Sunday, August 31, 2014

Daisies or Dandelions

A piece of the earth-as we are-
daisies and dandelions
in the spring.

The earth under our feet –
a feeling that holds it all together
beneath the skin,
the making of it, took time.
Time, as it stopped in a moment of joy;
time as it ended abruptly;
time as it passed like fragrance

(Was it daisies? Or dandelions?...)

Time as it came, like
a lover without a message.
Time, as it healed;
Time, as it forgot the need for keys,
time as it revealed other realms;
Time as it slipped and ran wild
like ants from their disturbed nest.

We can rest with
time here.
Why mark it?
why define it -
like daisies, like dandelions,
we bloom and fade,
we bloom,
we fade.


Saturday, August 23, 2014

Three Dimensions

‘Read some of these music magazines’,-he said with eyes that never looked straight into hers-almost as if saying to keep herself busy. Then he turned around and all she could see was his back and the blue towel wrapped around his skinny waist, heading to the bathroom. The stack of yellow-framed magazines lay next to her body on the floor.
She only looked at the cover, and left the stack unopened. She longed for his presence instead of reading about music. The feeling she fell in love with.  She wanted to be around that feeling forever- like seasons are around, changing as the hair turns grey and the eyes wrinkle.

She wasn’t ever ready to give herself fully;  she wanted to blend, rather than belong. The days went past the streets of harlequin strangers she nominated as a possibility.


‘Read some of these music magazines’, he said with eyes that looked straight into hers-almost as if saying that she needed to catch up with the latest news to be more interesting. Then he turned around and all she could see was his dark birthmarks and the blue towel around his waist, heading to the bathroom.
She only looked at the cover, and tossed the stack on the side. She didn’t care about the stupid magazines on the stupid floor and she felt as if all for seasons shut down and she wished the shower was just as frozen as his heart.

She was ready to give herself fully: she wanted to belong. All of a sudden she found herself longing for the days when she danced with harlequin strangers wherever she went.


‘Read some of these music magazines, he said with eyes almost apologetic- as if saying he’d rather stay laying next to her. Then he gently tucked her hair from one side to another, turned around and all she could see was the blue towel around his waist and his strong back heading to the bathroom.
She curiously laid her hand on the magazines and looked into the first one on the top of the stack. She felt the same way about the magazines, the movement of his shadow behind the shower-curtains, the seasons changing, every new wrinkle and every grey hair that grew along with this love.

She was herself.


To be in a world of another ,

to be in the world, in this world,

or is it another

where words get lost and words emerge

and we live it word by word I tell you.
Give me the world!

I tell you, and you give it, and I get it,

others just forget it

and it’s nothing.   
This world we live in…

this world is without it.


A blind eagle soars
on wings tearing blood from each
cloud so it rains.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

A Plea to Love

Forgive me for the rush.
Forgive my unchanging soul,
and words - crippled by fear.
Forgive me Love.
Forgive me for the letters
I haven’t sent
Forgive me in my loneliness,

holding onto the gift of solitude.