest of my life before me.
 And those I love will be knocking at my door.
As always, I will graciously welcome them in.
To them, only my address will have changed.
They’ve all been here with me, my entire way.
Each arrives, carrying the same love as before.

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Sensational

Sensational
There is no secret formula
to what works for me with you
We simply go wherever
the sensations take us to…

Every time we get together, it seems,
we add something new to the mix
It’s our possibilities addiction,
and we can’t wait for another fix 
A constant stream of unique sensations
Spontaneous abandon, going with the flow
A near to the edge of anticipation
The craving for you just never know

It’s the understatement of the embrace
when one of us walks in the door
The understood, unspoken expectation
that we are in for so much more
The adrenalin of our any given moment
The rush of the next uncovered feeling
A song, a word, a look, a touch
Real sensations, that often leave us reeling

We found one another
when the time for us was right
A man and woman, with love,
and the sensations of each night…

Every time we are apart, it seems,
we look forward with an impatient haste
Driven by our insatiable appetites,
and the selfish need for another taste
More than just passion wets our appetite
We find satisfaction in our conversations
It’s the opportunity that fuels our desires
Time together, that feeds the sensations

We have been spoiled by availability,
but we share the same perspective
Better to indulge in creating memories
than to feel empty or sadly reflective
We can fill up on todays and tomorrows
On shared experiences, and the little things
Be stimulated by all that we have now
And by every sensation the future brings

It’s the end of another work day
and we have no idea what’s in store
We do know that it will be sensational
Who could ask for more.

20180427_105009

 

Consolation

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye.
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth.
I look at you, and I sigh.
William Butler Yeats – A Drinking Song (1915)

 


Consolation

Just me, alone,
raising my glass to you…

 It was eight years ago today.
I remember the exact conversation,
just as I clearly remember the date.
“We both have the same sensibility, I said.
We’re like a fun young old couple, you and I.
It’s really just a shame
that I was born fifteen years too early
and you was born fifteen years too late.” 

It was our last night together.
You were moving away soon after,
so I said good-bye then, rather than wait.
You responded, with barely a hesitation.
“You know that I never cared about that.
We were great together.
The real shame, for us, is
we were both born a hundred years too late.”


So here’s a toast,
to being an old soul.
A toast,
to being young at heart.
A glass raised,
to being both.
To
the end.
And to the start.

 

When day begins to break
I count my good and bad,
Being wakeful for her sake,
Remembering what she had,
What eagle look still shows,
While up from my heart’s root
So great a sweetness flows
I shake from head to foot.
W.B.Y. – Friends (1915)

 

 

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

Suspended

20151208_203117

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.

 

 

Stimulus

Calendar
Stimulus
Spinning your wheels

Stuck in a daily rut
Same old same old day
Time for something new

Needing time for you
 Needing to get away

blocked path
Take a trip to the other side

The one you seldom see
The road less travelled
The path least accessible
Beyond the place to be

Where we need to go
to feel more alive
More often than we do
A place like no other
Where few have seen the view

An adrenalin adventure
to the other side
Past the comfort zone
To the weedy

To the seedy
To the vastly overgrown
20151109_182142[1]

An arduous journey
to where revelation may lie
To where something
could jump out at you
as you wander by

Where the mind is awakened
By the elements of surprise
By discovering there’s more
there is so much more
than what meets the eyes

A gut check trek
Over blind hills
to the other side
To the inspirational

To the motivational
To where revelations hide
hazy woods
Sensations abruptly awakened
Bringing the dark into light
Energy to your being
Focus to all you’re seeing

Colour to your black and white

Where nature may compel you
to perceive a different way
To exist in the moment
Persist for the present
To live for every day

A vital injection
of life adrenalin

straight to the heart
A shot to the senses
An end to past tenses
 The stimulus to start
20151109_135024[1]

SAME

SAME

Eyes wide openIMG_20150330_112911[1]
Looking over at me
Awake in the wake.
        More beautiful
        More expressive
        More than I can take.

That same dream
The same image
         just as clear.

The same realities
The same memories
         find me here.


Still you are gone
Never coming back

Sadly taken away.
        Hard to accept
        Hard to understand
        Hard to even say

The same nightmare
That same visionbed - Copy
        of the very end.
The same horror
The same memories
         to comprehend.


Shock and disbelief
Second-hand news
First-hand pain.
        Taking my time
        Taking my sleep
        Taking me back again.

The same heartache
The same dream
         of once was.
The same nightmare
The same memories
        The same just because.

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