I’ve begun adding my poems to the site. Please come back from time to time and see what has been added.
A plane the size of a rugby field
and I envy your feel
your sojourn among strangers;
yet there will be no one to meet you,
as there will be no one for me
to kid about being full of pride
like an inventor, head raised
and swaggering between discoveries.
certainly, there will be no dares
to invent a plane
that flies through hurricanes
or to discover a cure
for the holes in little hearts
too small to assume anything,
like the fragile arms and legs
of a newborn
flailing with a fear of flying
as you travel back in time,
landing home barely before takeoff;
flying backwards, yet unable
to retrace your steps
or carry back anything
like a pool for wading
in an ocean you discovered.
we walk along the promenade
above where the shore reaches
the Mediterranean as it weaves
pools out of the sultry beaches.
we stop and perch above a pair
cat-napping on the beach
under the afternoon sun as it
passes through Spanish territory.
she has long legs and a tan
as deep as your eyes.
she is topless, whereas
you are far more modest.
she is lying folded next
to someone stirring
in his hazy day dream
of a sand castle queen.
but we are not like them:
we swap cameras to take
photos of each other
for our loved ones
on the other side of another ocean.
we gaze at a parasail
floating between sea and sky
and wonder where, and if
the two ever meet.
we sit at a roadside bar,
sip tonics and watch
flashes of motorcycles
fly by as ageless couples
stroll in the twilight of our only
day alone together, yet still
as far apart as Catalonia
is from Georgia.
The Have-Not (a sonnet)
i don’t so much wish to worship the dark
as i am jealous of the moon and its
cover of night that offers not your heart.
it is not fair nor right that love should be
glimpsed by the reflection from another or
defined by the shadows that dance blindly,
leaving few doubts along a path divined
by touch and smell, its scent as sweet as you
when your lips took me in as i reclined.
come morn, if life be fair where love cannot,
you would be curled next to me like a spoon
bent but serving still this loveless have-not
who does not worship the dark so much
as he prayerfully awaits your touch.