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?

Measured Meaning (Terzanelle)

My grand attempt, though doomed to fail, to write a terzanelle
To feel the feet progressing and anticipate the rhyme
I mean a work with meaning, measured breath (and measured well)

To know with certain stillness that the verse will end on time
I try, in tracks made long ago by poets more than I,
To feel the feet progressing and anticipate the rhyme.

The questions, they besiege me, "Do I have the poet's eye?"
And "Will my Muse enable me to tame this daunting Form?"
I try, in tracks made long ago by poets more than I.

Perusing in my musing to coerce cold words to warm,
I fill the verse with metered hope I learn my lesson well
And will my Muse enable me to tame this daunting Form.

My pattern now established I progress with tale to tell
Only to find too quickly that I now approach the end
I fill the verse with metered hope I learn my lesson well.

So here lies my conclusion, judge it kindly, would you friend?
My grand attempt, though doomed to fail, to write a terzanelle
Only to find too quickly that I now approach the end
I mean a work with meaning, measured breath, and measured well.

Terza Rima: Heat, Measured in Candlepower

When shadows dance upon an amber wall,
The light suffices not to shame their play
Nor countenance the cause of shadows' fall

For light itself compels the shadows stay.
Intrigued by this arousing circumstance,
The candle flickers, teasing interplay

To tame the wall on which the shadows dance
And would distract the lovers from their cause
Were they not so compelled by love's own trance

Their passion cares not for physical laws,
As two are lost in each other entire,
Unbound by light and uninclined to pause

Their show compels observance by that fire,
That light and feeble flicker of the flame,
Which watches shadows prosper and perspire,
To never think of heat the same again.

Legacy (For Michael Jackson)

Start music to "I Want You Back (Jackson 5)"

Starling child, standing tall,
Center of attention,
You who moved more hearts and minds
Than most would care to mention

As a boy you gave your voice
And smiled for all to see
Bringing beats and rhythmic choice
Easy as ABC.

Then you grew from boy to man,
You stormed the music biz,
Showed the world a bolder plan,
A charismatic wiz.

Then when Thriller topped the charts,
We really came around,
You found those places in our hearts
And to them music bound.

Now you're just a legacy,
A legend gone too soon.
Linger in supremacy--
You walked upon the moon.

You're the one who showed us dance,
How souls that rock will move
Though you're now beyond all chance,
We won't forget the groove.

And when the groove is dead and gone, yeah
You know that love survives
So we can rock forever
On . . . (Rock With You, Michael Jackson)

Steam

A turn of smile, a passing glance,
Eternity in instants
Souls that merged when had their chance
Are never slaves to distance

Satisfaction wears a smile
And picks its teeth with ardor
A want that never finds its fill
Each day apart gets harder.

But days apart are just a dream
When nights together burning
Dissipate the days as steam
For fire stokes the yearning

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.

Absolute Resolution

Perspective sings these shaded grays awake--
Long not for the surety of your youth
When absolutes were easy ground to stake:
Resolute positions absent of proof.

Maturity brings those faded days to fore,
Introspection births new philosophies,
Incredulity that I was so sure,
Now aware of my mind’s monstrosities.

Black
Black hats in westerns, bad luck from black cats,
Evil easily defined in pictures--
Such simple immemorial combat,
Basing bias on some scripture’s strictures

Shine the light of nuance on certitude:
Social stains once paid such veneration
Often spring from absolute platitudes—
Witness: American segregation.

White
Was a time when polite society
Cherished this immoral privilege.
Racially defining society,
Which is, by any measure, sacrilege

More than race, age, sex, division of creed,
We fall prey to baseless supposition
Showing certitude to justify deed
Seldom contrite of our own volition.

Life presents itself in the subtlest shades:
Chords of certainty birth arpeggios
Trailing our fervent youthful escapades
As certainty fades diminuendo.

Independent thought, born to make contrasts
Examines not just what but also why,
Begging youth's expectations be surpassed,
Asking what purpose Black and White belie

Resolve to witness your remaining days
Examining everything astutely--
Give consideration to all the grays,
Measure the minutia resolutely.

Voyager, Be Still

Early on, ‘neath starlight with a blanket wrapped around,
We talked and cuddled softly in the night.
Making plans ensuring that our future would be sound
Taking time to look up toward the light.

“See how many stars there are that shine above your head?”
I asked you as I took your hand in mine.
“Those are all the chances we will have in years ahead,
Years to let our growing love to shine.”

Then I watched a wry smile curve the corner of your lips,
Gazed into your eyes as my pulse worried.
Reaching out, you took my chin with tender fingertips;
Told me that our love need not be hurried:

“Ah, my love, though there’s not time to do all that we’ll wish,
As long as I’m with you the world is ours.
Heaven sent this sky tonight so I could see with bliss—
So don’t ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

--“Don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars." –Bette Davis, Now Voyager

One Shining Moment

O' Shine, that glance which stole my soul
When blue eyes amber flashed.
A lifetime in an instant told,
All prior plans lay dashed.

Clever, testing conversations
Led us to this moment--
I stood in anticipation
Tiptoe on the pavement

O'Time, what chance should fain bestow
Upon this lonely boy,
With sunset's final golden glow
There dawned a life of joy:

We met as planned, at daylight's end
Your magic rent my husk--
One shining moment souls could blend,
A blue and amber dusk.

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Weeping Muse

Weep, Muse, and shed summation--
Betrayed by lesser station,
Left swimming in frustration:
Keep my heart nestled, and weep.

Flail, rage in ways most unkind,
'Til justified response find,
And then, with your path refined:
Keep my mind able, and deep.

Strike, Muse, make the mountains shake,
Stir sufficient vengeance, quake
Until Midnight's tears we slake:
Keep me rapt in your passion.

Breathe, exhale dawn triumphant,
Rise, and with calmer voice, vent,
Loose mighty visions, bent
On my growth and construction.

And forgive, Muse. Future calls,
Not Intent to echo halls
Of deaf minds--and vengeance palls:
Dispatch these bold distractions.

But first, Muse, for loss must steep,
Tears as salve for souls' scars deep,
Held soft in memory's keep:
Tomorrow we write. Now weep.

Fighting The Reaper, Blood On Sheets

Dreaming, blue spits ebon sparks: manifests the tattered soul,
Mournful eyes of ashen dark writhing on The Reaper's pole.
A crucible of pain I saw, and such to shudder men,
And sought to turn away but found that I could not, just then!

The hooded wielder of the scythe was carving up the soul,
As howls of horror pierced my heart and shook The Reaper's Pole
I scream to break my witnessing, "Thanatos, if you dare,
I would challenge for this soul you carve with cursed care!"

The Thing did turn to me and grin a grey and toothy smile,
Imparting sense that he had known my presence all the while,
It pointed slender bony hand to indicate the soul
That all this time was slithering upon The Reaper's Pole

And it was me I saw upon the curved and slender blade,
The shock of recognition through me both at once was made,
I screamed for light to curse the dark, to break the Reaper's Pole,
And woke in bed to find myself within the Reaper's role.

First Kiss

Halfway parted lips
Trembling, awaiting a sign—
Permission granted

Year End Toast

Here's to the men and the women we've lost
Protecting our lives and our dreams
Here's to the hope of recouping the cost
Of the ill-fated Wall Street schemes

Here's to renewal, rebirth and respect,
Grass roots giving rise to new hope,
Here's to success for the POTUS-elect,
For we're at the end of our rope!

Here's to bright futures and love that abounds,
The power of positive thought,
Here's to life measured in moments, not pounds,
And choices we're proud to have wrought.

Here's to a year so much better than last,
With pantries and hearts filled to burst;
Two Thousand Nine, with your prospects so vast,
Come slake our unquenchable thirst!

The Now

Instantaneous,
My core cradled in comfort--
Our stolen moment

Let this love suffice,
Encompass all that I am;
Surrendered to you.

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. . .

Snowburn

Stand within the whirlwind tasting flakes upon your tongue
Feel the full embrace of winter’s fury
Wallow in the snow banks piled as if you still were young,
Joyous in the moment of the flurry.

Take the day, stay home from work, and bask in Nature’s glory,
Romping as a child among the drifts.
Build another memory, a chapter in your story,
One that grips your spirit firm, and lifts.

I met the world in winter; I was born a solstice child,
Every year I greet the seasons turning,
Never have I once wished for a winter that was mild,
‘Tis the snow that keeps my soul from burning.

Each Branch A Memory

I love the Christmas season with its twinkling little lights,
Stockings hung and gifts under the tree,
Whose ornaments bring memories of erstwhile Christmas nights
Playing games with all the family.

Young and old would gather round to feast and celebrate
Playing cards and watching football games,
Helping younger cousins set up toys or make a plate,
Taking pictures meant for future frames.

But everyone is older now, or moved away, or passed--
Tradition's hard to hold when we're apart--
The young have grown up, having their own families at last,
Some we only Christmas with at heart.

Reflective now, I glance upon the pictures on the tree,
The portrait ornaments of Christmas past,
And smile to know the Christmases the future holds for me;
Branches holding memories to last.