These Tears Belong to You

Image

I never expected winter to carry in a friend,

one who said, “I want to know your mind,”

who listened when I spoke softly,

and heard the colors, too. I was cold,

and you showed me warm, built me

a safe place to release – my alone,

my how it feels to be chased by death,

my real.  You said, “I get you.”

And you did.  Did you get the pieces

you scattered behind when you left?

 

These tears belong to you.

living inside

Image

this building I live in

has been torn by words,

and years of hurricanes

lashing through, battering

its strength with the wind

of not good enough.

buildings hear their weaknesses

and let pieces fall, begin

to believe they may crumble

under harsh weather

and perpetual judgment.

people pass by

older buildings

when the

outsides

crumble.

i live

inside.

Icy Tree Under the Fire Sky

Image

Icy tree under the fire sky

holds on to her shine, grips

her tender fingers with diamond

drops and defies him to threaten

her with his heat.  She is proud,

stands at the top of the rise,

tips back her head and sings.

Her frozen limbs swing to catch

late day light, sparkle and know

she belongs this way, shining

through angry fire.  He closes in,

trying to melt her delicate ice,

but she holds it higher, her promise,

until fire has melted, receded,

and all that remains behind

is the blue glow of hope.

Sounds of You

Image
The sound of the water travels
through the hills, a melody of bubbles, 
rocks, and reasons.  Bare December 
trees look down on honest, leafy blankets 
covering rocky ground.  Follow the call 
of moving water; it speaks of patience 
and travels that never end, only pick up 
leaves to carry along the way.  Moss 
wraps rocks in green warmth, whispers 
them secrets of softness and holding on. 
And then, the light filters gently, with hope, 
kissing the water into swirls and drops, 
sounds of you everywhere. 

Puddles

Image
All night she stayed,
forehead pressed 
against the chilly window, 
waiting for the rain 
to turn to snow. 
Pleading eyes watched 
the streetlight, as rain 
fell down, and wind 
chased it sideways. 
All she needed 
was to see it turn 
white, to cover life 
outside the window 
with tiny pieces of 
icy hope. 
But morning brought 
only dark puddles 
outside and on 
her face. 

still you stay

Image

I laugh, I cry,

I run in and out

of dark forests

 

still you stay

 

I cherish the sun

but  weep when

the sea takes her

 

still you stay

 

I smile at stars

but wonder

why they leave

 

still you stay

 

I sing in colors

but curse darkness

when it scares me

 

still you stay

 

I walk the beach

breathe the sea

but must always go

 

still you stay

 

I live warmth

but dissolve trembling

when the cold comes

 

still you stay

still

you stay

still

you

stay

Just Because

Image

Just because I walk when wind blows strong,
doesn’t mean your words won’t knock me
to the frozen ground. And just because I let
the rain fall over me, through me, soak me
like a thirsty tree, doesn’t mean the looks
that fall upon me go unnoticed; their bitter
wetness seeps in every pore and flows deep.
Just because I hear claps of angry thunder and
don’t flinch, that doesn’t mean that cruelty isn’t
slicing through me, gashing at my peace. And
just because I watch the tide come in, the stars
appear, the sun rise, doesn’t mean you are here.
Just because I am alone and my eyes are dry

doesn’t mean that I don’t weep.

 

You Call Me Firefly

Image

You call me firefly, and that means

I don’t need to be a butterfly, and dress

in bright colors and show off my wings.

In the twilight, my glow makes you smile,

and I glide and hover, drift and reach –

around you – as you cherish my light.

You would never put me in a jar, or ask me

to dim my light.  So I land upon your shoulder

to rest, until I am ready to shine again.

Two Squares and a Circle

 Image

What ghosts follow when you track

back so far?  Stone foundations,

full of your words, crumble and roll,

and the pine pieces, marked by knots

of pain and despair, age away in

forgetfulness.  Is this a blessing,

when the holes appear, let light and cold

pass, allow locked in grievances to leave?

Or does it all remain anyway, underneath

the rusted metal roof – the hurts

that can’t be released, circling around

the structure as time takes it down?

There’s still a place to let it go –

two squares and a circle.

 

 

No One Ever Wrote a Poem for You

Image

You show me a skull, tell me you scare people,

and you don’t believe in God.

I nod and listen, smile a little, and hold out my hand.

Come with me, let’s walk together.  Take my hand –

It’s warm, you say – yours is, too, but I knew it would be.

Let’s walk the shore and you tell me why God can’t exist.

I promise to hear you, if you promise to stop with me,

close your eyes and listen to the way waves

feel as they gather toward shore, and break

their release to the sand in song.  And see the shells,

and the driftwood, each one a different sea sailor.  Listen;

they will tell you stories of voyages and places you could

never know.  Breathe the salt air, know it like home,

like carefree summer days and moonlit nights, it holds you.

Now let the words go and watch as my sun floats to the waiting

sea, his arms outstretched to embrace her.  Do you feel the yellow?

I watch you close your eyes, and I wrap my arms around you

as the shades of glow and sincerity wash through you. Quiet.

The sun has gone and sweet blue shines the sand.  You turn

around silently to hug me. I feel it. Watching you drive away,

I see you smiling.  There is love all around you.

God just followed you home.

If You Held My Hand

Image

If you held my hand,

those angry storms that rush in

like muggers, and knock me from behind,

leaving me broken and breathless

on the ground-they wouldn’t come.

And the cold rain that stays for days

and bleeds its gray through every layer

of me-it would stay away.

And the ice that seizes me and my trees,

so still and frozen we can snap and fall

to pieces-it couldn’t form

if you held my hand,

If you

held

my

hand. 

We Were So 19

We were so 19

that the world didn’t care if we slept

half the day, went to coffee with the professor

instead of class, and began the evening

just before midnight.  The usual crowd

could be counted on to greet us warmly,

as we scrambled off the city sidewalks

swallowed by our college life.  Beer, and

conversation, and the same familiar songs,

and we hugged and laughed and knew

19 would always be.  But it’s not.

Someone else is borrowing 19 now. 

Image

no words left for me

Image

Remember how I waited

for all the words you didn’t say,

like the gasp the sun makes

just before she dives into the sea,

and yellows and oranges turn deep,

into blue foghorn songs in the dusk.

Now I walk dark streets in silence,

to see if your words hang there,

waiting, a song to be collected,

but block after block is empty,

quiet, no words left for me.