Category Archives: Poetry

I Would

If I could submerse myself
I would, into him, who is
the water, where no part
would be unknown,
no part unseen or hidden,
no part unfelt, but all of me
and nearly drowned,
I’d find in him, I’d float.

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Ask The Gods

You seem to punish yourself,
for the thoughts you have of me
are my thoughts, with arms
and legs to wrap around you
in this perfectly natural state,
where I have never doubted
I would be happiest
with nothing but you, and nothing
between us but a kiss of madness
upon the mouth. And I relish in it,
these thoughts with you, in all
this peeling away, in all our
nakedness, and there is nothing
I would hesitate or be ashamed
to say, when it comes to how I feel
about you. 

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Original Meaning

Let me rest
the words
here
between us,
and while
I sleep
to dream
in green,
may all the
the words
somehow find
their way
back
to their
original
meanings,
that when
I wake,
and still
hard-pressed
to be
against you,
will finally
know
what all words
meant
when said
in our
lizard brains. 

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Insatiable Desire

Beneath the covers
could we hide such
lustful appetites
with hands that run
the softest lines
along the body?
Like a trembling
newborn fawn
to its mother’s teat,
suckling, suckling,
hungry to fill
the mouth
with such sweet need
we have
of each other,
until the body
spent, wakes
and partakes again,
over and over
you asked,
and so we gave
of ourselves
like something
innocent, obscene,
and wild;
this inability to tame
this insatiable desire.

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Bed Pillows

Am I the last thought
to cross your mind
at night, and the first
to pour through your
eyes in morning?
And what do I do to you
in dreams, asleep and
waking? Where the roof
of the house is ours,
though not containing
to hold the boards
of the floors we walk on
that creak and ache,
full of the dreams
that run off of our
bed pillows.
So yes, I am listening,
beside you, waiting
for you to tell me, how it is
we got so lost.  

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Me Neither

He says something that resonates,
and I think, how true of everything,
where feet dare to tiptoe or abound
with no thought for consequence,
should be every Wordsmith’s motto
inscribed above the door frame,
‘unless the words lead me there, then
I don’t want to go.’ 

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Soldier of Experience

The hours,
they fall upon us
like heavy cloaks
as we pass
each other,
as we are forced
to march
and walk
through Time;
Oppressive Master,
always counting
to the meter,
to the rhyme,
“faster, faster!”
he yells,
in sounds of
constant ticking.
So incessant,
how many of us
forget and fail
to hear, these
cloaks we wear,
and how soon
Time will take
them back
and demand that
what was borrowed
for a season
be passed on
and given
to another
Soldier of Experience.

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These In-Betweens

There are no more words
I care to use
to build walls with,
and no more words
to bridge
such an expansive divide,
where all these
in-betweens,
they never existed,
and dare I say,
neither did you or I.
But what an untruth
we both know that is,
and what a falsehood
to say, what a lie.
So there are no more words
I care to use
to tell the world with,
how he loves me, yet still,
doesn’t understand why. 

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Loop

It really threw me for a loop seeing you like I did. And it’s so peculiar, even after thirty years, how the bone structure of a face, it never changes, and how recognizable it is; all the lines and angles I had grown so accustomed to, even the intensity of your stare, and for a moment, it felt as though we were both 15 and 16 again, and that nothing had ever changed, and that time had never taken either of us anywhere.  And I never thought I’d say this, not in a million years. Never thought for a second, that I would see you again and out of all places here. And never thought that all those feelings that took me so long to forget, and to bury, would come flooding back and all at once as memories – of you.

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Voice

I am in this quiet space
where I have
put myself
inside my head
where I think,
I am alone,
I think I am alone,
as I try to decipher
the Voice
I think I know
inside myself,
the Voice,
I can never
seem to capture,
the Voice,
so hard to pin down,
in this quiet space
where I have put myself,
where I think,
I am alone.  

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Time’s Advances

I know the words needn’t rhyme,
and I know as much as might try
I will never be able to force the
hands of Time backwards,
and I will never be able to stand
in the line of fire and bring to halt
Time’s advances.
But I might try to befriend Time,
to find in Time’s favor how I might
go unnoticed so that I will never
have to feel Time’s ravages,
at least, not until I expire.

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Thoughts in Sentences

How difficult
to be in this
one-sided
conversation,
where all one can
do is listen
and try
to comprehend,
“what is it,
about this
fallible condition?”
but condition,
nonetheless,
doesn’t make
much sense,
when all one
needs to do
is simply stop
and ask
the question. 

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Without Question

I undo you,
like a lace,
and as hard as
it is for you
to fathom,
and as hard
as it is
for you
to imagine,
how it is
to be loved
and without question;
I love you.

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Dance of the Fishes

Give me all the words
I ever needed,
standing in front
of an aquarium
and watching
how the jellyfish
seem to defy gravity,
like buoyed
ballet dancers
confined to a tank
full of water, but
how they all somehow
bring the ocean
with them.
And I stand there
mesmerized, and wonder,
how is it? they make it
look so easy, when
they’ve been preparing
their whole lives for this;
dance of the fishes,
and then, in comes
the roses,
thrown in adoration;
one upon the other;
for such extraordinary
wonder –  is to live!

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Lace

To be unhinged,
bolts pulled
at the waist,
hands on hips
slide into position,
the body pivots,
forward pressed
like a garment
ironed, heat
in a hot steam
at back of neck
where words form
against the ear
like water droplets,
then evaporate
delirious with feeling;
this muffled
labored sound;
this breathing,
in and out,
and in and out,
with hands
pushed down
and laced together.

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Song of Sun

What voices trill,
awake in mornings,
bright and early,
jubilant song,
of beaks and feathers,
song of sun.

What joy to throw
all windows open,
what joy to hear,
what joy to listen,
the day begins,
the day begun. 

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Nectar From The Jar

In the air, there is so much
stillness at times,
that I wonder if we will ever be able
to empty ourselves of it.
The way the train whistle blows
in early morning
so that the quiet footsteps
of the deer will hurry,
hurry, across the tracks.
Or the way the hummingbird
will buzz about me at midday,
that I hardly noticed
if he were even there when asked,
because honestly, I didn’t,
while he was stealing
nectar from the jar.
Or the way the raven
sits on the fence post in evenings,
and somehow makes me question
if he holds every promise
that an ink jar might give.
And I suppose that’s all this really is;
this business of writing;
stealing movement from the air. 

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Thought Process

In this pulling apart
of thoughts or processes,
or of how thoughts
are processed,
in selecting or deselecting,
in discarding or keeping,
or possibly even salvaging.
Perhaps in the upheaval
what one finds
is what’s needed,
what serves them,
or what doesn’t,
what works, or what’s broken,
in this whittling down,
in this necessary constant,
for all of the why’s,
or for all of the reasons,
in the questioning of oneself.

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String

This stringing of words,
where each seems to fall
like a bead,
where I have lost count
and am uncertain
as to how much longer
the string. And true, I am
tired of counting, and tired
of how few words
do in fact, come back to me,
and how few I know
that never will; in all of this;
unchanging saying, would
make me but a fool to believe
how this, how could this?
ever amount to anything
more than what it is? but string.

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You and I

I go back
to the words,
rewrite, rehash,
and I don’t know
how many
or why the
compulsion.
The same way
I go back
to the completion
of a language,
and every word
I might find
in-between or
on the margins
of you and I.
Always searching,
for that place
where we are
wrapped together
between who knows
how many pages,
where yes,
all words
would fall
like rain
around us.
And so I ask myself,
and you,
the question;
why
this constant want
for the sound
of falling?

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