The cares of the world waft away like
the vague images of a forgotten dream
when he climbs into bed beside me.
And my comfort is found in the warmth
of a slight up-curved smile relaxing across
an unshaven face tickling me with a
hundred kisses as I squeal to his delight.
A calloused hand urges the small of
my back gently forward as I fuss in
mock protest of his boyish game.
His eyes gleam indulgently making my
heart swell with such regard I
choke back joyful tears and throw
my arms possessively around him.
With a knowing sigh he draws me in,
cradling me in his capable arms
sworn to provide and protect.
Then he buries his face in my copper-red
hair breathing its henna scent, and
holding me tight, he whispers my name,
swearing love that will never relent.
Down where I sleep,
You hold me, embrace my every way
The Marks up on my skin
You caress, taking away from the ugliness
Watching the simple breath, when I breathe
Breaking the ice, soothing my inner peace
A sweet spray across the paleness in my limbs
Holding the warmth, I've been loved throughout my life.
From picking up sticks to the walking stick
My loving dear I know you will always be there
A few wheel chairs, when broken bones mend
You know my every cure*
Walk with me across the hall
Through the oldness, and the boldness of every color in the sky
Thank you for taking me as I am
A light twinkle' every time I feel the colors of the rainbow drip
Now a newborn takes his form
In you I find the strength to stretch my arms and reach for every star
When happy moments fail,
I embraced the colors I found in you
I make out every tree, and wonder why and how?
I close my eyes to imagine the fun of chasing fireflies
Tonight I'm keeping my prayers simple, cute, and innocent
I will count sheep and search for sweet lullaby dreams
Smiling like a 3 year old this very moment,
You think I'm having "Baby Blues."
My loving dear, thanks for having patience,
Painting my way down a toddlers sky
Every time "P M S" hits
I can't help but watch them
As they run into the water, laughing, teasing, holding hands
With the sun catching the color of her long, auburn hair
The bronze of his young, muscular, legs
So fascinated by them, ...I can't stop staring..
The beauty of their youth, ....
With young love, so stunning in the sunset...
I hold them in my gaze
Until I lose them in the waves.
You have been watching me, watching them....
Your hair has grey in it, recently trimmed, thinning in the crown
There is winter showing on your face
I remember this morning slipping into my swimsuit
Critical of the mirror in front of me
You laughed and said I was being silly
You sigh, and take a deep breath of the ocean air
You take another look at me
As my eyes continue to search the water..
You reach across the blanket and touch my shoulder..
Saying just what I need to hear at that moment...
"Give me a kiss, you beautiful girl"..........
Braise me down to a pit of abysmal.
Your balance ego
Keeps me on the void
Tainting my walls
Behind your back.
that first breath after hearing Beethoven
inhaling life from him
John’s many gifts to me
feeling his tears at La Boheme
hearing him laugh at Carmen
sharing the shock of a trembling “Equus”* audience
Broadway, Times Square, Rockefeller Center
hours of environmental debate
strolling through Central Park
John, you opened my eyes, my world
but failed to teach me one thing...
how to live “Without You”*
*Equus is a play by Peter Shaffer
*Without You by Nilsson was our song
Entry for Gail's "Remember a Lost Love" contest
“I’m not a machine, you know.”
He says huskily
As she places her chocolate tipped breast
Within inches of his lips
She just smiles, breastfeeding him
And leans back and sighs
As he gorges
On creamy chocolate ecstasy
Later, he wonders
About his insatiable wife
Wondering if he can keep up
With her little bedroom games
And trips into fantasy
He lies back in the
Exhaustion of fulfillment
About to close his eyes
When he hears her weeping
Trying to stifle her sobs
Should he pretend he doesn’t hear?
He is so tired
She quiets down
And before sleep claims him
He hears her whisper
“When you make love to me
That’s the only time
The only time….
You really SEE me
For those few moments
I feel that your world revolves around me
That you NEED me
To be fulfilled
The only time
You're the man you used to be
The one dying to possess me
And so I prostitute my love for you…
Hoping in these moments
Before he can respond
And he looks up at the ceiling and wonders
How life has changed him
His other friends complain
About their frigid wives and dull lives
So unlike his
He is fortunate
He remains in bed
Staring at the ceiling
She cries softly on the couch
Feeling broken, used
Just a receptacle for his need
While she remains empty
She fingers her phone
Thinking of the invitation there
A shared cup of coffee
Nothing more, and yet
She reads the real invitation
In the depth of his eyes
When he looks at her
She wipes her tears as she thinks of fidelity and promises…
He walks into the living room
She tries to cover her body
With her red see through lingerie
Her black hair covering her mascara streaked eyes
He kneels down in front of her
Pushing away her hair
His eyes searching hers
And holding them for a moment
Tilting her chin up, his lips cover hers
With a gentle longing
She gasps for breath
Shocked at the tears gathering in his eyes
His voice barely reaches her ears…
“Will you be my wife?”
She tries to draw him to her
But he takes a hold of her outstretched hand
And helps her to her feet
Gently leading her to the bedroom
And night turns to day
As he makes love to his wife
Satiating her soul
Realizing her every fantasy
He says all the things he’s felt, but never said
As he ravishes her…
His woman, his bride, his wife
The mid-morning sun
Caresses her face
And she awakens
To find herself
Where she’s always longed to be…
In her husband's arms
Tonight as candles flicker, she is sitting at the table
where her husband sat (before he passed away),
working on his daily crossword puzzles, seeming
most content although the nest they’d pieced
together gradually had emptied and grown quiet.
She remembers when her daughters,
chirruping like little birds, implored her please
to make their favorite cake named as a pie,
her famous Boston Cream.
Then busily she set to mixing butter, eggs; flour;
in other bowls, vanilla cream and chocolate glaze.
They liked it when she brought the china tea cups
from the cupboard and made a little party
just for them. . .
When all her birds had flown away, she tried to
cook and clean, pretending to be busy,
but really she just listened for their calls.
She saw her girls at holidays, but then when
they got married, the phone rang much less often.
And Christmas with them all was something rare.
Monotony hung heavy in the air.
No longer did she feel like baking cakes.
She faced the television while her husband
worked on puzzles and puttered round the house.
It seemed to her an effort just to breathe.
So then she’d go outside, buy groceries,
or stop and watch the children in the park.
A group of older ladies always flocked there
just like robins home for spring, twittering.
They’d beckon her to join them and chat.
But she just smiled, nodded, passed them by,
and wondered what could spark such animation.
For sadness now had settled over her.
It taxed her from her mornings to her nights,
sapping her of any old desires she once had.
And when her husband passed, she had no more
of sorrow left to cry.
So here she sits tonight beside the candles.
She thinks about the women in the park
and how they’d motioned to her just today.
A light inside her mind is flickering.
She rises from her chair, and flips a switch.
Her kitchen fills with light. She goes to where
for many years her cookbook lay untouched.
A harbinger, it opens to the place she’d often gone.
The weight of her dejection strangely lightens.
She gathers her ingredients and thinks about
the ladies; how she hopes they will react
when she gives her invitation, and
how cheerful they will be while sipping tea;
chirruping like girls, like little birds.
A stirring in her bones - this yearning to be free
kindling a rebellion -
the beginning of unburdening;
She starts to make her famous Boston Cream.
Decades yawn and stretch across the years,
traveling up the stairs, around the chairs
coiling around the door of one small room
that was groomed by the sun of a Saturday afternoon...
Floating on a sea of a hardwood floor
I'm prone, on my back, on a lavender rug
Examining the nail of my left hand thumb
hearing you express, that you aced your class
I had confessed, to missing you more each day
linked only to you, by that ivory phone
and a ring on my finger, that bound our love
and blinded our eyes to the doubt of youth...
Invitations in the mail, and a church on hold
There was a cake on order, and a cold hard world
You were glued to my ear, I was entrapped by a cord
that tugged on the wall, with every word
Light from the yard is scored by the blinds
but, there on the floor, prone on my back,
I'm bound by the cord that tethered our lives
Linked to your voice, where love was wound
Hovering over the sea of cold hardwood,
I had a pillow of shag of a lavender rug
The days stretching short and our vows yet untold
A cord getting stronger, that time would unfold
It was late at night, and softly said...Fred begged again, "Dear, come to bed"
Her answer...one, he had heard before, ..."Soon after the paper is read".., she said
Night after night, he would try again,..."Please, come to bed".., Fred said
She answered each night with a new excuse, ..."The cat must be fed", she said
He dangles by a single thread,..."I'll wait for you in bed", Fred said
She replied, each time with a different line, "There's office work instead"...she said
"My dear, I miss you in our bed. Come join me, soon, oh please?"... he said..
"When the Letterman show' is finally done, but then comes 'Mr. Ed' ", ...she said
One night she finally came to bed
But that's the night she found Fred dead
Her dreaded days were sorrow fed....now nights were long, and filled with dread...
She crawled in bed alone, instead, and drenched in pillows, tears were shed
The news was spread, she hangs her head,
Her heart is torn in two,...in shreds!
What she really meant........ instead ..........instead
She should have said "I Love You Fred"
Too late, 'cause Fred is dead
AS A DOOR NAIL !!
(If I've walked you down this path, misled,
you are getting mad, your face is red
and you'd like to strangle..., then behead me...
just because you read this poem,
about the tragic death of Fred...
Well...........I pondered that, and planned ahead...
Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy,
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
With my last sight of you. . .