relationships

you were always becoming poems

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time lapse photography of flame

~For Joey, April 2019

 

Oh, that sparkle of mischief
and laughter and child
that jumped out of your eyes
and decked me,
knocking the breath from me
as I sat across the room!

Boy that I loved
with deep heat longing,
held close to my breast, a child-man
I could not help heal save reach trust.

“Beautiful”
and you were the most beautiful boy
on earth to me —

your eyes your lips your face your hair
your heart
your hands your chest your belly your legs
your manhood
your fight your laughter your demons your smile
your soul

“Beautiful Destruction”
running through my heart – life – soul.

“I ruined you,”
you used to say.

“No, Beautiful,”
you were the match I used for flame.

To love beyond all aspects of self
brings the burning of purification.

You were always becoming poems
in the Seeing Eyes of a Poet.

“I ruined you.”

“No, Beautiful.”
You were my chosen suicide.

 

 

~Photo by Igor Haritanovich on Pexels.com

 

Standing is the Hardest Thing

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woman inside dark room

~for Joey, August 2019

 

You will run from me — and you,
and I will let you.
I will run from you — and me,
and you will let me.
Standing is the hardest thing.

The toddler learning to walk
is his best in forward, lurching movement.
Some children crawl backwards — first.
The fear in front worse than that behind.
Standing is the hardest thing.

There is a reason men crawl
from the battlefield of bloody excursions,
with wounds and exhaustion,
the out-flowing of life so painfully deep.
Standing is the hardest thing.

It is easy to cease suffering, say the Buddhists:
Die to every truth you ever believed, fall into empty.
Let go every need and want until you disappear —
Free. Falling into a place of no ground.
Standing is the hardest thing.

 

 

Photo by Bianca Salgado on Pexels.com

One Step

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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! 

 

A Poem for B

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the-celestial-consonance-dorina-costras

When I tell you that I will write

A poem for you. I am really saying

That you intrigue me and merit the attention,

The effort, and the focus required to write a poem

About you that examines your ingenuity

And your charm and the way you move like

Japanese steel wrapped in silk – a poem about you

Is also about the connection between minds, how

A person unknown becomes known. When two

People shake hands, when their eyes meet, in that

Millisecond, a choice is made: friend or foe or both?

Then comes the second choice: it is one of distance

That a poem about you would consider…how near

Does one step? Lean in and toward or pull away?

The moth would understand. Certain men like poems

Like sex fill the crevices of a soul in search of fire.

Beg entry into the core of our being. A poem

About you is a poem about sensuality, intensity, strength

And all those wonderful qualities that build a man

Into something a bit more, a little better, so rare and

Necessary that it makes women write poems about him.~

Photo Credit: The Celestial Consonance By Dorina Costras

Perception

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I am
a question mark written
on the pages of your life.

You are
a melodic song
I will hum on lonely days.

We are a question,
a melody forever playing ~
water to thirsting strangers,
food glorious to starving men.

I am a child dancing
too close to the fire.
You are a roaring flame
licking the edges of my soul.

February 2011

Time-Lapse II

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A few more relationship poems from 2005.  ©2005 under Marissa Mullins.

Legacy: Untitled 6

I do not know the Truth you ask for.

It has no movement in me –

no belonging, no place of being.

The rivers of my mind flow

past the rock where you stand.

The stone beneath your feet

feels real to you, each rough-hewn,

jagged edge cutting

into the souls of tender feet.

It is sway and movement only –

To me. A place of displacement

so minor in my essence –

I am river – flowing, churning,

moving forward past the rocks,

moving around, in, across.

My Truth is a place of

moist current, trembling water,

that cannot make itself

a rock, a twig, a pond.

Why do you stand on that

which bruises and cuts you?

Can you not still swim?

Do you now fear the water,

that river which once carried you,

moved you, safely flowed you to

a new destination?

You have left the water,

cling to the jagged rock,

paralyzed and held immobile

by fear. You forget yourself.

The Truth – You are a river too.

You were born of Water.

Untitled 7

The answer that you seek

needs creating. It cannot come

to live in places of light – or

it will be changed, will lose

the darkness that names it.

We are always seeking what is lost.

Truth is that things drift

into invisibility, become

the essence of something else

because our definitions change.

It once meant “this” now “that”

or “the other” –

Truth will not be contained,

molded, shaped, limited

by our definitions.

It has a grander beginning

with the First and Only. Truth

does not betray Him as we do.