We’re in our marriage ballroom,
A corsage upon my wrist,
White rose in your lapel.
#
We’ll boogie down the dance floor,
Hear the drum,
Feel the beat,
Shake it,
Rattle it,
And roll.
Trip the light fantastic, babe!
Hear the drum,
Feel the beat,
Jitterbug,
Swing,
And sway.
#
We’re in our marriage ballroom,
A corsage upon my wrist,
White rose in your lapel.
pick up a dictionary because
happiness is in there
it comes ready for you to
pull it from the page
!
you don’t go to the bedroom silly
pick some potatoes from the ground
in your garden or lo and behold
from the bin at the grocery
!
and put them next to happiness
from the dictionary, then go ahead
it might just make you even happier
to add some ketchup (or catsup) too
!
well, I guess you’ll have to get your
lazy self out of bed first
before the sun itself decides to rise
or you’ll miss it for sure
!
you just might have to ask
your lover first, because your
lover might not like a piercing there
might he not?
!
all you have to do is
think smart, and I suppose
it wouldn’t hurt to act a little
smart along the way as well
!
single solitary little bit of good
advice I have given you
then go ahead, but don’t blame me
if your dreams never materialize
not safe in life’s amusement park,
pain takes lodging behind the eyes
I’d await the unrelenting sting
without intention to accept it
twirling on the dance floor
hiding hurt behind the beat
the ache so deep, so genuine
sucking life from inside out
despondent in an asylum of mistakes
craving a common or a temperate stroke
a touch of solidarity, can you please
set aside a cup of tea, grant a private smile
the rise and fall of hurried assessments
overtake nomadic searching of those
sad and slow good-byes
how appropriate and simple was the decline
mistake by sad mistake
judgments pronounced, decisions made
mixing with a sick and rotting pain
of failing, slipping, fading slowly
many years ago he whispered, “take my hand—
love yourself; take back your soul before all else”
and while a bit of wisdom never hurts
I could not embrace the promise of it
When I was a fish
I saw things clearly
like baby crabs and shrimp
living in the blue world
with me and the other fish
When I was a fish
I swam all day everyday
around the coral reef
In and out of the eel grass
without a care in the ocean
Now I am a dinner
I am disappearing fast
Two bites, three bites, four
It was more fun being a fish
swimming in my blue world
Please note: The poet, in this case me, is not the “speaker” in the following poem. I thought it best to give this disclaimer so people wouldn’t worry about my marriage.
I know how to spend my allowance
of daily smiles. Opportunities seen as
calculated chances, I’m traveling a gravel path
to find the candy promised me.
Marching down your boulevard I see
a burning wild fire of enthusiasm.
A powerful you. A capable me. Pleasing.
A promise given, a promise received.
The holy presence of our communion shines.
Unafraid, we light our interdependent lamps.
Laughing we will rise, and shield our eyes
from the unexpected brilliance of our kinship.
Delicious flavors tingle on our tongues;
we savor a notion of cohesion because
it helps us map a richness for our unity.
A vow’s been made—the candy promised us.
Why is it then that later we do battle?
Casting clever exchanges to be
licked from our lips like ice cream. After all,
we are the pair who clipped our own wings.
No longer do we wear the hat of empathy
or reside within the photo album of our lives.
It seems contentment only lived on glossy paper,
and fidelity was not the candy promised us.
When love comes
. . . in boxes
. . . . . . . with ribbons
. . . . . . . . . . and bows
Lasting only as long as
. . . . . . the unwrapping,
. . . . . . . . . and lifting from the box,
It delights momentarily.
It delights momentarily.
When love comes
. . . in phone calls
. . . . . . of whispers,
. . . . . . . . . and sighs,
Lasting only as long as
. . . . . . our hearts
. . . . . . . . . beat erratically,
It arouses unexpectedly.
It arouses unexpectedly.
When love comes
. . . in waves
. . . . . . of expectation,
. . . . . . . . . of promise,
Lasting only as long as
. . . . . . needs are
. . . . . . . . . exposed to us,
It satisfies fully.
It satisfies fully.
When I come to you
with tears that fall and
splatter to the ground,
you hold me close
and declare to my heart that
“Everything will be all right.”
When I come to you
with worries that break
the spell of our love,
you whisper love’s remedies
to help me recognize that
“Everything will be all right.”
When I come to you
with laughter that resounds
in your world miles away,
you laugh with me and fill
my heart with knowing that
“Everything will be all right.”
When I come to you
with hopes and dreams of us
together for eternity,
you hold me close revealing
love’s secrets so that I may grasp
“Everything will be all right.”
There is a soft sweetness in the leaving
And though the fog of Alzheimer’s prevails
There glows a definite grace in the
Silence of Steve’s eyes.
–
Seeing the funny unexpected grin
That replaces his empty stare
I want to believe I see
A tiny sliver of remembrance
–
One day passes; another begins
As I struggle for the words
To parcel out the memories
Helping me to say good-bye
–
I witness his vacant, tender gaze
Those soft, smacking lips
That seem to be chewing
The last vestiges of his life
–
And so I find myself hovering around his
Bedside, adjusting his blankets
And spooning thickened liquids
Carefully into his anxious baby-bird mouth
–
For my stepdad, William K. Stephens–“Stevie”
A heart supplies us with our sense of being.
Who are you really? Your heart can tell you,
As you allow your heart to be amply filled
With empathy, love, a rich store of happy endings,
With mysteries, wishes, and steadfast devotion.
******
Oh, please do be mindful of the hearts of others, and
Seek a heart that’s strong and full of light.
Teach your heart to welcome every moment
Of love, of disappointment, of compassion, of laughter.
Don’t worry! It can take whatever you give it because
******
A Heart is More than a Muscle Pumping Blood
Is it the string of my spine
and the bubble of my thoughts
that form the essence of the container?
This box of me?
Do the jumble of vibrations in this box strike black and white keys
to sound a discord…or a harmony?
When the vapor of life circles and swirls around me,
I might be courageous and take the challenge.
I allow my peanut butter and honey heart
to join in the movement of a dance!
It is the untamed dance of a wild woman.
A dance that is all mine! (within this box of me)
When I feel muffled in here, I just break up and away,
rise to the surface, emerge!
Oblique, random sprouting? Maybe.
Definitive, acute, isosceles? Maybe.
Perhaps I am a free-flow, spilling into cups,
but once in a while, there are snatches of insistence.
I hear their demands, “Take a ticket, stand in line,
answer me, think first, sit still, bite your tongue!”
Instead, in opposition, I sharpen my pencil tip,
and watch my steps–till I reach the sky.
I breathe deep, and allow the voices to come again.
Listening to further demands, “Perform, serve, nurture, give up, give in!”
But, ah, I must swim inside the pools of experience first.
Live life. Then die.
There’s a proper order, don’t you know?
And I ask merely to touch the golden ring—just once.
In the kitchen I bake compositions to satisfy my hunger.
Strange how it tickles, a little whisper of fun in here,
I feel it washing over me, still locked inside my box,
but with the gift of a treasure map now! (age has its rewards)
Joy, anxiety, love, guilt, grief, forgiveness, confusion, and competence,
all squirming, twirling, hanging-in-there—all of it
smashed inside this box,
inside this neat, happy, little box of me.
The wind is howling.
The palms are whipped into a frenzy.
You should see my hair in the wind.
Swoosh, swoosh!
A wild, wild woman with white hair.
swirling, swirling
The wind is howling.
The waves are filled with sand.
Waves boiling up, one after the other
Splashing, splashing!
Blown up, smashing each other.
swirling, swirling
The wind is howling.
No internet now for humans.
No electricity either.
Smiling, smiling!
We have solar power.
Blaring from the shop’s façade
A neon sign claims “OPEN”
Step in here; please search the
Shelves that cradle books for you
Revisit dreams; life’s pride and purpose
Devour pages one-by-one
Eat words slowly—as you wish
Satisfy your long-held search for meaning
Books bound by fragile, wrinkled hands
Or joined by man’s devices
How little it may matter to a reader
Aching only for a sweet taste of wisdom
Lines fill with letters meant to squeeze
And ring their finest colors
Hear the soft, faint sounds of solitary breath
Collected vapors singing— in a book