Deep

Constant waves of words
Surge from your laughing lips
And crash against your chest,
Washing away the rescue—
Not a soul can touch you!

But I plunge into your mouth,
Hold tight my small breath.
Let the dark water take me.
Sink me in the lonely blue
Moon ripples like a starry sky
But even less ventured.

I listen to the distant song
And feel the crush of longing.
I know you are here,
Somewhere in the sound,
Floating in the deep.

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Misty Muse

Can I be the misty muse
Of your young-heart years?
Fit me into to anywhere,
Fear it is not forever love,
But be too alive to care.

Can I be a soft blanket
Jumbled on your bed?
Not your dream in the sun
But a safe place to whisper
When you come undone.

Or just music in the hall
Drawing you from sleep
Or sweetly back at night
To poetry & fresh bread
After soaking in starlight.

Or a sparkle on your cheek
Rolled into a tear
Sliding slow against you,
Finding home on your lips,
Dissolving into tissue.

Can I be a pink flower
Fragile and fleeting
And tucked into your hat?
How long might you love
A little something like that?

 

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Whimsy Love

Summoned to the black & white,
Given the spotlight in my mind.
The deep ripples reach my heart.
“He is gentle, he is kind”

Smooth as honey, warm as tea,
Waking songs thick with history.
My shell prevents me tell you:
“I long to hear yours & mine!”

Let me pull a chair beside you
With the music, stoop & sway,
Lay my timid hand upon yours
As it proceeds to softly play.

Allow dark eyes watch your lips
Curl sweetly at pink corner tips,
Float off into a whimsy love
That may only last a day.

 

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Dark Morning

Dark Morning

“… Like images in a puddle bent / Projected from the night.”

The misty morning haze
Paints thinly my coat
But kisses wetly my face
Unwelcome & contrite

And quite like a fuzzy mote
In the vision of the day
Floats dejectedly the sun
A lazy leak of light

And trees on the horizon
Hue muted & translucent
Like blue veins under pale skin
Rise then vanish from sight

And that dreary sun’s ascent
Queer’ seems to darken the day
Like images in a puddle bent
Projected from the night

 

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You Filled a Space

Here
Small & safe
You are warmth
You filled a space
Wherein echoed the lonely tune
Of a wanting harmony
And you taught it joy & fear

Tears
I will kiss
Them, reserve
Them on my lips
For suckling at each moistened bloom
Roots of an eager seed
Whose dreams are thirsty, my dear

Cheer
Heart ablaze
Only you
Only your face
Could stir such stasis into wonder
In pools of pride-sick eyes
For you taught them joy & fear

Years
Coming breaths
The blessed heights
The plunging depths
Enlightened nightmares threaten thunder
That tears ‘cross aching skies
In a world without you here

 

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Bent Spines

I have noticed as of late
How drinking tea and reading
Does not simple leisure make

If using one hand for sipping,
The other, a sort of weight
To keep the pages from flipping—

It is a TASK to do both!
With a cup hot and brimming
And a book thicker than most

For ev’ry distracted gaze,
When paused or too engrossed,
Chances a spill or stained page

So I admit to the crime—
Condemned by all a book sage—
Of putting bends in the spines

“The RISK! Lost chapters!” you gasp,
“Unbound by severed glued lines!”
To your awe, I answer that:

Yes, it gives me liberty
To leave my book lying flat
As to have two hands for tea!

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Happy Enough

I feel as though I have just woken up
From a long sleep, on a cloud, far away.
“Darling,” I say, yawning. “What is today?”
But where you once lied beside me is dust.

I am confused and afraid, but the panic I brush,
Instead crawl to the edge of our piece of sky.
“Where are you?” across the blinding white I cry.
But the silence resounds of years lost to us.

Wide-eyed I searched, cloud to cloud, hushed,
Shaking, night falling upon my empty bed—
“Here I sleep!” a boy! peeping through the cloud said.
Though not you, the sight was a welcome bust.

So I let him stay with me; I suppose I just gave up.
Years more have gone by, and now his arms I fit.
“Better him than be alone,” I think, grin and bear it.
He must be my Light to have saved me from Dusk.

I have not told you—he is a hard man to love.
He often leaves our cloud at night. To where?
“To where? Where do you go?” Ask him myself, I dare
But to no avail. Unanswered, I am forced to trust.

It is in these sad times that my thoughts return to us.
I close my liquid eyes, open my palms to the wind.
“Are you still out there?” I whisper, spiriting you in.
But I can no longer feel you, no heartbeat, no touch.

I feel as though I have finally woken up
From a second sleep, on cotton-blend reality.
“Darling?” My voice is changed. “Are we happy?”
His snore breaks—a ‘yes?’ We are happy enough.

 

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100 Days of Haiku [71-80]

Day 71:

The pine needles fall
Like fragments of memory
From much simpler times

Day 72:

The house stands alone
In shade of tall, aging pines
In light of my dreams

Day 73:

I see my life here
Visions of could-be’s haunt me
Ghosts in the corners

Day 74:

My mind: the children
Running through speckled sunbeams
Falling in my arms

Day 75:

I see the porch swing
Through the white kitchen window
My husband reading

Day 76:

I will paint the rooms
Strew our art & sound about
Make it come alive

Day 77:

E’er—’til the end—
I will not believe that this
Is unrequited

Day 78:

How can you view them
And your heart not swell with want
For the joys they have?

Day 79:

I’ll wait forever
A vampire at your door
Invite me inside

Day 80:

A thousand miles
We both feared, for we both knew
Our joy waits elsewhere

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