Unsaid

I almost said,

Promise me, if something

takes me away, Promise me

you won’t blame yourself, you

will understand — Promise me

if the dark clouds outrun the light

and I have to go away — you will

understand and forgive me for

leaving, I almost said, Promise me

you will not carry that hurt in your heart,

Promise me you will understand

it wasn’t your job to save me, I almost said, Promise

me —

(Ahhh the love glinting in your eyes that day…)

I knew it was a Promise you

would never be able to keep,

a Promise I could not ask you to make

because

love can’t make

a Promise like that.

 

Favor

I need a favor

from a friend, my friend.

Take my hand-hold me

while I turn inside-out

carve my soul from my body

with a spoon. Don’t let go

when it gets messy. Surgery

is always bloody. I need a favor

from a friend, my friend.

Just keep my fingers

held tight in yours.

I need a favor from a friend,

my friend. Hold my heart —

hold it safe while I crawl

deep down the esophagus

into the red-heat-valley

or as I crawl

up into the veins

of temple, brain, grey matter

with pitchforks and plows

to furrow rows and seek — I need

a favor from a friend, my friend.

Don’t let go when it gets messy.

Surgery takes time, bleeds the infection

clean over time. I need

a favor from a friend, my friend. Just

stand my sweet Angel. I need a warrior —

I need a favor

from a friend,

my friend. Battle-worthy, unafraid

hold my soul — hold it safe.

Don’t let go when it gets messy.

The grave is a a deep-trench journey

marching through demons,

memories, devils, monsters —

but I will return. Hold my soul —

Hold it safe. Don’t let go.

I need a favor

from a friend

my friend

Love me through the dark

hours, deep days,

as I bleed away the night.

Don’t let go —

when it gets messy —

Don’t let go —

 

 

 

Watcher in me

I write poems — Re-read them

Internalize the Realization

That I speak of me as Dead.

 

I worked a long hard life to build Me

Into some Barbie Doll Mother Theresa

mixed canvass image of what I thought

was the right thing to grow up to Be.

 

The doll murdered

with malicious cruel stabs of a knife

this utter evisceration and defacement bleeding

into this horror that only belongs to the Heart

of an angry hurt Child in Raging Tantrum.

 

Built her — an elegant Malibu House

Tomb

with the perfect beautiful Ken Doll

to wield the blade, light the flame.

 

And the Watcher in me took in the show

from a plush velvet chair high up in the balcony —

clapping, coercing, applauding, tsk-tsk-tsking

as the Show played to a packed house

and garnered bittersweet reviews from the Critics.

 

 

Want Explained

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Want Explained     ~for Rob

 

I do not want to be on a pedestal

to fall from

my feet slipping

into stepping on your heart.

 

I do not want to be a muse

adored and believed

to hold magic answers to questions

my answers

can never satisfy.

 

I do not want to be a fever

of passion that burns in you

the flame dying down, flickering out

as time — age passes

leaving only embers of a dying fire.

 

I do not want to be a need

only to fill you for a time

the stomach, once full,

unable to hold more

is satisfied and the plate pushed away.

 

I want to be a river

you fish in, wade in, wash in, travel down —

I would be water that carries you with it,

moving forward

toward a never-ending sea.

 

 

One Step

 

 

lightening1

One Step    ~ for Rob

 

One Step

Away

from playing it

Safe —–

Never my game.

 

Enough deep-soul losses

Tempt Us to comfort-rest in

Strange Fantasies of no more

Wasted Efforts. Stop and allow

Someone Else to carry the

Weight of us for a time.

 

One Step

Away

from playing it

Safe —–

Never my game.

 

I Turn —-

run to Free-fall, Deep-breath, Jump

into the Danger of Air,

No Ground, The Abyss —-

Leap Into the Blue-eyed

Beauty of You —-

Fiat Lux! 

 

Message

 

The death knell bell is a chime of blessing,

A call to sanctuary and salvation.

 

If you hear with open ears the sound falling;

Whisper: Follow-Enter-Welcome-Home calling.

 

The oil of anointing poured out healing

From orifice and shaft and center sealing.

 

Bodies the mortal

Messengers.

Childlike Play

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~ for Rob, October 2019

 

I will give you pull and push —-

And flesh and bone and home.

I will give you feather kisses

On the brow of furrowed stresses.

I will give you long and short

And deep caresses, then abort

To stand beside the bed

Just to look at you instead.

I will give you childlike play

As we dance the day away,

Cooking food upon a stove.

Making love deep in a bed

I will give you all I am —-

Wheat for dough and making bread

Verse for dinner and for lunch

Because I have a simple hunch

That you are more than shadow-light

Lost in moments of frailty-fright.

I will give you arms that hold,

Heart that opens in delight.

I will give you all that and more

Sweet brilliant Poet I do adore.

 

 

 

 

Intention

 

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I didn’t wake up with the intention to write Sanity poems.

I never wake up with the intention to write Insanity poems either.

The poems are a great Zen Master spouting lessons

Of coming and going and coming and going.  Allow

What is to Be. That was my intention when I woke up.

 

Puppet

Manipulation-Puppet-on-Strings

 

The Stage beckons but I hold my place with the Shadows

Of dark-corner-ebony-haze Standing on the Brink of Oblivion

Amid the billowing dance of those old velvet curtains of Coincidence.

Spotlight On

And the Shadows jump to a wall and leave me Standing

Center-Stage

In a Drama I didn’t rehearse for – trying to remember learning lines

Or the Name of the Play

as I contemplate Performance and Gravity

And kick off my Strings again Today.

Connected Story

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I try to think you in words

But you are a galaxy of light and space

I long to float in you – not analyze you.

 

I try to remember words for the color blue

But your eyes shine the ocean of a bright-lit dawn

That blinds me past the point of plausible description.

 

I try to find some earth on which to stand

But the foothold of solid disappears into listening

As you tell me the details of your being.

 

I try to think of present-life analogies

But the fairy-tale magic of damsels and dragons

Calls the white-haired little girl child of me forward.

 

I remember the story of Rapunzel —

thick braided hair that brought a Prince climbing

to join and then release her from a castle in the air.

 

Words become that woven rope-hair-dangling  —-

waiting in the high-up rooms of lamented despair

I wonder if it’s you I see cautiously climbing near.

 

 

Evolution

The Muse shows up and the words come gushing.

Starting first as songs, winding their way in pieces

through the still place of mind silence and emptiness

where rambling, hectic, heated thought once ruled,

before that government was usurped, overthrown.

Evolution had to happen. No one likes a tyrant.

 

Frolicking with Puck

 

I trail the wake of your light into the coffee shop

knowing you are magic.

Liquid grace splits the air apart for you to move through.

 

The Master of Ceremonies, The Permission Grantor,

The King, The Jester, The Clown – all arrive.

The Top-Hat Ringmaster of Delight performs

As each mask glides from page to face to page again,

a conjunctive union of deft fingers and sharp mind.

 

The Magician with a Hat Not-A-Hat and a Rabbit

Not-A-Rabbit. And Words-Not-Words shift-shape

into meaning, transmute into breathing,

take flight like Doves soaring

above the Pleasant Silver-Haired Lady of Style

and the husband she tells to sit down. Listen.

But the call of the Dove and its gentle cooing

is not a language his ears were built to hear.

 

This birdsong rolls into form into fountains gushing

a washing-water of repentance and recollection

that the Lady Patron of Renowned Repetition hopes

she can capture in a box, but the Fountain of Youth

remains a mystery and a type of water that boxes cannot carry.

 

On we go in this way until a shy sparkle of translucent blue truth

In the half-lid drop-gaze smile within the masking  shimmers.

A heart-beat, heart-light, soul-spark knowing of recognition comes.

 

 

Struggle to Stay

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Hold me. Keep me blood and body real.

Pull me into the warm skin of your chest,

hands capturing my face.

Hold me closer. Keep me oxygen-and-iron body real.

Don’t let me float away —

the stars call me to lost galaxies

and a black hole supernova

Explodes.

In my heartbeat I hold you.

In my heartbeat you hold me.

Keep me

from falling

off the cliff,

tumbling into snow deep valleys

where Winter lives, pulls me

toward a freezing numbness,

into the illusory edge of existence.

Death walks with me

like some grade-school friend

I’ve always known.

Let me hold you — hold onto you

heated mouth, beating blood, warm skin hands…

Don’t let me float way.

 

Truth in the Kiss

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I tell you I would rather be kissed

than fucked because

it is the strongest knowing learned

those deep hard years

from cold hours of barren lust

in the dark loneliness of

disconnected sex.

 

Lying alone and broken on the bed,

in those fever-laced-burning dying days,

in the un-solaced hours of prayer after,

I missed Love’s kiss most of all.

 

Some women need a lifetime

to learn the price of all they’ve lost,

to learn the love of a mate

whispers its truth in the kiss.

 

You kiss me like crystal water pours

from a mountain spring.

I kiss you like thirst drinks down

cool well-water.

 

You taste like water – life – Holiness.

I thirst like death – isolation – Sin.

 

 

 

Loaned

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You lend me a strong warm arm,

clasp my body closer.

You lend me a warm heart-solid chest

to cradle my face against.

You reach, tender fingers hands tracing

the tears as they roll my cheeks.

 

You lend  —  loan  — run  —  reach —

Hand you to me like water

pours into scorched desert sand.

You come to me like a golden treasure

hidden in the ashes of burned ruins.

 

In these alone hours

when you are where you are

where you are owned – belong – home —

I think of borrowing and returning.