The field stretches out like a long, slow breath,
a quiet that feels older than the boy who sits in it.
Jamie gathers himself into a small, tight shape~
knees pulled close, arms wrapped around
as if the world is too wide
and he must hold on to the one thing he can:
his own small center.
The coonskin hat tilts slightly,
a crown of childhood myth,
suggesting wild quests, hidden forts,
kingdoms built from branches and belief.
But today, imagination rests.
Today he sits still,
a lone spark in a sea of muted gold,
caught between the urge to explore
and the instinct to retreat.
The wind moves past him
like a thought he isn’t ready to follow.
The sky leans low,
soft with a kind of listening.
And in that distance~
in the hush between boy and horizon~
Wyeth finds the truth of childhood:
how even the bravest dreamers
sometimes fold inward,
holding themselves steady
against the vastness of becoming.
Can’t be my love
Can’t be my love. Can’t my drop
I needed, wished. I wished for love
Of you. From wished love. You dropped
Yes. A love. Honest. It's your shadow
Dark. But from my pure heart. Follow it
Following you. Followed you. Only love
Hmm. Unbelievable, your creation. I
I am honest at the right time, from your love
First time. But you took away. All my heart
One, all this love. You passed away far
My life has been robbed. Faraway desire
You don’t know my feelings. Depth to you
You are not alone. I will visit you. Alone
Will be placed. A little stone and a rose
On Sunday. On your stone. With love
With love, a rose
With a monogram, a gravel
To your gravestone
I loved you
Witness is
Teardrop
I travel incognito, using a name I once found
in a book of minor sorrows.
I have a longing for the sea, yet languish here
behind the wheel of a rental,
crisscrossing arid lands with many miles ahead.
A white plastic bag flaps on a thorn bush
it could act as a windsock but turns listlessly
in the breathless air.
A GPS guides my mind over a flickering map
toward an ocean that is too far away to reach today,
a place where silver fish leap in the aqueous air,
only to pause as still as stone in an ice-marbled sky.
That shore for now, is bereft of place and time
it can only be imagined through gaps in
rising walls of dust.
The hatchback seems to trundle slowly over
dinosaur bones, dry axles groan under
tired springs.
A hundred miles ahead a fish-restaurant
is getting ready to close its doors for the night.
A Motel 8’s neon lights flicker in a sea spray.
On an unseen shore, snow crab dance and sing
like sirens in the rolling surf.
Staring out of a flapping tent door,
sunset is hidden behind the hills.
Cuddled up in a flimsy sleeping bag,
I dream of a warm bed.
Morning breaks- craving hot tea,
watching my breath mist up
in the mute cold of dawn,
longing for the whistle of a kettle.
Home is more than mattresses and pillows
but a haven,
where regardless of how wrecked we are,
the door will always be open.
Home is where we feel safe.
Some spend lifetimes searching
Some walk away without a glance.
Others sleep under a makeshift roof
falling asleep to the sound of dripping water.
Many wish they had one,
Somewhere to be themselves ...
Standing on the edge of time,
Seeing the moon far away,
Heart sick with longing,
Heavy stones, laden piece by piece till heart drops.
A sight to behold—
Beautiful, pure, far away.
Reaching for an embrace,
As cold winds smack my face.
The brightest moon,
A contrast to my bleak spring.
The deepest longing,
With mosquitoes as my companion.
A wretched fate,
Only suited for an empty embrace.
Standing alone in an empty field,
As I watch the moon stray further away.
So I wish upon the forlorn stars
That fate brings us near—
In another life, or another world,
With an embrace so dear,
The sky will weep in joy.
I can’t conceal my moods, can you?
a long face reflects a rough day
a smile says now everything’s OK
Fighting back tears is useless, you see
something terrible’s happened to me
A faraway look in my eyes means I’m reminiscing
of our good times together ~ of what I’m missing
Oh how I yearn yet words remain compacted
within my chest, a heavy silence lies;
through tender touch, through gaze, our
souls aligned
in soft embrace, love whispers "never dies."
I've read the secrets written in your eyes
I can't help but wonder if you've read my eyes
speak to me; let silence not disguise the love
we have for each other, the dreams we both believe
For days I've waited, longing for your voice
the sound that flutters my heart and brings me peace
if your voice could grace the air I breathe, I'd evermore rejoice
Oh my angel, with your melodic voice, heal this broken soul.
through distance, love took roots within my soul
hands can't reach you, yet my chest bust of good memories
She stands at the window,
Looking at the children in the meadow,
Playing outdoors is a luxury,
She’s saddled with drudgery.
She feels the world has no place for her,
And emancipation is only a blur,
She wishes she could hide in the night,
Or climb its ladder to a distant height.
Death has brought her down a horrid way,
The sun-kissed day doesn’t see her come out to play,
Sometimes she sings the redemption song,
This aids her to get along.
Though she’s glad she has found an abode,
Home is still a faraway road,
A voice whispers to her in her slumber,
It tells her to prop hope in her chamber.
May 27, 2024.
I love how wè live faraway
From the noise and voices
Echoing like dominoes falling
fast and faster into the abyss
Of destruction.
I love how we live safely,
We think, as long as the world
Stays confined within electronic
Devices like caged birds, wings
Beating breezes into deluges.
I love how we live unmolested
By the sharp edges of violence,
The softness of sun when it rises
And when it sets buttresses our fortress
Of blindness.
As the sun was setting
And the birds were in their nests
A weary old lady
Laid her head upon a pillow
To take a short rest
She was very tired
And soon fell fast asleep
She looked lovely and comfortable,
Peaceful, tidy and neat.
Her house was in order,
Chores were all done
She had written to friends and family,
Acknowledging everyone.
As she lay sleeping
She looked so serene
The silence was palpable,
As if in a dream
Suddenly a cock crowed,
To welcome a new day
The old lady never heard the cock
She had quietly passed away.
I found light when darkness is engulfing me
Lead me through,even when the storm rise within me
Keep me high, don't let me fall
And u I will live for
Cause right now,I feel my heart is faraway
Faraway from me
My city is filled with stars
Cause I have my angel with me
Breezes blowing through her auburn hair
Reminded me of seashores in faraway places,
Those times we lounged in an afternoon lair
In the most God-forsaken primitive spaces,
The best times of our life together, I swear.
Written October 9, 2022
[dedicated to Deborah]
Submitted to "Bite Size No. 53" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
A beaver and a bandicoot,
After playing squash one day,
Were sipping cappuccinos
At a quaint outdoor café.
"Ah, thish ish sho like Parish",
Lisped the beaver with a sigh.
"And I," remarked the bandicoot,
"am 'minded of Mumbai,
And Rome, and Barcelona,
And so many other places."
The beaver merely sat there
Being quiet and making faces.
"What's the matter, chum?" asked bandicoot,
His voice as soft as flannel,
"I thought you tripped as much as I.
Don't you watch the Travel Channel?"
Love that you found someone for yourself.
Hate that you're often becoming further away
From me instead of anyone else...
Why should I be there for others
When no one is here or there for me?
I have already acclaimed how lonely I am.
Yet nothing else, but this same path,
Is willing to change.
Not that I am incapable of making friends...
I just intuitively know who is genuine
By the sound of their voice and words.
A voice within a voice once had spoke to me.
Asked for something from me...
I've given it to you ever since:
A loyal, close-yet-faraway bond.
Same for you, same for me;
That eternal fondness is there.
Yet somedays it feels so scarce.
The ooze ought to bestow fear on its forms.
The torrid heat of July gags your sacred calling.
It holds inside you, humbly inviting storms.
Singing in the gentle light of root caregiving.
Their activity heedfulness is vanishing.
Hanging pixie wings are sharp, yet blurring.
Daffodils, once joyful, are now luckless.
This late gap is bred by the deity endless.
Each one should heed this hidden tone of truth.
Earthly grief openly evokes settled insight.
Eschew sinking sand in blurring tracts, youth.
This area's lands grasp a waning and fading sight.
When we omit our inner tone, we get a breeze.
We've joined a so barren and chaotic apostasy.
Deep murk, sluggish heart, stifled worries ease.
A moving, rolling wind minds us on our life story.
Bear not the soul to untie ruin across each plain.
As the world deems you, you expect likely to rain.
The culminating bashes are quick and hastily thrown.
Each day gains betterment and outgrown.
Written: April 25, 2022
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