Of Love and Light

 I am missing something.

Nostalgia weighs heavy on my heart tonight.


I long for what could have been,

And then I remember why it couldn’t.


It almost was.


The music of piano and cello drifts through my head in this night of midwinter cold,

Speaking to my soul, caressing my heart.


I hear two hands playing together in perfect piano union and feel that

I am as one of those hands, looking for the accompaniment of another but


I sit alone and listen and am lost in the depths of this December evening

Remembering what never was, feeling what didn’t exist


Loving what could have been in this time

Of darkness, candle light and solitude,


Where there exists only he and I, together yet alone

Wrapped in the spirit of love and light.

After All


It rolls out in waves from

One thought to another.

It remains as one heart flowing into the other

Then back again to me.

It travels by glowing starshine that lights its way

Through the darkest nights only to

Leave me at dawn as sunshine brings back the true sight,

Sound and taste of its love.

But as it leaves, its absence is not sad as the void left behind is open,

Open to every other possibility love can explore.

It becomes a love bigger than me in spite of its misplaced attention

And I see that it was meant for me, after all.


His hands at the center of my back

Touch the center of my being.

My hands draw him in,

Deep into my heart and soul.

We are two separate beings

joined in one existence.

It is an existence that comes and goes

is here and gone.

It is empty yet full.

We are together but always alone.

Maybe it is too much.

Too lovely, too sweet and smooth,

Deep but never whole.

Always over, again and again and again

But always just beginning.

There Are No Words Left

What can I say –

There are no words left…

No correct ones, anyway, but even without words

 love’s heart lingers.

The useless words drip down the windows of my soul like rain

Turning snow to slush

And white noise to wet mud.

Sucking me under again.

The memories can’t be erased, or ignored.

And although they can’t be sucked back into non-being,

They begin to fade and with time become so thin they blend with the dripping snow,

But still I cannot, will not, forget or give them up.

I know the memories will remain mine,

Always mine and each time the same.

They will stay in my mind beautiful and true

Until time steps out of time and begins again.

(Poem #5  April 5, 2017) 


Just Look

I saw the stars last night,

Didn’t even have to get out of bed.

They were so bright in the cold, dense,winter air

That they shown right through my lacy bedroom curtains.

I saw it as a reminder of what is still there and always will be,

And to find it yet again,

We just have to look through the holes one more time.

The Yellow Room

I am not a quitter but there comes a time

When the fight is lost.

They say to resist is futile, as some things cannot be defeated

And may not need to be, so,

I have taken the advice given and

Have made the decision.

I have gone to the room,

Cleaned the cobwebs out of the corners, painted the walls yellow,

Arranged the flowers on the table and freshened the bed with clean, crisp linens, after all,

He deserves only the best.

It is a south facing room,

I know he likes the sun and heat.

I looked at all the other rooms – all unoccupied,

But none were quite as nice.

I don’t think he will be lonely there as

I will always be with him.

I’ll have to find a safe place to put the key;

I know I will use it often.

Especially at first,

I know he will come out a lot.

I’ll have to hold him gently in the palm of my hand,

Put him back in and lock the door each time; there is no other way.

I know I’ll complain about the inconvenience,

But it really will be my own fault, as I’ll still think of him too often.

They say in time I’ll see him less and less.

I’m not so sure of that, but I hope they’re right.

But right now I can take no more; he refuses to leave so I have no choice

As he comes uninvited into my thoughts daily.

So when those thoughts and feelings overwhelm me,

I will hold his essence in my hands and send him back.

And when I send him back, he will need no direction

As he knows which room is his.

It’s the first one on the right,

The only yellow room in my heart.


I Am Sure


Revelations come to me when I least expect them unwanted, but insistent that I listen.

They are the kind I don’t want to know and  don’t want to hear.

But they come anyway .  Maybe to clear the way,

To open my  heart and eyes and speak the truth to my soul.

But they are hard truths to take.

My heart says no, but my head and soul say “Yes, listen and know”.

My heart is a child, trusting , self-deluding and innocent.

My soul aches for her in her time of pain and sorrow.

Love is not only felt by my heart, my soul loves too.

But my soul  is blessed with a stronger constitution, a greater consciousness, a better understanding.

 It is older and wants to protect my heart, wants to spare her from pain but knows it can’t.

So it warps itself around my heart and holds her while she weeps and sleeps.  It knows that time will heal her and is patient in the waiting time.

My soul knows my heart is good and kind and that she loves unconditionally and breaks because of it.

My soul knows that my heart knows no other way to love so it waits and loves and holds and protects with gentle hands and the love of God.

Together, in time,  we will love again,  all three of us,

I’m sure of it,  my soul told me so.

It Should Have Been


The poetry of my heart

Follows the song of my soul.

Although this heartache drowns me and

Its sorrow depletes my very being,

I hold my love for you close,

To protect it from those who would cheapen it.

From those who don’t believe it ever was, including, sometimes, you.

but I know that

It could have been.

It should have been.


(this is an updated, rework of a poem I posted two years ago)



Night Shadows

Sheets of white surround me in

A blanket of feathered softness as dreams of him linger

 on the edge of sleep, my being cloaked in night’s darkness.

Through my darkness, I watch the night shadows drift past the windows,

They have lives of their own, the darkness becomes them.

The textured blackness of night can be comforting in its sameness.

A sameness that frees me from the eyes of judgment.

And as I lie back and watch his image leave the edge of sleep

I feel him join with me in whispered prayers the essence of which lingers on when sleep has fled.

But they are short lived prayers and are consumed by the night shadows to hide in the sameness of the textured blackness

Unanswered, dissolving and alone