You'd Be Just as Gone

You'd be just as gone,
and I'd be just as lonely -
no use to play 'if only.'
That's just a game
and anyway, things'd be the same -
you'd be just as gone.

We don't know why we're apart,
unless you count the time
I punched you in your sleep
when you flirted with my girlfriend.
Or the dreadful days of summer
when you worked afield.
We drifted, lost among the deep
wounds of time,
too much alone,
too much in love.
Too much altogether.
There is no why.

Too many years
to think we could regain
a vestige of the same
old heat, the same old fire-
memory trumping desire.
You'd be just as gone.

And I'd be just me.

Blue Skies Redux

Only blue skies make me cry:
I see that patch of blue and think
of you, or some old place when
we were true, and good; some
old place long gone when the love was
strong and we were not acquainted
with that deeper shade of blue.

Only blue skies make me cry,
a cloudy day won't touch
me that way, or clutch at my heart
till it hurts, like a blue sky day.
When it rains, or the sky is gray
it don't take much to get away from those
light-weight blues.

The rain falls as a blessing,
not some life lesson in taking
love for granted or the hubris
of youth. Clouds cushion the truth of time
and its relentless march
across your heart.

Say a Little Prayer for Me

Our prayers are known
before we breathe them,
before conception, before the first star
cooled in the sky's velvet vault.
Our prayers are known.

Sunny Days

Another two-part run at an idea, or maybe three:

It's the sunny days that make me cry;
overcast and gloomy - that's not so bad.
But when the sky is the color of your eyes
that patch of blue just makes me sad.
Blue skies have those frivolous clouds
full of promise and hope.
They act as if you're not allowed
to get all down and mope.
But I do, when the skies are blue.

Sunny days are all perky,
make you think of thirty things
you need to do when skies are blue
and clear. No time to cry in your beer.
Need to put the clothes on the line,
maybe sweep the steps one more time.
Or clean out the shed. You don't dare
stay in bed
on a sunny day.

It's damned hard to ignore
a sunny day knocking on your door
with a bouquet of memories and a list of things undone.
It's hard to lie in the sun
and fool yourself.

Our Perfect Grief

A couple of tries at a tanka - but i couldn't remember the order of the 5s and 7s, then just kinda winged it - wung it? Neither meets the criteria, but here they are:

The moon's bold specter
crosses the vault of night
as silver shards silently
pierce love's fragile
shell, revealing all was lost.

The moon's bold specter
crosses the vault of night,
its silver shards silently
piercing love's fragile shell -
and our perfect grief.

This needs some work and may just be combined at some point.

The Altar of Dawn

The Sun God bows to
Dawn's pale altar of light.
The edge of night marks
the moon's chaste descent
as [avenging] angels weep,
the promises of night [yet] to keep.

One More Wish

What if you were granted one
more
wish
before you
die that endless death
of peace and joy.

One more wish: a day,
a moment,
a memory.

Would you change the past,
or mold the future?
Recover what's been lost, or
conjure gifts yet unseen?

What would it mean? Not a
dying wish, but a wish
for more. One more.

One more breathless kiss,
one more longing look at love?
One more randy roll in the hay,
one more lusty night?
One more poem, one more tale of
Scheherazade, woven endlessly into a night
of a thousand nights -

Or one more dance -
Just one more?

The Raven

The Raven of Dawn soars
across the sky,
following the Sun God to his Western lair.
She sheds her long shadow as she flies,
the mystery of night trails
behind her like a veil.

I Dance Alone

I drink too much,
I laugh too loud,
I dance alone while in a crowd.

I'm not for you,
don't say I'm wrong.

I dance alone,
it keeps me strong.

The Phonecall

I said I'd call -
didn't mean to be vague
and weird.

I meant to call,
but you're three hours
from here

and I lost track in the dark of the moon.

The Postcard

I got your postcard, baby,
I got it in the mail.
That old boy on horseback,
he looks anything but frail.

Looks like he' a Mountie,
and Mounties, they don't fail.

I got your postcard, baby,
and I read between the lines.
Guess you don't really want me back,
too many heartless crimes.

Looks like we'll both be moving on,
we'll ride on down the line.

Looks like we'll both be moving on,
turn our backs on better times.

Hot Mama

I am one hot mama, baby,
you ought to try me on for size.

I am one hot mama, baby,
you know I'll tell you wicked lies.

But baby, in the mornin'
You'll look at me with lovin' eyes.

I am one hot mama, darlin',
You know I'll take you back to school.

I am one hot mama, darlin',
You and me, we'll break some rules.

You won't regret it, little darlin',
Stick with me, don't be a fool.

Love Lost

When did love softly go, [turn]
turn to betray us,
silently, a thief in the night?

When did love softly go, [turn]
stealing away, now
lost to us, as shadow in light?

When did love softly go, [turn]
breaking our hearts
quietly, like fog in the night?

When did love softly go,
go softly away?

Howling at the Moon

We deny the wildish wolf, our familiar,
howling at the bleeding moon - fearing
like Icarus we might burn from the heat of our
passion
to fly into the sun,
to lie, burning together,
burning
apart,
burning by the light of the moon.

The Horns of the Crescent Moon

Look to the night sky -
to the horns of the crescent moon.
I swing on the tail of a moonbeam
singing away the blues.

I swing on the tail of a moonbeam
from the horns of a crescent moon.
I swing on the tail of a moonbeam,
singing away the blues.

Look out your window to the night sky
I swing on the horns of the moon.
Swinging away on a moonbeam,
Singing away the blues.

haiku:

Night sky, crescent moon
I'm swinging on a moonbeam
Losing these old blues.

tanka:

Look to the night sky
to the crescent moon, and smile:
I ride a moonbeam,
Singing away my old blues,
I ride a moonbeam to you.

I Want You to Know, Part III

What I fear is that I would be
Too Much -
or worse, not enough.

I fear that I could not sort socks
or blend in with your circadian rhythms.

I fear that in person I would disappoint
you, and our conversations would fade -

I fear I've been too long in the wind

and
you'd not love me
enough.

I Want You to Know, Part II

But I'm not so sure I could live with you,
or any other biped,

or that I would cook dinner
every night,
or Keep Up Appearances.

I'm not so sure we'd make it together
after so many years apart;

that we'd be as special as our phone calls.

But I want you to know: I'd try.

I Want You to Know, Part I

I want you to know
you can always call;
that I still love you across
all these years;
that I want to send you
Nikki Giovanni love poems and
the ballads of Leonard Cohen.

I want you to know
I want you.

I want to hold your hand
as we listen to Gregorian chants and
say not a word.

I want to lie in bed not moving,
breath in breath,

to walk arm in arm down a
tree-lined street in Milwaukee.

I want you to know I still believe
in us.

Honey and Bacon

My friend and I talk
around our desire,
fearing it's not real -
fearing it is.

We skate across the frozen
lake of our past;
we speak fondly, remembering
ourselves in that foreign country -
wondering if one truly does not forget
how to ride a bicycle.

We give one another honey
and bacon
and Chinese poetry from the '70s.

Postcards arrive, and
are examined for hidden meanings.

I recall his shampoo
and the cut of the hair on the back of his neck.
He recalls a scar now faded,
no longer remarkable.

We live alone, and far away.
I could visit -he has an extra room
upstairs.

This One Could Work

You would like him, I think -
No, I'm not ready for him
to meet my friends, he's
shy.
And quiet.
I don't want to scare him -
ha ha.

He's got a good job and
travels a lot. That
could work.
He's allergic to the cat, but
she's outside mostly and we
stay at his place anyway.

I'm going to cancel my
e-Harmony account.

Next week.

Love Songs for an Unknown Lover

i write love poems, poems
of desire hot and cold,
directed at the callous moon, the uncaring
stars

with you in mind; dare i
want you?

i write of old lovers and friends
with measured passion and sometimes,
i play with
internal rhyme

with you in mind,
do you mind?

is it love, or curiosity
that has cradled my heart
in your heart
and come to this

inelegant mind
fuck

Do you want me too?

Winter Shaman

I need a Winter Shaman
to chant away February's cruel winds,
to bring medicine strong against the March snows,
a ceremonial smudge calling Spring.

Do not bring that bad Coyote.

You Want Sugar With That?

Mama told me not
to give nothin' away -
But we might be able to work somethin' out,
You might get some sugar from me,
If you came around.

If you came around,
I'd offer you coffee
and a big slice of pie -
I got plenty.
You want sugar with that?
Or maybe some cream?

We Are Yet Lovers

I would not regret
your touch
Or shy away from
much
that involved dreaming
you awake.

As we sleep separately,
soundly,
alone

under the same cold moon,
we close an eye
to desire, to the fire
we have banked.

To what end?

Come to me tonight
under the cover of your dreams
in the guise of deep
sleep
kisses.

We reach across the sacred sky,
star-crossed palms touching,
a single heart beating in the night.

Although we lie apart
in the winter of our dreams,
we are yet lovers.

February 1st

Mid-winter love:
my desire is a cold fire
awaiting your sun.

So that's it

I count maybe 17 poems for January - and I still need one for today. But 17 is not half bad. I owe what, 14? But I'm not worried about that right now. I'll come up with something before daybreak.

Don't

Don't touch me there.

don't
touch me

don't
touch

don't

+++++

Don't
touch me
there

Touch me
there

touch me

There.

New Parrts - Wear and Tear

I no longer have
all my original parts:
the first to go was that tooth
I had capped after the incident at the roller-skating rink.

Then there was the appendix that went the way of an ovary and tube, and not to forget:
the tonsils.

I don't miss any of it - well, maybe the tooth.

And now I have a shiny new hip, better than new.
Your hand rests where waist meets hip, unseen ceramic and titanium.
Titanium can tolerate a lot of heat.
There's some unclaimed bliss to be had.

Keep the Lights Down Low

Lies, lies, tell me wicked lies
as you touch once-creamy thighs.
We'll keep the lights down low
and navigate the remembered territory
of the past.

My loins do not burn for you,
but there's a banked fire down there
somewhere.

old friends and lovers

At first this poem contained a reference to long marriages - i'm keeping the poem sort of intact; it's in flux.

We need old friends and lovers
to see us with loving long-ago eyes
when we were twenty, sweet and pure,
neither marred [unblemished] by deep joy nor our mistakes,
nor fear of the shallow past.

Old friends and lovers
are careful
and quiet;
they share a kind heart.

They are bivalves,
breathing with one breath,
constant as the shoreline
and the sea.

One heart beating,
creating flawed pearls:
desire and memory.
They are each other's better angels,
old lovers and friends.

this was written in response to the half-heard news story regarding the endangered species of long-lived marriages.

I Ride the Moon

I ride the moon through
the Southern Sky

Singing through her tattered veil
I pull the tides behind me.
I sweep the stars out of my way,
and scatter them across the horizon.

I rest in her dark plains and imbue her
with fullness and light.

We turn away from the sun,
luring earthly eyes toward us,
seeking our wisdom.

I ride the moon,
Singing through her tattered veil,
My song of hope and longing.

Originally, the last word was "loss," but today I like longing better.

Early January

I'm about ready for this surgery:
The bed's moved to the first floor den,
The far children called, the near child
moved in for The Recovery.

I baked New Year's Good Luck Gingerbread
Pigs,
Christmas has been packed up and stored in the attic.
I have a package to mail,
I need to get to the library and
pack my bag.

But that's not so much left to do.
I think I'll leave the bills unpaid
'til I'm home again.

There's a Crack That Love Falls Through

Just when we weren't looking,
When nothing more was new
We turned uncaring faces and found
There's a crack that love falls through.

Who would have thought it?
But I can verify it's true:
Turn your back, then look around:
There's a crack that love falls through.

I suppose it's like a cravasse,
deep and dark and blue
You barely notice at the time,
The crack that love falls through.

One day you feel a shiver,
a prelude to the blues,
a lonely note from the other side
There's a crack that love falls through

The words we left unspoken,
Little things we wouldn't do -
lost and gone forever-
There's a crack that love falls through.

A woman of a certain age,
I have seen love come and go -
have lost it when I turned my back:
There's a crack that loves falls through.

Boris

I have a cat who wears his
gray pin-striped suit with aplomb,
a gentleman cat who seeks
my company,
and purrs in my lap.

If I had a man like that,
I'd feed him good
and stroke his back.
I'd admire his fine gray pin-striped suit.

And I'd swoon
as he purred
in my lap.

I don't know where this came from -

some old thorn in my side:

I wonder if you sometimes
recall the long autumns in
Chesapeake Bay, or
the scent of the Ponderosa pine
outside our window.

The heart's larceny
runs deep,
but forgiven, mostly.

Niiki G's "Deal or No Deal"

inspired this one - and a nod to Christian LaBoutain's amazing website:

I find myself
Still willing to be
a fool:

Powdered, perfumed,

In my red-soled shoes.

I might give it whirl,
if the light was kind,
if the stars aligned.

I could order that dress
off the internet,
and get a pedicure in
Wild Woman Red lacquer

to match my red-soled shoes.

If the light was kind,
If the stars aligned.

I'd let my hair down
and dance by the light of the moon
in those red-soled shoes.

Someone could hold me tight -
This time I'd do it right,

If the light was kind.
If the stars aligned.

Sleepless Nights

produced a lot of stuff - I have been waking up at 0230 for some reason.

Capricorn rising:
Half-moon in a veil of tears
Sails the southern sky.



I'm over here, Lord
Sitting in the back pew again
All decked out in Hope.


Chatauqua Mountain
red rock ablaze in dawn's cold fire:
January morning.

My lonely heart runs
with the moon, up the canyon,
catching on a star.

A Poem a Day

My friend Elane, who gifted me with Nikki Giovanni, misunderstood a conversation wherein I said I was reading a poem and day - she thought I said I was writing a poem a day. Well, after thinking about it, I decided to try - what was I thinking. Further, I determined I would put each day's poem on the blog - forcing me to get off my ass and on my blog. Thus said, I tried to make up for the days I hadn't written a poem thus far (I decided to do this on the 20th).

I assigned myself
a poem a day - it was
so much easier when I didn't
have to.
Now it's work.
And left undone, I throw another bone
to Sins of Omission.

All these poems will need work - but that's ok - I did a lot of work in January, and here it is, no particular order. I'll do better in February, I promise.