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Text of Poems - Love, Erotica and Heartbreak
Casting Call (2009)
Cat
and Smoking Man (2009)
Even Now
(2003)
Flame (2003)
Fountain
(2003)
Haiku (2003)
Haiku
(2003)
His Eyes (2003)
Impatience
(2003)
Inertia (2007)
The
Intemperate Heart (2003)
Last
Impressions (2003)
Letter to the
Younger Woman (2005)
Love in
Flight (2004)
Love in the
Meadow (2006)
Love
Letters in the Void (2004)
Love Poem
(2003)
Mirror (2004)
The
Ocean in Your Eyes (2004)
Ode
to Stolen Moments (2003)
Options
(2006)
Pas de Deux (2008)
The
Pool (2003)
Release
(2003)
Sanctuary (2006)
Say
it, Say it (2003)
Sitting Shiva
for Love (2005)
Song (2003)
The
Sumac Bower (2002)
Time
Stands Still (2003)
Triangulation
(2007)
Truths (2003)
Tug
of War (2004)
When Inside Voice
Escapes (2003)
Windswept Soul
(2003)
Casting Call
Is it madness to attempt to exhume life from faded
photographs,
stroking smiles that reach from the past?
Do
we take our cues measuring ourselves against who they were,
measuring them against who we wanted?
Though the years may sit well upon our masks,
softening
jaws and deepening eyes,
what is retained when time so alters
our characters
and mutes memory with new experience?
Are we truly learning new roles,
or mending costumes in
hopes of an extended run?
If we are the sum of our parts,
can
we discard the possibility of revival?
We stand shivering, casting off caution
slipping into
heels that will never allow us to run,
bracing ourselves for
the lingering moment
before the curtain call.
Cat and Smoking Man
(after a painting by Lewis)
You watched from the French doors
as I entered your
domain -
perched and preening, quiet and alert
in your
soft, calico jealousy.
You circled and stretched,
I offered a tentative
hand,
seeking your welcome and his approval.
You sought
your throne by his side.
Your defenses worn, curiosity piqued -
you climbed my
back and nibbled clove-scented hair,
as I sat at his feet
confessing
like so much yarn unraveling.
You watched while we kissed
winding around our ankles
in
the smoke-filled kitchen
with whiskey-stained floor.
You sat on my hip as I lay beside him
holding him while
he cried.
I scratched you behind the ear
and asked you to
take care of him.
I miss feeling your patient scrutiny of me,
sharing your
quiet protection of him.
Have I a place in your heart
among
those before and since?
Do you still soothe his darkness -
paws upstretched in
his gentle hands
dancing with his solitude?
Is your joy
enough for both of you?
You are blue in his portrait of you -
singing and
leaping from his lap
beside the jagged, quixotic face
and
plume of smoke.
Even Now
Even now
though we step on one another’s toes
and
move to different tunes,
sometimes we come together
and you
dance inside me
and hold my breath in your eyes.
Flame
You are the flame
And I, the obedient moth
I fear
what I crave
I must look away
Or be consumed.
Fountain
With gentle tongue
I will slake my thirst
with the
mingled milk and honey
from the trembling fountain.
Haiku
The passion of lovers
burns glorious when shared
yet
is rarely sustained.
Haiku
I wait in silence
To touch your soul with my eyes
Your
heart with my heart.
His Eyes
Swept me in
Held me back
Laid me bare
Judged
me
Measured me
Calmed me
Frightened me
Aroused me
In
a single gaze
Impatience
My deep aching emptiness for you
will not wait for a
bed.
Let me ride you where you sit
your face warmed by my
breasts.
Lift me, suspend me,
brace the wall with my back.
Wrap
my legs around you,
pierce the sky with our joy.
Inertia
My kindness elicits your venom and spite
yet your smiles
are unrelenting and remorseless.
Each time I accept their
dizzying regularity,
your olive branches sprout thorns.
I
recoil in pain, I seek solace, I lick my wounds -
you
disguise the thorns better on the next pass.
I never ask
myself whether I want their bitter fruit,
as if every meager
offering must be accepted.
Clouds of disappointment crowd days
that
stretch and linger and fade all hope of summer.
The Intemperate Heart
The intemperate heart must wait for love,
for passion
equal to itself
no matter the pain, sorrow
inconstancy or
solitude.
For to do otherwise,
for companionship, amity
for
worthy compatibility,
is to walk as one dead among the
living,
drawing breath without sight of it,
feeling flame
without heat of it,
gazing at the sun without blindness.
Last Impressions
I held snapshots of you in my memory;
The lines of your
face,
the depths of your eyes,
and the colors of your
words
were windows to hope.
It happened in a single moment;
Crippled with
expectation,
we saw only one another’s selfishness.
I
recoiled from your coldness;
you sneered at my anonymity.
Now, the briefest glimpse of your face
sets me
shivering.
The blunt force of your voice
leaves me cold and
empty,
hollow and unmoved.
In the corners of my emptiness
only shadows of you
remain;
dim and imperfect and faded.
Yet I would wish for
more light,
if it were offered.
Only your eyes in the softness of another season
can
balm my heart,
and they are withheld from me.
How did I
earn your disfavor?
Were my eyes not invitation enough to
kindness?
You have left me hanging and jagged
as singed
parchment
ready to crumble at a single breath.
Letter to the Younger Woman
My hair is not like yours:
It has the streaks that
reveal experience.
Age, some would call it; but I call it
wisdom,
and am proud to flaunt its shining tears.
My eyes are not like yours:
They crinkle with the joy
and glow of living.
Though they can still darken with
self-doubt,
they can search and know and impart grace.
My body is not like yours;
I am abundant and curved and
soft,
and silvery knowingness is in my skin.
My hips have
borne both lovers and children.
My sighs are not like yours:
I have long since
abandoned
all pretense to convention or propriety,
and give
and receive in equal and hungry measure.
But we are not so different, you and I:
The same arms
have embraced us
The same lips have kissed us
The same eyes
have betrayed us.
Love in Flight
My love is a bird
flying over shifting
horizons,
feathers blossoming
with each breath or breeze.
Let me not cage you
but love you
in all your beauty
free.
Love in the Meadow
Make love to me in the meadow,
awake to the starry
night,
beneath a canopy of branches,
on a bed of leaf and
vine.
Listen to the trees breathe in concert;
feel the earth
thrum up into our bones.
Love Letters in the
Void
There are love letters in the void -
murmurs to you
and
whispers back;
gasps of commonality,
sighs of
sharing,
warmth in our safe separateness.
I savor my dreams of you -
as secret as boundless joy
can hold them.
We teach each other
by shouting,
by
silence,
in masks and in nakedness.
You are my muse, my tormentor -
the touch of whose
words
can sear me,
can save me,
can hold me
harmless
and innocent and defiled.
You are a dream I allow myself
the light and love
of
what is possible
and precious
and pure.
Love Poem
I didn’t want to be on a pedestal
looking down at
him
or over his head on to something else.
I don’t want
to set someone else on a pedestal
to suppress my own
desires
or show him another view.
I want to be eye to eye
and hip to hip
I want to get
my hands dirty
smell anger, denial, release
taste pain and
ecstasy
eager to swallow
all you offer and demand.
Lock me in a deadly embrace
of blind fury and
passion
leaving the noble sentiments behind.
Fill me with
heat and rage
and fear and adoration
till I break with
exquisite pain
and then I’ll climb back into your lap for
more.
Take this bitter hunger from me
Feed me.
Mirror
Does love need a mirror
to know its own face?
Does
its secret make it sweeter?
The Ocean in Your Eyes
There is ocean in your eyes -
Throw me a line
and
pull me into the infinite.
I want to dive into the
unfathomable depths of your
eyes
not fearing to fall
not fearing to land.
The ocean in your eyes
calms and excites
and
frightens
in its unknowable depths -
Depths in which I
would spend
a lifetime, lost.
Ode to Stolen Moments
It is impossible
to open a Skippy jar in silence -
I
surreptitiously swirl the spoon full
and raise it
engorged
and glistening
to my eager lips.
I slide my tongue firmly
up one side
and then down the other,
Pressing it against
the roof of my mouth
Bathing it with saliva
And in a burst
of flavor
Letting it sublime down my throat
Options
The cage you chose
The bars you gnaw
The lock you
never picked
The burdens you bear
The paths you take
The road that
lays unseen.
The words that slip
The pain you inflict
The arms
that ache, so empty
The embrace you crave
The love you hide
The lie you
choose to live.
Pas de Deux
(A pantoum)
When I dreamed you here into being
to fill dark, lonely
corners,
a script was lovingly written,
a place upon a
stage was marked.
In filling dark, lonely corners,
I failed to see the
depths of your own -
a place upon a stage had been marked;
we
danced in awareness and not.
I failed to see the depths of your own,
that you filled
in blindness with me -
we danced in awareness and
not,
absorbed in our silent soliloquies.
That you filled in blindness with me
I willfully
imagined would pass,
absorbed in our silent soliloquies,
in
alternating black and white.
I willfully imagined the past
in alternating black and
white
you were miscast in the role I had written,
when I
dreamed you then into being.
The Pool
Your fingers are gliding as if
drawn as if by a silken
thread
over the hillock
through the thicket
to the
secret grove.
Enter the glade
and bathe in the pool.
Release
Your splotchy wine glass
from last night’s
episode
sparkles against the granite countertop.
I want to fling it against the wall
and watch its
glittering shards
scatter and rain to the floor.
Sanctuary
Hold your corners to my curves,
your steel to my
silk.
Let me wash away your angst
in the waves of my
hair.
Soothe your rough edges
against the swell of my
belly.
Release your cries
into the warmth of my neck.
I am the moon and the tide
and the force to which you
cleave.
Say it, Say it
You are sealing the duct tape over my mouth gently
as if
remembering my allergy to adhesive.
I feel walls coming back up
shortening my arms
blunting
my fingers
covering my eyes
starving me
suffocating
me.
I’m barely treading water
in the belly of the
beast
straining against a tether
rationing my time.
You are holding on so tightly,
while I am trying so hard
to squeeze through your tentacles.
A word has coalesced on my tongue
forming a
drop,
waiting for enough gravity
to fall resounding into
your ear.
The one shall be as two;
turning
the we upside down.
I want to gather my anthems of uniqueness
about me
and remember who I am,
without judgment or
blame,
and be the best person I can be…
Alone.
I try to speak
yet you pluck the very words from my
vocal cords.
Sitting Shiva for Love
I’m sitting Shiva for love –
Sitting on the edge of
the mattress
on the floor, rocking,
holding my pillow to my
face
and remembering your scent.
I’m sitting Shiva for love –
Collecting shards of
memories
From my pockets,
the nightstand,
every corner
and counter.
I’m sitting Shiva for love –
Scrubbing off the pink
nail polish
you loved so much,
rubbing away the streaks of
mascara
and standing naked before the mirror.
I’m sitting Shiva for love –
Later, I will wash my
sheets
sweep the floor, scrub the bathroom,
removing your
skin, your hair,
and the scent of your cigarettes.
And tomorrow…
Tomorrow, I will paint my nails red and
I will draw my
eyes bright and my smile wide
and I will dance as if it were
Purim.
And you, my love,
you will be but a thing
of
pebbles and candles and Kaddish.
Song
Take the instrument into your hands
Tuned to your
touch
Bring forth mournful, moanful song.
The Sumac Bower
The Muscadine grapes hang high in the pine trees,
pendulous
and sweet.
The sea of reedy grasses
parts before us under a
late summer sun
Waving dill, butterflies in suspended
animation,
milk weed pods ready to burst.
I’ll lead you to the sumac bower;
Yarrow and Indian
paintbrush lining our path.
Lay down with me in the lacy
shadows,
make the tufted grass our bed.
Join our song with
the meadowlarks and the locusts
and our fragrance with the
sunlit herbs.
Time Stands Still
When our eyes first met,
everyone else in the room
blushed.
I remember the sound of the door opening,
the light
steps of your moccasined feet
the sway of your hips,
your
shoulders, your hands,
and the intensity with which
your
eyes fixed on mine.
I remember the most trivial details
of your
clothing,
but I remember not a word
of our fragmented
conversation
over the next four hours
while I waited for
your shift to end.
I remember most
the cool grass of the park,
and the
scent of the Russian Olives,
with the Pleaides
and the dew
falling around us.
Triangulation
We have invented a crude geometry
to cover our
nakedness,
where arcs of arms enclose
sacred, safe spaces
of trust -
yet we are neither of us good at arithmetic.
We carve fragile niches
for our momentary lapses of
reason,
holding breaths and breezes from wary eyes and
lips.
You tether me gently to the earth and
I teach you to
fear not to dream.
We build rickety bridges
across the disparate reaches
of our memories
weighing the narcotic of comfort
and the
thrill of the unknown -
But that which is measured does not
soothe.
We segment hours of anonymity
with stolen moments that
roll back clocks and miles,
drying whiskey tears,
smoothing
the creases and
lightening jaundiced, darkened snapshots.
We have not yet risen above
the tyranny of numbers;
in
moments of doubt you struggle to see
a difference of age is
not always
a difference of understanding.
I know, as
you cannot yet
of the leaps of faith
that sway the
pendulum
that add more sand to the glass
and stretch
happiness to the horizon.
Truths
Some things cannot be said
in the light of day.
Truths
that flew eagerly
from hungry lips
and moonlit arms
are
bound and gagged
in the harsh light of morning;
our courage
stolen
our masks replaced
context and practicality
restored.
Does the sun remind us of Icarus?
Remind us not to fall?
Tug of War
A rope in a tug of love
a hug struggle
fraying over a
fulcrum of need
abrading and giving and taking and giving
and
taking and taking and taking
and leaving.
When Inside Voice Escapes
1.
It’s all about you
what YOU don’t want to
lose,
the time YOU want with me;
As you cling more
tightly
I fly further away.
You don’t listen to my fears;
My words bounce off you
like hailstones in the lawn.
You don’t respect my time;
Sometimes I feel I am
drowning
in a sea of trivial crap.
2.
I have no inherent value;
I’m a natural resource
whose assets must be metered
and carefully exploited.
I’m controlled and constricted;
I’m the quaking
aspen
whose roots must be poisoned
to prevent spreading.
I’m free for the taking;
I have boundless natural
predators.
Yet my defenses are toothless
to restrain them.
I’m invisible;
I’m the grass by the garden
to be
felled with a weed whacker
when I obscure your view of the
flowers.
3.
I want to excise my dreams with a scalpel
to make
the pain stop.
Don’t you realize
I’ve wanted to drown
in a bathtub of my own blood?
I want to stand
in my own space,
in my own
shade,
not yours.
I want to hear my own thoughts
vying for air time
with
the leaves in the apple tree
and the thistles in the field.
Windswept Soul
What do you do when your soul sings to you
of feelings
you'd safely packed away
and plants within your heart
the
dream of another?
Does depression infuse attraction with desperation?
Is
infatuation always unrealistic?
Is it always immature?
Or
is it premature?
Does healing allow infatuation to be genuine?
Can it be a seed for something else,
to flourish and bear
fruit
or to wither for lack or nourishment or opportunity?
Does infatuation compensate
for lost opportunities for
immortality?
Plotting escape from the ordinary
striving for a life
that matters
clutching pregnant moments
that hang like
drops on a glass
slipping with the weight of memories.
Can you rekindle for someone
a spark that was never
lit?
Can you cultivate that which runs wild?
Can love
endure without hunger?
Do you suffocate your soul
in
repressing passionate kinship?
Will patient commitment
suffice to withstand
the bloom of passion for another?
Is
it natural for a windswept soul
to tether the head and heart?
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