| Not Waking Small paws twitching in rhythm Ears back; cheeks blowing in soft night-time barks Mind traveling in distant fields of puppy dreams Chasing a young rabbit; bounding after an elusive bird Splashing through a creek chasing friends All in Dante's dreams. |
| You The blank page winks at me, knowing it'll be another poem about you. I vowed last time that I had ended this mindless pondering over something that never was, will be. The poem won't be about you or the relationship that never was because of you -- you! -- were too damn stubborn to admit I have everything you need in a girl. Besides, I've already written about that -- our perfect times together, the way silence doesn't seem a void when it's just the two of us, the way we fear commitment. You told me yourself that, in your eyes, I had no irritating defects, that I was intelligent, sensible, generous and even though you stopped yourself from saying beautiful, I saw the look in your eyes, you in you splendor sitting across from me in the sloppy, feed-yourself buffet you could never see your eccentric future stepmother in. I knew then. You told me You know I am the one for you, and you twisted my arm into seeing it, too. Now that I know, and I concur, you won't just give in -- so stupid. Damn you! So I refuse to dwell on you. I will not give in to this blank -- er --- not so blank page which is now smirking, just like you when you catch me watching you. |
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| The Harsh Reality The perfect love is that of a fairytale confined within high, stone walls of a hidden Irish castle limited by beauty destined to die, star-crossed lovers swept beneath the waves to a cold and limey grave beneath the omnipotent sea. For alive in the world together fated lovers could never be. |
| Pearl Harbor The beauty of children is not tangible; it is the look in their eyes reflecing the innocence with which we all begin unto this earth, slowly, gently with no pain of loss, no suffering of illness no realm of vanity or jealousy no turmoil of war. The sunshine makes them happy their parents, safe the birds, curious. They don't see the mountain tops as the ends of the earth, but the beginning of a new world. The songs of birds are not to be understood; the questions of life, not pondered. The voice of a survivor does not make them tremble; there are yet no silent tears for them to let go. Only my silent tears for their eventual loss of innocence. |
| Firewatch I fear you take my soul along in dusk, with dwindling city song, from up above the wasteland streets. Your gaze is mine among the leaves. The deep sweet smell of flowered herbs mingle with the stillness and warmth from a single imaginary fire which you watch in lew of sleep. I long for my boy betwixt the peaks for the white sand out of reach I long for your perfect hand aside my face, Your gaze upon me among the leaves. I long for those eyes of deepest grey to follow down into my soul. |
| The Senses His voice, smooth like a perfect scoop of blue moon melts over my smiling ears. Imagining his strong hands caressing the phone cord, penetrating stares of those waiting bounce off his powerful shoulders. His smile comes through the receiver like a blast of cool whip -- light, the perfect topping. The Hawaiian air above sea level smells of longing. I can only dream of less. Does he know how my frozen heart melts at the tone? |
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| Flakes The snowfall reminds us we are both alone energetic snowflakes drizzle and twirl onto our barren porch. They chill our hearts into remembrance that winter is bleak. The trees spread like arms over the face of the building, shielding it from the driving snow and wind. |
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| Steady They eye me. For certainly this isn't what reality has to offer. I can't be good at this, for my lack of years, confidence. And I'm too tired to cry about it. I walk in and their explosion of laughter should be the straw that breaks, but I walk through their ploy, pushing aside the smoke. I'm too tired to feel uncomfortable. When they see me fully awake, my words on their page, they understand that it is only through the craft that I will teach them what I know, what I live for. But I'm too tired to explain that out loud. |