4-22-06

was she there,

I don’t recall.

remember you,

how could I not.

something was there,

it stored in me.

I bring it up now

to examine.

was there a sign,

I wasn’t looking.

but I saw you

through the noise

and clink and it stuck.

was anyone else there

other than you and me

who were strangers then.

I don’t recall.

what she sees in him

he was always the man

that I could imagine

being old with.

I saw us sitting next

to one another in

a place not here

continuing the conversation

that we started when

we first met.

his ways were odd, strange

to some who didn’t know

any better.

and that’s what I loved

best about him.

I don’t want a shiny penny

or a perfect presentation.

not ordinary, fairly odd,

someone that is sure

to make others think:

what does she see in him.

I want hooks and crags

and shoots that I can

get all tangled up in

on the climb.

he is a man that

I can imagine

being old with.

call me

I didn’t answer the phone.

it was ringing.

I’m not a telephone ignorer.

but I didn’t want,

like you,

to talk to anyone either.

call me,

we can talk about it.

false spring

the rain drop

in february

washed winter

to the curb

long enough

to remember

layerless forays

into a day

wrapped warm

‘round my neck

without a

cowled knit.

the laird of my heart

a ballad (sung low and slow with the whine of a blustery wind and a belly full of beer)

the laird of my heart,
oh, he's the laird of my heart.

over loch and great glen,
my heart I did send.

I gave him my time,
I thought he was mine.

the laird of my heart,
oh, he's the laird of my heart.

his love I held dear,
without any fear.

he left what he made,
his feeling did fade.

the laird of my heart,
oh, he's the laird of my heart.

now the loch holds my tears,
what will come of the years.

he owns my sad heart,
even if we're apart.

the laird of my heart,
oh, he's the laird of my heart.

the laird of my heart,
oh, he's the laird of my heart.

Valentine Hearts

Note: circa 1969. My sister added the 'A' and smiley faces. She graded my little book of poems as play. I love that I had to correct the spelling of 'Valentine.' Yeah, still making lots of spelling corrections 40 odd years later.

gone

what good is gone when

I can still see, hear, call out.

what do I do.

stab myself in the eye

not to look at him no more.

jab cotton swabs in my ears

‘til they bleed so I don’t

hear his voice none.

chew so hard on my cud

I bite my tongue off.

I don’t want this big pain.

I want jabs. jabs. jabs.

like lightening in a summer sky.

intermittent. electric. 

or maybe better, a left hook.

blunt force trauma

that would take me out.

the fly

           I would like to be

the fly on the wall

when you tell

yourself your secrets 

do you lie

    embellish

make believe that

you’re someone else

somewhere else

we all have our

sense of who we are

but it’s rather different

than what others see

I would like to be

the fly on the wall

when you tell

yourself your secrets 

do you lie

    embellish

make believe that

you’re someone else

somewhere else

you don’t see your best

you stick on a stereotype

that becomes you

but isn’t, quite

representational

I would like to be

the fly on the wall

when you tell

yourself your secrets 

do you lie

    embellish

make believe that

you’re someone else

somewhere else

it isn’t any different

than how you look

for what’s worse in others

not seeing them

helps you not

to look at yourself.

in the end                           what will the fly see

a fine line

                  a line                                               

                fine in length                                   

              point a to b                                       

            sloped                                            

          y-intercepted                              

        independent                               

      set of points                                           

    linear equation                                         

  the only thing it isn’t                        

is a direct line to you                                               

is a direct line to you                        

 the only thing it isn’t                        

  linear equation                          

   set of points                                

     independent                               

       y-intercepted                                                     

        sloped  
          point a to b
            fine in length
              a line   

              a line                                               

                fine in length                                   

              point a to b                                       

            sloped                                            

          y-intercepted                              

        independent                               

      set of points                                           

    linear equation                                         

  the only thing it isn’t                        

is a direct line to you                                               

is a direct line to you                        

 the only thing it isn’t                        

  linear equation                          

   set of points                                

     independent                               

       y-intercepted                                                     

        sloped  

          point a to b

            fine in length

              a line                                                           

in time

dust conspiratorially gathers
under chairs and sofa

in layers after days, weeks,

of negligence

seeing it every day

walking through the door

carrying more to compound

its passive drifts

I ignore it. 

prudence dictates that

a broom should enter

to sweep and polish

my living’s debris.

I ignore it.

it will settle in time.

the quiet

remembers to find

corners to rummage

pockets to pilfer

it resonates through

deafening sound

shutting it down

on my shoulder

it sits waiting

for me to be still

groundhog day

the tree rounded

the balcony

down two stories

hollow, stiff, and lit.

any bum could tramp

the alley,

pull it to an outlet

and plug it in.

years ago,

in a wind through

another city’s

back of the houses lanes,

I found a fir cast-off,

pulled it to the rooms I visited,

stuck it in a bucket

and decorated it

with his trinkets.

he was too alone

to make merry.

but I rather made it

for him: roasting meat,

pouring champagne,

lighting someone else’s tree.

tonight, the curb offering

was my own, just happily

decorated with delicately spun angels

and bearded men.

But whether the short of day

or long of night, alone,

it’s a hard tear down.

every year I fight this battle.

in this night, unlike last, it is the

groundhog on the drag to the dumpster

who sees his shadow, not I.

no cold bites my nose or freezes my toes.

spring must be around the corner

quick to catch me as I  nearly go over

the edge with fallen off needles.

bad meeting

inspired by someone else

same   agenda

same   suspects

same   calendar

same   due-outs

same__same__same

down the table

sits some one

next to 

some one else

same__same__same

hey!

oh. no one

wants to hear

what isn’t on

the agenda

introspection

up and down

     and through

          and through

     up and down

and through

     and through

          up and down

     and through

and through

     up and down

          and through

     and through.

up.

             down.

through.

up and down

     and through

          and through

     up and down

and through

     and through

          up and down

     and through

and through

     up and down

          and through

     and through.

down.

              up.

   through.

up and down

     and through

          and through

     up and down

and through

     and through

          up and down

     and through

and through

     up and down

          and through

     and through.

through.

down.

up.

again.

Climb a Mountain

a song

Climb this mountain with me,

hold my hand I can carry

all of your worries right on through.

Leave the past at the gate,

found a path we could take

oh, darling’, I’ll marry you.

Oh, it’s clear to see,

you were meant to be

by my side from this day on.

Having the right feelings,

somewhere hidden inside,

we’ll find them out on the way.

Precious moments lost,

in time spent apart

will you ever see it too.

Oh, it’s clear to see,

you were meant to be

by my side from this day on.

If you light your smile,

it won’t take a while

for us to make our  vow.

From this moment on,

we could love each morn

and find our true love’s home.

Climb this mountain with me,

hold my hand I can carry

all of your worries right on through.

Leave the past at the gate,

found a path we could take

oh, darling’, I’ll marry you.

dusk

in the half light that is dusk,

I feel the loneliest.

the sun slips into the horizon

leaving all that’s around me

unilluminated:

it does not cast a shadow

the length of me

to pretend a friend,

nor does it warm the face

that I hold up to the sky.

It has no words,

does not call my name,

or make me feel safe as

the stars shining in this new sky

are millions of miles from here.

in the half light that is dusk.