Heartsong

I fold myself up, and you wrap around
I the seed, you the ground

in the breeze, soft piano
I watch closely the purple aura of your hands

in comes the violin
your solid gaze guiding me in the dance

no one has ever looked at me that way
I recognize you from years of wanting

your face no longer a shadow
your touch no longer a whisper on my neck

music playing a slow sad melody
something acoustic my bones can hold tight

I miss you even from the time before
I knew you. Waiting for your dark eyes

to come settle into an all night conversation
between our bodies and the music; a love without words

even when words are all I know
I am humbled speechless by this vast thing that is us

born silently over a pile of broken rules
through the pounding bass of naysayers

captive breath, as notes like butterflies release a prayer
let this ballad last

never apart
until there is no sound

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Coltrane and Rainy Days

Cursor blinking on the page

unfinished labor of money, not love

while lost in a moment of Coltrane

always back to those honeymoon days

where it was cool and rainy outside,

cool and warm inside, barefoot in blankets and books

philosophical political purposeful conversations,

nights filled with red wine, the soft twinkle of

patio lights surrounded by passionate minds and

laughter, the burning of more than just candles

between us.   Another time before children,

before the fast-forward of life and cymbals

banging, before beds were strictly for sleeping,

before bright lights.  Maybe it was only a moment

or something we saw in a movie once

where Uma Thurman played me, and Brian

Greenberg, the light skinned Jewish version

of the brown and beautiful you,

but without the conflict.

Lost in the lazy piano and hot-blooded

trumpet, I can see those artist hands

of yours against my white arm

resting on the slow breaths of your chest.

Music drawn to a sad close,

I hear it– flashing cursor, pinging email,

stacks of paper.

But this day; this life,

was meant for so much more.

Scientific Method of a Kiss

1 – Ask a question
His lips are moving, but what is he saying?

2 – Form a hypothesis
He is talking about work, but his lips are mouthing love.

3—Conduct an experiment
Smile back. Let go of doubt.  Release inhibition.

4—Analyze results
A second date.  Attraction. Lips and hearts magnetic. Explosion.

5—Make a conclusion
This kiss, resulting in explosion, confirms hypothesis.

We are in love.  Have been since ask a question.

Phoenix Rising

some of us were lost
spent our twenties in the Bermuda Triangle

we forgot who we were
lioness and dove, dragon and fairy

only then could you cage us
imprisoned by your tempting promises

it wasn’t until we banded together to
learn our own hearts and gather our spirits full force

we could see through the fog
clear to the mainland where our flag was flying

we let go of the island of the lost
became deaf to your words of mass destruction

they damaged us like no other warfare
until we accessed the power to heal ourselves

and release all that held us bound, lifeless
rising from the ashes of our mistakes

to become the mighty Phoenix and fly
forever leaving you and your kind behind

Wasting the Good Surprise

Sitting quietly waiting
at the OB-G Y N
when who should appear
but the EX of my worst mistakes
his sweet new wife, their parents
and their peanut’s ultrasound

Trying to avoid his stare
to identify his former conquest,
I didn’t look up from my tabloid
to see who he used to be.
Flashing a coffee stained smile,
he sat down to tell me his life.

He bathed in himself
through five or six patients
until finally “wifey” ran out of
3D pictures and grins for
courteously questioning in-laws
and her mother’s raised brow

She smiled to my rescue
through awkward introductions
and polite recollections of the years
I wasted in her shoes;
although so happy now
for unanswered prayers

Alone at last, still waiting
I realize, my secret is unknown
to everyone but the beast unburied
from the wasteland of my past.
I can no longer sit smiling with the secret
you and I were saving ‘til the bump of the belly.

Twenty-four

Anything can happen.
Like one of those days
when hell freezes over or
pigs sprout pixie wings and soar off
to Neverland.

You asked me out for Sushi–
I said yes to play along,
with a smile that tempted faith
in humanity.
A debate which fortunately,
you lost.

The whole way there my thoughts
turned to grins.
He’s just a kid. Soon there will be
a camera in my face
seeking reaction to the final reveal.

Then we arrived at this place–
an intimate Cherry Blossom
wood, red brick, and candlelight.
And I realize…
This is no kid.
Dark brown eyes boring through me
for real, seeking all of my truths.

And I no longer know anything
real or unreal.
For the world has turned strange, colorful.
All of its rules blown away in this whirlwind
leaving me like a child
in a place full of whimsy and wonder
and absolutely no adult sense of reason
to resist.

Love Letter

Remember when they called you head-turner
and the comment turned your head around
to hear what they were saying.
You dipped yourself in that moment, and
soaked it into your skin,
when life was a ruffled white bikini.

Now gentle brush of the cheek,
a full frontal inspection
demands a closer look
revealing– who?

Tiny lines doing simple multiplication,
a smile making them exponential.
On the verge of condemnation
I felt something, recognized a familiar face
Suddenly and for a moment
doubt and mockery of everything self-love
cast aside,

I wrote what I could not say out loud:
Dearest,
Let all the drug dealers pushing Prozac
and cognitive-behavioral worksheets
with their calm Nurse Ratchet voices,
for once–  crack open a new universe
and say…

It’s okay to prefer darkness to light.
Go ahead with disdain for the day.
Celebrate the night!
It is only in total darkness
where we see the brightness of stars.

Like Einstein’s fish,
no happy pill can make a star feel worthy
by extinguishing its flight, roaming the earth
in full daylight.  Only swimming in the dark skies
of poetry, art, and philosophy can reveal the truth
worth living passionately for–

Sense the rage of injustice as it builds its mighty wall
feel the starvation for love,
in every orphaned child and
empty bottomless tearing off of limbs
for the world’s orphaned parents.
Cry.

Fill every watershed and well.
Let no wetlands remain dry,
and when all pain is sufficiently spilled–
released into the earth for regrowth,
sit silently smiling on the edge of the world.

See the green and the gold of your eyes,
embraced by the life lines you’ve earned.
Sit smiling for youth gone by and love
every small joy, every breath of early morning mist
every yellow butterfly against a blue sky

Let secrets flutter to the past
Throw your words of rage into wishing wells
Feel the tightness of the urgent present melt away
until now fills the room with a calm blue.
Let gratitude drape the shoulders of the mother, daughter, and friend.
Let it live in life’s poetry–

a familiar scent like autumn apples,
a welcome home to the voice
I have always known.
Welcome, my first love.
Come into the rain.
This is where the real you grows.

May You Always Have Mangoes:

with love for Ms Jones and Mr Brown on their Wedding Day
Two, November, Two Thousand Fourteen

at least one shared sunrise
waking to that slice of light across his or her perfect sleeping face
stimulating dinner conversations, wine flowing
just the two of you, or surrounded by family and friends
laughter. always laughter.
the right amount of longing
until your smiles are joined again
sunsets on the porch, on the beach, at the end of an argument
that never makes it through the night
love that feels as strong as the first time and as deep as the
last for all the rest of your lives
happiness together
like a bouquet of fruit flowers
delivered fresh to your morning table each day
may you never run out of things to say
and your love stay sweet and ripe to make your mouths water
through all the seasons of your lives

these things I wish for you
lovely couple

may your house always be full with the beautiful orange joy of mangoes

Fire Sign

(for Isabel)

A blue entry into the world cannot stop the little fire sign.
From the moment she is wrapped and warm, red becomes her glow

From her newborn breath, a whisper captures her father hypnotic
He is hers. His fire for her is instant as he protects and her little spark ignites.

throughout his life and hers.  Red ringlets bounce and dimples shine to top off
a gifted scientific mind. She creates inspires and is a colorful complex work of art.

Her song is a bee-bop, her step is a bunny skipping to the beat of a humming bird
and when she dances, she is full of grace tiptoe on the moon as all the world looks on

She spins, and we all become dizzy.  She laughs and commands our hearts to grin
There is a fire-haired girl at the center of the galaxy where the sun used to be

Don’t tell her she’s the one lighting our world
Though I suspect from that spot on her Daddy’s shoulder’s, she already sees.

Soldiers for Love

Her best friend is eight.
Wants to be a soldier
she says.  A sadness in her heart showing
through the patina of her disquieted face,
clear brown eyes as deep as ancient Camelot
cast upward in search of an answer
to war.

She worries about everything,
especially this blonde and blue
soldier boy.
She knows the smell of bloodshed.
She has lived this war before–
little old soul packaged in seven years
pale skin, auburn curls, sprinkled a golden gossamer
burgundy lips speaking ancestral prose.

She can tell us our past, but
does not know our future.
She understands, but no longer remembers
how the worst in us returns to earth
in the red blood of children, spilling hatred at our feet
still

we fight the other, words to guns, holy books to missiles
we fight ourselves, words, separation, starvation, deprivation, and guns.

She sees the best in us
comes from love
for the blonde and blue-eyed soldier boy
with the freedom to choose his own way
to fight
for love
with words
or guns.