Tie it up pretty
with a ribbon,
curled by the edge
of sharp scissors
that should have
cut the string
rather than
encouraged a vain
sense of beauty
and gift giving
Tag: beauty
The Eyes Have It
The eyes have it.
Yours didn’t.
Do I stay
or do I go?
I didn’t know.
Now we both exist,
we live our lives–good lives!–
but we cross paths
with passing glances.
I don’t need to know
but I sure want to.
Do we course correct,
do we connect, do we
throw all caution without care,
do we carry on
as two unpaired?
What’s the story
hidden there?
Is it one
you want to share?
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When the Poets Run Out of Things to Say
The saddest word
I ever heard
I heard of just today
that loving her
was to defer
more love to self some way.
How crude,
how worn,
how deep forlorn
that view of love so flawed!
How evident
of life that’s spent
in vanity’s own fraud.
If only you
could see right through
that lie you’re holding close
then you might see
despairingly
it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .
At the End of the World, Turn Left
Nowhere has to be somewhere
but somewhere between here and there
we lost our way again.
You joked that you “know where”
this nowhere was
and I smiled with a bloody lip.
We didn’t know where we were
or where we would end up
and the map we drew
cut off the roads to Rome.
Was this the beginning or the end?
No, where was this going?
Know where this was going.
The path lay straight ahead
but the ditches looked like fun.
When I Tried to Think of Her
The streets are wet with tears,
the roads dry with apathy.
At the intersection
there’s a yellow light
blinking at the speed
of dying dreams.
Above, above the radio chatter
is the singing stars,
coughing in the orange glare.
I walk along the gutter
and pass old friends and foes
in tandem.
It’s a long way but a short trip
and I haven’t seen you yet.
Mheall Sí Lena Glórthaí Mé
I don’t miss the days
of being young and dumb
when I am just a bit older now
but sometimes when I hear a note
on the old piano
I hear that French tune all over again,
played by an inexperienced player
who made it her goal to learn it,
who played her heart out
even further
than its usual place
at the opening of her sleeves,
who dared to be herself
and smile all the while
they told her not to,
yes,
only sporadically do I wish
to step back in time
that I might let her know then,
or earlier,
or later
that her voice carried through life
and it carries through time
with grace and charm and admiration.
Not just the song. Not just the one time.
Not just the words
nor the words of this poem.
It was everything she did,
and she enticed me with her voice
The Choicest Hours
If you feel that you must choose
then please: do not choose me.
I don’t think that I could live
with that fact willingly.
Don’t put a bell on the grave
of these–our memories–
let time and worms be fattened
upon its treasury.
If you should think on this, well,
the notion disabuse.
Leave it behind. Go forward
with all that you did choose.
Photosynthesis
I couldn’t tell you specifics
about the physical sciences,
biology, or such,
but I could tell you
about those green eyes of hers
that light up
to create energy
in my beating heart
down to the very cells and atoms
of my being.
I may not understand it
but I sure
want to learn
Dancing in Utopia
Back and forth, this rocking chair
has one leg in the past,
dancing in utopia
of days that didn’t last.
One leg still remains right here
but it presents the now
which looks above and ahead
the sweat upon the brow.
Now, I can’t tell the future
but I can tell you this,
work or rocking chairs or dance–
with you it’s always bliss.
Cold Hands
There is a feeling
as if the purest oxygen
filled your lungs
when she is near.
I was lost in a trance
but heard all the mimes and monks
sing Che Gelida Manina
as loud as they could
just to get her attention.
Cold hands indeed, Puccini,
for the warmth is a raging furnace
in her heart.
I’ll not be Rodolfo; please don’t be Mimi.
I’ll take your hand
if you want me to,
only if you want me to.
But I’ll still sing love in my heart.
The Unnecessary Blog 