Could she,
with walls built high
and deep
open a small door
to her keep
and let me
in?
What does she fear?
What holds her back?
That I’ll get too near?
Place her heart under attack?
Perhaps, but she should know this:
All pain
is worth that gain.
and that risk.
She sometimes feels
I exist to romance her.
But what if I’m what’s real,
and simply God’s answer?
Why do I cry? Die?/
Not I, nor one close to me./
It’s your pain I see.
The last poem was about me
and you.
This one won’t be.
You’re gone.
It’s a sad surprise
this Christmas season.
Your love,
laughter,
energetic soul,
and brotherly caring
will leave a void
in my friend’s heart.
It makes me weep.
But I cry easily.
Even now, words
are blurred
on the page.
But she, my friend,
never cries.
She is a rock.
She puts up walls.
She takes care of others.
She takes care of business.
She is stoic,
a white with few emotions shown.
No one can ever see
how she feels,
how she hurts.
She shrugges
and trugges
on.
But you always made her laugh.
Always made her smile.
Always filled her heart with
tender joy when no one else could.
Her home walls
are mostly empty,
except for photos of
her family,
and the art
you created
and gave her.
Her eyes,
always bright,
would sparkle and shine
even more,
when she talked
about you,
your creativity,
your capacity
for caring.
“My brother” she’d start,
with a big smile:
“He is different,
but so creative.
I love him so much.”
Some of her best stories
start with:
“One time,
my brother and I … ”
And now you’re gone,
and, for the first time ever,
I heard her weep
in pain,
in sadness,
in soulful sorrow,
in loss.
She must be hurting
more than I’ll ever know.
I do understand
how much she loved you.
You will be missed.
And what will she do
with the homemade Christmas gift
she made you?
Sleep well,
creative prince.
Sleep deep,
while we,
left behind,
in emptiness weep.
She never has cried,
but, sometimes, when a light dies
in your life, you must.
The suction of cheeks/
and crunch of ice and candy/
proclaim her desire.
Written in the Basque coastal region of Biarritz, France, and San Sebastian, Spain
There are people who are
more practical and planned
than I am.
There are people who show up
when it’s convenient
for everyone.
I show up, sometimes,
when it’s convenient
for noone,
hoping that something wonderful
will happen.
And it usually does
for me.
My pattern is,
because something wonderful happens,
even if it’s not planned,
I keep going to the well.
I keep putting myself
into positions of wonder and amazing …
and I never get disapointed.
But it’s not
everyone’s pattern.
People are wonderful.
My time with them is wonderful
no matter what time it is.
The other day
I ate chocolate crepes
for dinner.
That was after
I’d had chocolate pastries
for lunch.
Along with hot chocolate for lunch
and dinner,
I had chocolate
during the evening.
The next day I had
another chocolate pastry.
For lunch I ate
at a tapas bar
in Spain.
I had a chocolate.
Then, that evening,
I had a chocolate pastry,
Spanish hot chocolate (VERY thick and rich!),
and some chocolate-covered orange slices
that were wonderful.
THEN later on that evening
I had ANOTHER French hot chocolate.
Today I had
two more cups of hot chocolates,
a chocolate pudding dish,
AND a chocolate WARM dessert
with ice cream.
If there was a pastry shop,
or a cafe’,
still open,
I would probably go out
and get another chocolate
something.
You are the chocolate
in my life.
I keep returning
to the feast.
1:28 run./
Early morning Atlantic./
In surf I find me.
Thankfulness is more. /
Like abundant fields, it grows/
when friends shine your life.
OR
Gratitude expands. /
Like sun-drenched fields, my thanks grows/
as friends enrich life.
She sought uniqueness./
When she felt it, like a flame,/
his warmly stirred her.
Sometimes I awake,
Early morning,
In a half-dream state,
And my mind starts roaming.
I imagine my hands:
they begin to trace
skin, trembling, grand;
Up from your feet;
Down from your face.
I wonder how 2
Put hands in passion’s fire;
run fingers thru a valley of longing,
And caress mountains of desire.