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| You are certainly pajama'd greatness in your cozy bed Symphonic twists of breath as you tumble down from the day. You're precious in every way, sleeping gem; Among every arc of flannel tucked between your knees Is another facet at yet untouched, Another treasure to behold. My ode to you, beloved, Becomes you; Like candlelight wrapping around your body Flames kissing the curve of your collarbone, turning And licking the corners of my eyes As they seal; The curtains drawn on our joint-microcosm - There is nothing else when there is you. How our hands knit like leaves of grass do! The cushioned stalks of autumn harvests, Meeting at every seam Like a loom, weaving to create something bigger Than its components. Form, smooth as the night sky Upon which I might paint a million little stars Like hopes of every, any future you. Made to comprehend, as you wrap yourself in sleep Kissing your brow, turn down the final licks of flame I've set our stars weaving for us A blanket of hope, my gem. And in your quiet slumber, beloved, At any, every departure, know that you have my word. |
| I wonder Does he play in Heaven? I know that the angels he would entertain In his own angelic grace gliding Over silver keys and rapture-spun melodies... As an angel himself, Would he become the resident musician? Idling away his blissful days working his lithe Elegant fingers up and down the wooden shank Easing out the music that flowed freely When human breath passed thorugh the shaft? Oh, what astounding beauty Would Godly breath produce. Somewhere in the world a young clarinetist Steps nervously to the stand Sweating cold, praying harder And the angel Christopher smiles And watches over the young musician Working diligently to become As good as he was. |
| You look me in the eye and Tell me "yes." You don't say a word because You're afraid. But now I've got you upside-down; Does that mean the world ends tonight? Your lips part once to say You've missed me while I've been here. But now I've got you upside-down; You've nowhere to go And months later you'll tell me so. |
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| I love to hear him play. The sound of his instrument singing cuts through many thousands of other little sounds hanging dead in the air and lands square on my soul. It vibrates at a frequency that only I can feel; as it echoes though me, millions of elated screams call out on a cellular level and my whole being begins to hum with the notes he produces. I love to hear him play - it cuts right though to caress my soul. |
| "Shadow Portrait" ~ Photo by KCE, 2001 |
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| "Survey" ~ Photo by KCE, 2001 |
| Ask me If I've ever tasted a trickle of day Risen from a simple medium Or gone upstairs... Ask me If I've ever faced love If I've ever reached its golden end Or if I've gone unforgiven. Ask me If I've ever skated on halcyon clouds Enveloped myself in pink skies Or felt pain... Ask me If I've danced naked in the rain Drawn life from the waves Bitten into a peach; let the juice run down my chin Ask me And to each, if I knew where to begin I would have to reply "In the most delightful way." |
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| I'm standing along the perilous edge Of a great and infinite, indeterminate gorge But jumping does not guarantee death; I could just as well sprout wings and fly. |
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| POeTRY... |
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| more to come! |
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| AS THERE IS (THE FORGOTTEN ME) - February 6, 2002 |
| There is forgiveness and there are mistakes; Just as there is honey and there is ice. Just as there is tacit and there are dances As freedom and slavery, As fear and sufficiency... As subjection and there is trouble when You fail to see that I have failed to see that there is More to life than settling for what's second best (Or worse yet, a harbinger for harm) I have learned to rise above that. Do you see my wings? I spread my wings and fly. Just as there is freedom. Just as there is God and there is you. |
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| "La Forge Windows and Windowseat, W. Watts Sherman House" ~ Photo by KCE, 2001 |
| AGE SEVEN - May 14, 2001 I'm about to be found out Because he feels the Oreo crumbs Creeping down the back of his neck from that Cookie that I just beaned him off the head with. They're itching him and he's scratching With his happy little boy hands (He doens't know that I think I am in love with him) I turn my thoughts to chasing him Around the playground at recess, and fantasied That should I catch him, I'll kiss him SMACK Right on the life. My friends told me that boys have cooties But I don't believe one word they say. |
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