poem – Page 13 – three good words

February 6, 2015

the letter

pen 3

…yours ever, &c
an abrupt ending
opening words
pouring out in a sudden wave –
what madness is this?
to deny, to refuse
to insist on such needless things
as countenance, propriety
We must know our place…
but what is that
in the face of something so divine
as genuine, true, complete feeling?
they may be young, yes,
but not, to his mind, daft beyond decree
there was truth in this
and beauty beyond what any mortal could reach.

quick, quick
cut paper on surface
pen scratching ink
curves, loops, dashes
written in haste
soaked with feeling
demands, pleas
hoping, not jesting
trying to appease
papers waxed closed
an address written, posted
there, there
it is done
it is written
she must understand
the truth, the beauty
of such spontaneous overflow of feeling.

yet the torment begins
the second the envelope is sealed, posted
that torturous patience
of long hours waiting
for all to be read, understood
and hopefully, hopefully
answered, agreed
to continue the private, silent communication
where all the tools given are ink, paper
memory, imagination
and far too much feeling recollected in tranquility.

and thus it arrives
the letter
hastily opened, outside, far
hidden away from the curious
the nosy
young feet walking
young hands turning pages, paper
touched by others, close, known
young eyes reading, re-reading
reading once more
You must… You cannot…
half daze, half delirium, all delight
searching in every word
all the fields of meaning
until a call demands obedience
there are duties, all and one,
that must be followed.

and there it is, a clock chimes
it is time to visit
the one to whom communication
is deemed legitimate
not, in fact, the other
whose words lay pressed lightly
tightly against the young breast.

but no, alas
no one stands waiting
there is no need to play the proper lady
there is time yet to sit in plush seats, reading
what none must know
those felt words written
mapping what lies only
between a you, a me,
and countless yours ever, &c
that most intimate of privacy
daring thoughts, heartfelt feelings
quiet wishes, hidden dreams

I can… I will… I must…
hand-written
as if spoken from mouth to ear
now held and seen, repeated
in most natural light
falling through windows, glowing in trees
until the sun sets to darkness
brightened by the warmth of a flame

a night, a silence
filled with hope for the morrow
heartbeats young, doubting, certain
waiting with joy and fear
mixed to one sensation
true, beautiful, free.

February 3, 2015

three

flicker
fire
flame

sky
swoon
sea

ice
cold
snow

wine
warm
we

hot
here
heaven

you
yes
yea

no
less
us

two
one
three.

February 2, 2015

:blank:

grasping, grasping
but there’s nothing
not even thin air

you can write about thin air
high up in the himalayas
the crisp cold shackling all
the masks needed
simply to survive
to where earth touches sky
so no, not even thin air
not that at all.

nothing, really
emptiness
words, words
where are the words
that form, congeal
to one sentence
one phrase
that one moment
vowel, consonant
that opens doors
to new spaces
new ways
to live, be, see, perceive…

but what are lists to this
out and out grey
where silence doesn’t live
but holds all reigns
to sensation, reason…

though it may be
just a matter of timidity,
the smaller brother to that
icy little feeling, cowardice

for how spell out everything
and break through that wall
that holds everything in,
that hesitates, just when
the words want to be written

no, it won’t do at all.

January 25, 2015January 25, 2015

à la carte

eating fire
divine
made of secrets
known twice
during meetings
met thrice
at tables hidden
plates steaming
filling souls with light

a glance
a nod
a smile
words praising
this light in darkness
lifted softly
to scents awaited
loveliness
filling one’s plate

heartfelt thanks
sung with crimson
held in goblets
with plates swept clean
and souls filled to the brim
with true and real delight –

Merci.

January 24, 2015January 24, 2015

sum total

that sad laughter
shock in their eyes
that silence that asks
where are you?
where did you go?
that person
we once used to know?

that moment
of cold understanding
a stranger in your own home
speaking in a voice still known
cracking tired jokes
stealing away for another smoke
yet there’s still hope
that it’s all a really bad hoax
a stupid prank, a circus trick gone wrong.

only it’s not
it’s happening
too real, too clear
the scuttling despair
stunned, confused
indignant, silenced
by so much tranquility
all without special effects,
sudden hates, or hollywood flare.

of lives kept whole
through trials, tribulations
by effort, hard work
perseverance, devotion
and that little bothersome pea
piled deep under a comforting surface
that unrelenting pebble: decency,
the artist formerly known as morals.

but these are all unknown words
to the fugitive at the gates
searching for hasty rest
in nests and labyrinths
of snippets and illusions
of a life once spent
in anger and blissful contentment
which the patient forebearing eyes
start to suspect
was never the actual truth
but something close
interwoven with delusions and lies.

and yet, the shock, the surprise
that fortunes could be so drastic
so completely opposite
to everything hoped for, expected
but all eyes remain dry
some calamities are obvious
rising, growing, ominous
like darkness towering in the skies.

as to the moral of the shambles
of the hastily-told story:
it sneaks up on you, life.
it just happens
and suddenly, almost abruptly
a quarter of a hundred’s over
and the happy would-be wasp,
all flash and excitement,
knew not how
while the boring bees
went ahead and led
quiet industrious lives
buzzing away in their prosperous hives
bothering no one
generous with their produce
(what sweetness, what honey
what gold!)
seeing studiously to themselves and their own.

so make sure your life’s truly your own
and not borrowed, dictated,
delusional or loaned;
we are all bees of the same stock
human, from foot to forelock
(which needs no tugging, mind you)
we’re all working away
building, expressing
making, creating
with our personal pollen
in our private honeycombs
filling the expanse
hand to mouth, ear to heart, earth to sky
all that will combine, comprise
the sum total of our lives.