Tag Archives: #love

BURNING CITIES

AS cities burn without regret
while people have hysteria
many weep — \for what is lost:
our Republic and common sense/
  Parents hugging their little ones
as many lose their faith,
this once great land sliding into
mysterious madness / an abyss \
All these threats are made by you
and me and them.
if we never confront the madness
before us —
  Oh, how i fear both sides of this
political fence and especially
Oppenheimer’s little toy
where gift of light and love has
no hope nor control!

Believe me as I write to you:
no one wins and everyone loses then!

:: 12.14.2020 ::


PEACH BURNT SKIES

EATING peach burnt skies today while aching from the pain i
caused you______ i never wished to bring a frown
or the tears that drowned our voices.

i never wished to mark your skin with my lips.
i never wished to lay you down and scream in your face —
the pain you showed in taking that fall.

i never wished to live with you, though i was living with you.
i never wished to cry out in pain over your body before,
and i sure never wanted to put you through this.

All i ever wanted was to make you happy and in doing that,
why then did you leave me?

i know that i love you no matter what,
and i know that i will always hold you close to my heart,
but today is not about the love that you have for me.

Today is about the love that i have for you, the love you gave me,
the love that i have for your Soul and for your life.

So i think i must bid you farewell and leave your eyes closed.
Until the next time when we meet.

Smile through your tears for us to be together forever.
EATING peaches burned skies today.

:: 12.12.2020 ::


INCREDIBLE SPECTACLE

WHEN i met you by the ‘Never Possible’ my feet were flames of sun by the meadow Moonbeams dancing upon my lonely tongue Saw a maple leaf fall twisting twirling propeller-swirls all within expecting hearts.

Incredible spectacle devouring my hungry mouth: this speed called love is above medical. When a leaf does not say what i mean i become a single filed formation escaping — running for my life from my heart.

Never possible calling me / i had your smiles within my pockets and found holes where my pennies fall upon the sidewalk____

(You better make this call)

that’s where your pennies are when a leaf does not say what i mean i become a filed formation escaping from my heart

Incredible spectacle
a speed called love above medical.

:: 11.23.2020 ::


YOUR LOVE MADE OUR WORLD

i heard your sorrows
and heard your heart break
when you Spoke to Me
When you became yourself
i heard your voice
with the words you speak
as you hide your face
and try to hide your fears
i feel your breath when your
thoughts make you cry again
and i drank your tears
— and it all began with you.
I began to bleed
the day you came to me;
so it all began with you
the day you made me feel again.
WITH you, when you breathed my name
and reached out your hand i was
with you and we walked into eternal
thoughts to be One.

We became One to eat all these horrors
and eat Light and Darkness
And your light fell into a bed of flowers
and my Soul wept upon your petals
to grow again.

:: 11.21.2020 ::


SUMMER SUN DRIPS ON ROOFTOPS

summer sun drips on rooftops let alone
seven divided by seven the digits line up
the age old math equation:
nine is the chosen number;
lithographs and insects steal souls
rising west i fell to my knees
playing snake with demons
how dare i dream
decimating everything!

As long as i crawl i’ll survive
one day you will take my eyes from me
leaving my tongue unfed
just then the world crumbles
the worms crawl their way back into
my pores and i will turn back into dust
but i promise you

it’s okay

she’ll make it through the night
as long as the human heart beats

:: 12.04.2021 ::


RAINDROPS NEED SUNBEAMS

Like winnable wars like broken hearts
feeling there’s no living gods
Like a poem that is out of reach
that no ink can write — i feel you.
While dreaming hope like a smile of love
without a lover a little foot step
without impossible dreams
there’s no unbeatable odds.

Shall I say it again?

With dreams there’s no
invisible walls and i sing,

“I just want you”

There is no Juliet without
Romeo, there are no thrills
without incurable life.
and I just want you
and I just want you
And how are you?

There are no in-crimeable crimes
no reason or rhymes why we lock
doors between living and life.

If there’s an Alpha I say
oh me again (omega) possible
dreams and I just want you

i just want you i just want you
how i dream fall-smiles
within your soul dear

Are all the beautiful flowers of your soul!

:: 10142015 ::
rev: 11.10.2020


BLACK CLOUD

The same black cloud that rested over the field the morning after the mower put out the haystack floated over the tops of the silver-trees on the edges of the rose-garden. Through the silver-trees it turned slowly, lowering itself to the ground; and, coming to rest, settled again on the rose-bush, and raised itself high into the air to sniff the atmosphere. I should perhaps seem to be speaking about two roses; but they are not. The two roses I have in mind are of the same kind, but not to be compared. The one is a white rose that came out of a grey-green pot that lay for seven years in a drawer, which probably no one noticed or cared about. Its title is new, unknown, to many, and cruel; and its smell is not the smell of any known rose, nor of any olfactory attraction.

The other is a tall, straight, dark-red rose with a peculiar odor; but which is still admired by young men for its beauty, and in the old age of some is planted in the centre of their friendship gardens as a memorial of a lost love. Both are rare, and will always be rare; but the dark-red rose of the shadow of its twin is a seedling of an old rose, and nothing of its own. It stands tall, straight, and, in old age, very angular in the clover-field, in the darkness of its own cottage garden. Though it has lost all its fragrance, and every leaf of its branches is a stark white, it can still present a pair of great dark, shadowy leaves to a tender, young heart, whose troubles it used to inspire with its peculiar sweet perfume. That is its own, and it can never gain its other title.

It is a rose which grows alone, with one thing its sole delight:–the memory of a lover.

Next morning, in the garden, after breakfast, and after I had written a letter which I had forgotten to write the night before, I stepped back from the garden-wall, and looked over it, with its rose-garden lying before me.

The same, overhung, dull light as had filled it the night before lay thick upon the field, and sank, in the distance, through the silver-trees into the water of the stream. I could not see the water, or the island, but I knew that there would be no change. The earth and air were as heavy and thick as before; and there was no desire or intent to move or to stir; the nature of things had not altered.

The same cloud lay over the field and the island, and seemed to pass with the shadow, in the nearer atmosphere, over the path and over the garden wall, as it had before. I could hear nothing of human life; only I knew, all the same, that people walked in the distant streets of the town to and fro; the hollow claps of the shoes, the speaking, snatches of words, the idle voices of men and women at their workplaces–all these had ceased to catch my ear, and the silence that they engendered closed upon me; and I went back again to the only object which my eyes could make out in the darkness. The night before I had noted the footprints of the man who had cut the hay from the field the day before. He had put them carefully in a nameless direction, in the hope that it would be the path of the threshing-machine. I saw that he had only tried to follow the track that he had made; and, instead of going round the field, he had gone straight across it. That was all!

:: 11.08.2020 ::


LOVE CAN BE THE BEST TREASURE

Love can be your best treasure, and all the rest after that—by that I do not mean money, that is after all in very short supply in any society that places more of value on family and society than it does on money—do not compare.

My treasure is a bit of you and a bit of me, a scattering of memories, of places and sights that speak of us.

When I am old, and if you will still be with me, I will hold up my pocket knife and let the tarnished blade drag against my body and stare into the wood, as if to study the grain, so that I will know you better than ever before, so that I can tell you a few stories about our days, our strolls along the marshes and the rain-swept fields, and we can close our eyes and remember being together, like in the days when my name was Cassie and you called me Jennifer—at least for that night, when your name was Silvio and I called you Toma—in my dress with a jasmine moire ribbon in the back and a couple of velvet braids going to the middle of my back, and you in a white dress with ruffles at the collar and a buttoned-down plaid jacket with velvet trousers and stockings. We are wearing white hats, white gloves, and white shoes and holding each other by the waist. I love you very much, Toma, very much—so much so that I fear I will fall, if I close my eyes, to that dark, cool, damp land, which has been calling me for a long time. You love me too, you say, but in the way that one loves a mad brother—you love me in a way that reminds you of a friend you once had, but you don’t love me. You love me in the way that a child loves her father: you love me unconditionally, and you tell me all the time that I am beautiful and that you can’t live without me, but you don’t love me like a woman loves a man.

You tell me to get a head start if I want to get home before dawn, so that you can sleep without your fear waking you up in the middle of the night. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up, thinking of you. I am lost in dreams of you. In my dreams you are waiting for me, standing in the courtyard, waiting for me to arrive.

:: 10.21.2020 ::


MADRIGAL AS BABY FEET

IN the depths of thoughts we go as we are in night
of long lists, in the night like a pisces; your slient
silence-sign screams — come // lodge me in your back
\  in your mirror, suddenly, memories, solitary,
nocturnal pane: bleeding from the knife in  the dark
behind you.

  Flower of sweet summer wind
total light bring my calling
upward to your mouth of kisses,
  bleeding from separation
(silent private) words.

  Now, then I breathe your breath
as though we made sex catching our
heartbeats.  It is what the dark night preserves.
  Welcome me, broken hammock in a threadlike evening
when at dusk the sun surprises a sky star eye
within my skull — twinkles filled with win.
  No surprise.  Substance glues my eyes.
Madrigal thoughts inside music — an invitation
what the last breath of Love preserves//inside
a cedar box\ deep substance down to me,
smothering my eyes, your hyperExistence cuts
across me, wondering if my human heart is destroyed.
   Little baby feet patter across the garden of
your Highness \ and an exiled mouth bites the flesh
and the grape, i lick the blood from the cuts of
baby breath:  my hair made of madness and from sun’s
depth — the tick-tock clock face, of systematic
madness.  
              sings the fallen angels:
 
“Madrigal as baby Feet.”

   within a cedar box.

:: 10.20.2020 ::


SOMEDAY WE SHALL MEET YOUNDER

The taste of your skin and the color of your heart

i’m crying
i’m singing

when we touched our lips in twilight
i see blue eyes weeping
tell me, when we hugged goodbye
was your heart always beside us
in memories of vain; through years
and journeys and moons and suns,
as children cry out for joy when
it rains when it rains

Love as a dry earth burgeoning that
it did not know// someday when we
met younder the gallop of horses,
the infinite perfume of a dusty earth
that everything you spoke, everything
from your skin that everything comes
back to my mouth.

i’m crying
i’m singing

like newborn bread:
and with you i become born again
in the rain.

:: 10.10.2020 ::