Quarter moon
watches the trail of your flight
fade from golden sparks
to embers, to scars.
I read and highlighted
the lyrics
of two perfectly different,
however similar
modern songs.
One was
‘The Season of the Sticks’
and the other
was ‘Stubborn Love.’
I don’t live in Vermont,
But my yard and roof
confirm that spring
is coming. I also have
no interest
in landscaping.
I found myself circling
and counting
all the “half” words
and considering
how the repetition
of a word offers more
than half a meaning.
While sipping watered-
down coffee beans and
staring at a full parking lot,
I decided on one thing
that I wanted today,
the “opposite of love’s
indifference” when I
exit the anonymity
of The Joy Bar
Coffee Co.
I don’t know
“some version” of myself.
Unfortunately, I know more.
I might leave “tire tracks”
on the world’s uncaring
pavement, or my own
driveway on the edge
of oblivion.
I am not “split
in half” or
a fragment
of myself, like a
blueberry
that never made it
to juicy, round
perfection.
In twenty minutes
I will pick my son up
from golf practice
and drink the remnants
of cold coffee
on the way.
I meandered in a quiet loop of forever,
Over the bridge in the hush of dusk,
Beyond the ageless cradle,
Hunting myself I left behind.
Was it really there?
And then I realized,
Even the compass has forgotten my name.
As I left breadcrumbs in the storm,
Every path whispered a maybe!
People?
Gone, as a drizzle beneath the summer sun,
None stayed long enough -
Because I was smiling behind all that ache.
Halfway there,
To a place I have only felt in silence,
To peace that may not exist at all,
Just in case IT IS there.
I am spent,
Because the rose I carry dug its thorns into me.
Yet the hope breathes through every thread of blood... And that...
Is enough.
Meet me halfway,
Cross the slough and the mire.
Meet me halfway,
By the strands of barbed wire.
Relinquish our vows
To ravish each other,
And just for the moment,
Be brother to brother.
Meet me halfway,
Cross this killing field.
Meet me halfway,
My arms shall I yield.
Our eyes have both seen,
Such death and such sorrow,
Both of us know,
We may die on the morrow.
Meet me halfway,
In this realm of the dead.
Meet me halfway,
Where the fallen have tread.
Damn with the old guard,
So willing, we die.
Loud and persistent,
We’ve heard the death cry.
Meet me halfway,
Cross the slough and the mire.
Meet me halfway,
By the strands of barbed wire.
Let us share in good will,
Bare our souls, one another.
Meet, not as my foe.
But meet, as my brother.
Meet me halfway,
By the strands of barbed wire.
Meet me halfway,
Let us call a ceasefire.
Let us both discover,
Each other’s worth.
On this sacred night,
Of our Savior’s birth.
Meet me halfway,
As we walk towards the light.
Meet me halfway,
No longer we fight.
No longer the need,
For us to be brave,
Alas, both of us now,
Lie in our grave.
Love, is not a moderate image to paint !
I have tread a serene parks walk with colourful abundant trees and beauteous scenes
Yet Love :
“let me honour those who favour you their forte”!
Lustful young love and bitterness in sweet red wine
Patience in a white steady car awaiting traffic to mind time
Everything coming together , it is my damn fault you are not mine?
Frantically screaming in the passages of my life
In a motion that is slow they kiss me to complete my life
And touch me I fathom inside me caterpillars turn to butterflies
Tomorrow im in the hue-less shadows of solitude
And love is a ghost
Oh it unremorsefully robs me of hope
On an isolated bench gazing the starry nights
Your identity is a historic illusion of time
People wanted to see the view
From halfway down
This life their leading
Down the wrong paths
With the wrong map
With shoes too big
With rocks in the way
Is tiring
And I know somewhere
There’s a place where
People who didn’t want to
Walk any further
Told each other about
What they saw
From halfway down
The river and the lake
The mirror and the bathroom floor
The rocks that looked so small
From so high up
Maybe they could’ve gotten over them after all
But the view from halfway down
Was a sight to see before you died
Because once you got that close
You could really see the details
Appreciate the little things
And the things that looked little
From high above
But once you get so close to the edge
To the end
You finally appreciate the little things
Only when you make it
Halfway down
Here we are, halfway through November
What happened to July, August and September
Looking forward to the ‘big three holidays’
Who remembers July 4th’s barbecue blaze
Sweltering summer long forgotten
Cool days of Autumn now begotten
Time never pauses; it simply hurries on
Look back too long ~ the future’s come and gone
They were sweethearts from childhood
Someday wed was understood
Clashing goals drove them apart
Now, there’s no path to their hearts
Lovely in her wedding dress
At the altar, vows professed
Bound ever to another
What might have been was over
Halfway the path to a heart
Another must share that mark
Where true love’s most skillful art
Molds “Until death do us part”
At halfway mark two begin
Both lovingly bound by trust
Life’s reliable linchpin
Forever holds safely thus
midwinter sun
car windows rolled
halfway down
We're halfway between the Earth and the Moon
Riding the sky in a hot air balloon
All through the day and well into the night
Me and my gal on a romantic flight
Floating aloft on an Easterly breeze
A vantage point over deep salty seas
The two of us engulfed in such pleasure
An experience beyond all measure
On this voyage is well worth defending
But sadly now it's time we're descending
So down through the clouds with nary a sound
The tale we can tell when we hit the ground
Oh, lovely month of my birth,
Showering so much delight!
Your colorful canvas on earth
Are trees with fiery leaves so bright,
Heavy rain of confetti keeps falling in my sight.
orange sherbet sun
prepare your jack-o'-lantern -
a toothless monster
Most dissolve or become
shrines you visit in old age.
Others linger, unresolved,
and can sit there in memory
for years until what is missing
comes creeping back
or starts the replay
of a moment you paused
long ago, now let to run
its full length even if
a lifetime late.
There are others that remain
always in between,
stuck halfway
like a stone cast into the dark,
when the ear waits to hear
it break the river's quiet,
but there is no sound,
no end, only a silence
and the fog coming in,
the cold, bitter air
biting on every nerve,
panic taking hold,
closing in to keep a part
of you there, waiting
for something
that will never come.
Feed our love,
Let it blossom,
Feed our love,
Fan its embers.
A garden of purple beauties is my delight,
A radiant and clear sky is my desire,
A night sheet embellished with dazzling lights is my longing.
A fluttering of colourful wings is my joy.
Nurturing my confidence is your warm smile,
A softer life was our beginning,
Chauffeuring my day is your embrace,
A tranquil flow was our union.
Each day further apart we drift,
Each dawn miles apart we go,
Our disparate dispositions have stirred up the tide,
Our uncommon grounds have cloaked our happiness.
November 19, 2022.
November descends delicately,
crisp, crimson-gold
landing languidly midway between
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day'
and 'Now is the winter of our discontent' -
dead center between its nurturing tree
and the leaf pile bound for burning
Casually clad in T-shirt and shorts
on my makeshift cardboard sled
middle age's gravity conveys me irreversibly
down summer's green, grassy slope
towards the snow-shrouded vale -
I find myself halfway between
where I did not want to leave
and where I do not wish to visit
Midway between the eulogy
and the forlorn trumpet playing 'Taps'
it dawns on me that life is not entirely about the
sunshine on our backs nor the coming snowbank
but about searching for the sunrise
on the far side of
the next hill
1 November 2022
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