I Can Only Reach The Black

Hope, the fire of pending morrows
Once burned soft but bright as day.
Now the merest flicker borrows
Time to sputter, waxing fey.

'Lo my canvas unappointed
Born to stretch the light itself
Now with monochrome anointed
Paler shades of former self.

Not the pall of charcoal dusting
Nor the grey of sidewalk crack
Color bled from life by trusting
I can only see the black.

Glamours die with wounded whispers,
Summoning like ringing vespers--

I can only reach the black.

Anything But Pictures

I try to find some solace

In the day, hoping that light

Should staunch the dark of

My eyes, my heart . . .

The chasm where my soul

Used to be.

Leaning in the doorframe

Misty as a moondrop

The light proves too revealing--

My guts scream fire

Bouncing 'round inside me.

There is no comfort but

The craving.

I stagger from the frame,

Steadied not by the

Everyday daggers

Lurking around corners,

Or on shelves

Brick-a-brack bringing burning memories . . .

No light, no, no, no . . .

The dark proves too inviting.

No spark of hope

Burns behind these

Incandescent tears.

Who knows where shadows dwell,

Where Hurt hides until it hunts?

Who knew the human heart

Was photosensitive?

Mental Paroxsym

I ran amok amongst the dreams and the gardens
Chasing vap’rous butterflies winging pantomime
Winking at me with their antennae

I chased them through the daisies while a cartoon mouse
Pulled out a shotgun that blew bubbles
And said in his high, high voice
“Reach for the sky!”

“I always do,” was my reply.

I ran by Alice and her madcap entourage
The Rabbit was the only one who spoke
“What’s his hurry? It’s not like he can catch them anyway. . . “

As if in response, the butterflies stopped
I ran right through them
Their forms wavered then reconstituted shapes

I stopped to ponder this charade
Just in time to see a groundhog parade
Led by a Centaur throwing azaleas left and right
Rhodentia marching maddening on a rhododendron carpet

I had to sit and lean against a tree to steady my mind
“Tea?” inquired the rabbit, emerging from behind
To sit on my left side.
Pulling out his watch, he glimpsed the time then cast the piece aloft, aside
“Pull!” squeaked a voice on my right, and the cartoon mouse
Now adorned with wizard’s robe (and hat, askew) did fire his beastly bubble-gun

He missed the watch, but caught the butterflies
In bubbles—
And there we sat, Rabbit, Mouse, and I,
To play the remains of the day aside
Describing bubbles
With phantom butterflies playing charades inside--

Ignoring the Centaur of Attention.

A Taste Of Chardonnay

Savoring wine I did not drink,
Your kiss leads me gladly toward temptation—
Sacramental testament to your
Confessional eyes

Such kisses,
Evidence that God hears our whispers,
Passionate pleas, and crying ecstasies
Lead to trembling touches,
Tender blessings which I gladly tithe.

Deliverance springs from
Savored temptation.

Our communion—
Spirits and bodies merge,
Forms entwine as souls unravel—

Whispering silent blessings
We craft our own ceremonies
In bursts of light and heat—
Tender fever sanctifies commitment
With gasping confirmation.

Let others seek The Rapture;
We speak of Bliss
Found in a taste of Chardonnay.

Lost and Found

The leavings of my poesy lie withered,
Crumpled beside torn lace and weathered leather.

Gathering both thoughts and clothes, I left you only snippets,
Idle glimpses missed in a loaded abandoning . . .

Fevered thoughts brought unbidden to the fore
Lying desolate on the bedroom floor--
Steaming dreams torn from notebook seams
Ragged pages ripped from reams

Never meant for eyes or ears
Those fallen tears and walled-up fears
That I have hidden many years
Fell unnoticed in our passion
Clawed aside in feral fashion,

Then, spent, and sense regained,
We separate in form—you wash and I,
Reluctant to be noticed in the gathering

Miss the final verse--
Ah, it couldn't be worse.

That page, fallen in your purse. . .

Lamenting The Muse

I bleed her visions vivid and verbose.
Wrought words weep from wounds
Staunched solely by
Tightly tied tourniquets of text and tone.

I, by her infrequent indulgences do illuminate;
Exigent examinations express enthusiasm,
Elicit empathy,
Or, on occasion,
Invoke ire.

I, rabble-rousing raconteur,
Revisit rural rumors with relish,
A fanciful fetish fraught with folly;
Lines laced with laudable
Alliteration alleviate her need . . .

I, at times, pen posturing poetry
Or pedantic prose
Adapting ardor to odor,
Rending ruminations on the remnants of a rose,
Roaring at restrictive rubric . . .

Yet I am not amused
By my muse’s manic manipulations:
Mellifluous manuscripts martyring meaning—

I would fain bleed free from her.

Blue and Green

My life streams in colors seldom seen
From red to violet,
In between--

You are my blue.

Your touch
White light to blind me
Your kiss
Amber to focus my eyes once more
Your laugh
Gold and silver streams to find me
Your eyes
So blue they shook my soul to the core.
Your embrace
Every color at once,
Separate
Clear
Revealing

We seize in white sheets and I see rainbows.

I used to run from rainbows.

I’ve always been green,
Weaving rapid 'round the rainbows.
Running from others' colored expectations
Hiding in the green
Gazing up at blue.

You’ve said it’s my eyes that pulled you in
“A sea of green,” if I remember right
And I do.

I remember everything blue.

I’ve always been green
Running from the red
From the violet
And all the colors in between
Thinking my heart was black from emptiness
They called me yellow

But I’ve always been green.

In all of my running from rainbows I almost missed you.

I almost missed my Blue.

To Face Myself

I am at heart the product of my choices
An unrepentant miasma of voices
Echoing my past

What once was a fractured duality
Is now singularly clear

One face for them
Swaggering boisterous typical male
Redneck chauvinistic epithets
Uttered out of expectation

Must fit in
Must belong
Must do this
Must be wrong

One face for me
Crumbling expectations
Shattered plans
Anger
Shame
Merciless self-flagellating
Shame

Must be evil
Must be crazy
Must be tainted
Must repent!

A decade of denial
Prayer
Misery
Bewilderment
Shame

Loneliness

Then a choice
The choice to accept
Become whole
No longer two faces but one

Shouldered tonnage evaporates with
Self acceptance
And finally buried denials

Damned? Not I.
Expectations be damned.

I choose to be honest.

To love
And be loved
As I was meant to love.

To face myself and be free!

I Must Be Dreaming

I lay and watch you dreaming
With your little tumbles to and fro
I think upon the dreams we’ve shared
And those still yet to come.

Like the time you told me
Unabashed in nightmarish honesty,
That you had dreamed I’d died.
I remember the tears in your eyes as you woke,
Gasping,
Remember holding you,
Kissing those salty memoirs of my death away
(Shhhhh, honey, I’m here, I’m fine)
Until you shuddered no more.

I, too, have dreamt your death,
And woken to find you holding me,
Telling me it’s just a dream
(It’s just a dream, love, be still)
Plying you with kisses
And a crushing embrace

I lay here now, still watching you sleep,
And think upon the dreams we’ve shared,
Together since the day we met,
Never sullied or sundered like so many others

I think of how you care for me when I’m sick
And make me chicken noodle soup
And how the only time I truly sleep
Is with you by my side.

I watch you lost to Morpheus’ enticements
A slight smirk upon your face

I laugh to think of all the times I’ve heard about
How long we’ve been together
Longer than many married couples
The spark of jealous disbelief in their eyes
And I wonder

How I ever won this lottery in life

You are my dream
My past, present, and future

And so I pull the blanket up to cover you a little more tightly
As you let escape a content sigh
That is all I need, and more than I could ask for.

To be so completely consumed by love for you after so long . . .
I must be dreaming.