June’s warm daylight comes
My thoughts of him linger on
June’s nights are lonely
I Can’t
All is peaceful and still and then, in the back of my mind
It begins.
It travels like a wave, slipping silent over my head and
Around my heart where it stays and waits.
But for what does it wait and for how long will its
Patience last before it leaves me for good?
In spite of these uncertainties and my fear of its leaving again,
I still welcome its coming.
It is familiar, soft, warm
And fills me with loving energy.
It travels through my soul and takes me with it
To a place and a loved remembered.
And with each fresh remembrance, the feelings
Are reborn within me.
Those special looks are seen again, a voice felt in my soul,
And that magic touch fills my senses and holds my heart in a gentle caress.
But it has become an emotion with no purpose and an empty sadness steals its beauty.
It had a purpose and a treasured place in my soul before,
But now, it no longer serves me. This is after, not before,
This is now, not later and in this now it holds only a growing place of sorrow.
I don’t think it understands or knows of its displaced now.
It must not or it wouldn’t keep coming back and wrapping my heart it its hope.
Maybe it just hasn’t receive the message,
The latest update on the state of affaires, but then again,
Maybe it has and just can’t accept and believe that it is true, that it has happened again…
Maybe I can’t either.
A Valuable Part of Two
The heat of a summer day softens and slips silently
Into evening twilight.
The shifting shadows and cooling breezes of evening chill my being and
Bring an acute awareness of sorrow and emptiness to my state of mind.
This subtle, soft twilight is lonely and empty now
But was beautiful at other times and under other circumstances in my life.
Twilight holds tenderness and acceptance of love in times of loving but
When love is missing or withheld, twilight is punishing in its loneliness.
A solitary stroll through the garden is a waste;
There is no joy in relaxing in the rocking hammock alone.
Light sadly leaves the landscape and drains the world of color
Just as this lost love drains my soul and heart of color.
The trees along the edge of the clearing blend into a fortress wall,
Locking me out in my loneliness.
Fireflies blink on and off but evade my eyes behind the fortress of trees
and the stark cold moon light accentuates my solitude by throwing only one shadow behind me.
In better times, when I was not alone, the deepiening twilight was a magical time,
Full of love and acceptance.
We walked the garden paths together, basking in the glow of the moon
And soaking in the softness of star-shine.
Our shadows moved willingly behind us, hand in hand,
And fireflies lit our way home.
I want to go back to that time, back to being a valuable part of two,
Back to the times of softened days that faded into loving nights of passion and acceptance.
I need you take me back there, please…
As Only He Can Do (this piece is about a wonderful friend I had who passed away)
((“That which is to be taken away
First must be given” Tau Te Ching
Lau Tzu
I suppose that means I can’t lose what I never had.
But didn’t I?
The loss of nothing would be painless,
Not filled with missing and sorrow for what could have been.
Doesn’t the very missing and feeling of loss prove that I did have it?
If he didn’t give it, how could I have had it?
But I did because it was given in soft subtle ways,
In after thoughts of kindness, in tender touches and looks.
In words only half spoken but completely felt.
I am not a fool, I didn’t imagine him, he was real as were his feelings for me and mine for him.
He said he felt the love in my touch, I could feel it in his too.
Such a strong connecting could not be denied, made up, faked.
Only words can be misunderstood as they are always left to interpretation by the receiver which interpretation is not always what the speaker intended.
Did I misunderstand? Did I not get the correct message?
I don’t know, and now it is too late.
I am confused by the words vs. the feelings.
The meaning behind each is complicated,
Sometimes stark and cutting to the bone,
But in other ways and days softer and ambivalent.
Maybe I saw too much, maybe I viewed only what I wanted to see,
Accepted only how I wanted it to be.
But he was right, it was complicated, too many others involved, too many decisions to make and then, as if to save him from the hard choices,
He was gone, never to be here again, too late to ask, too late to know.
Death became a saving grace, a way out, a reprieve, a new beginning.
His last words to me, “you and I are all there really is” will always haunt me,
What did he mean?
Maybe when I lift the veil and step to the other side, I will see his warm loving smile and feel his gentle hands on my face and he will take me in his arms once again and explain it all as before,
As only he can do.
Always Alone
I’m lying in a hammock, Sideways, Staring at the canopy of trees above my head. Their branches interlaced like the fingers of lovers in an act of passion. They sway with the gentle breeze, E…
Source: Always Alone
Always Alone
I’m lying in a hammock,
Sideways,
Staring at the canopy of trees above my head.
Their branches interlaced like the fingers of lovers in an act of passion.
They sway with the gentle breeze,
Each variety with its distinct leaf waiving and dancing to its own tune.
Above and beyond the boughs lies a deep blue sky, dotted with plumes of soft whiteness
Each drifting and changing with every second, never the same from moment to moment.
I watch this scene as the sunlight slowly turns to dusk.
The sun-powered breezes fade and the forest yawns and folds in on itself and sleeps.
I should do the same
But the magic of the transformation of day into night fixes me to this spot.
All form is erased, sky and forest become one, stars twinkle above and fireflies twinkle below as reflections of one another like sky in water.
Buzzing insects sounds are silenced and
A different cast of characters takes over the night shift.
An owl awakens and his hooting echoes between the sleeping trees,
Others answer in kind.
I hear the fox’s footsteps through the dry leaves and
Goosebumps cover my neck at the sound of his bark.
Less vocal creatures slink and stalk through the forest night
Taking their turn at life.
And me, I don’t fit into either cast,
I exist equally in both worlds but am not a participant in either and
Therein lays my sorrow.
I am only a watcher and always alone.
Sunday Evening Sorrow
Sunday evening sorrow
A lonely time, a time in between.
The old week has ended,
The new not yet begun.
Another ending, freshly felt and remembered in sadness,
Will not end as easily as last week, it continues to linger and hurt, refusing to let go.
I am left behind,
Alone with this Sunday evening truth.
There is no space
No thought, no warmth.
Need is strong but left unattended, neglected,
And words that linger are incomplete.
Conversations left unfinished,
With thoughts not expressed or maybe expressed but not received or wanted.
It starts and stops,
Comes and goes but comes back only to stop again.
How can the coming stop,
But the stopping go on and on and on?
I thought there was no separation,
But now I accept that there is nothing to be separate from.
The empty space is all that remains within me,
The void was never filled, the dream never realized.
One thought had weight and ruled the results,
But mine did not.
But isn’t there really only one thought, one truth
One meaning?
I just don’t know anymore, I used to think I did, used to feel it in all there was
But now, it is gone and all that is left is the doubt.
I want to fight back, regain what I had, what I love
But I can’t. And even if I could, it would be futile; there is no longer another side.
What I thought was one is now two.
There is no energy, no anger, only the wanting and needing.
And so I sit, just sit on my cushions
In this Sunday evening loneliness
And watch the candles burn away the time
And hurt of love left behind.
The City Sleeps
Its passageway’s are dark and deep
The city sleeps.
Traffic stops in the late night hours
Leaving the tunnels and passageways empty and echoing.
The statues that adorn the bridges and street corners stand in silence,
Their presence as forgotten as the craftsman who carved them.
Does anyone ever see them?
Does anyone ever care?
Buildings sit inches away from each other,
Built to use every bit of space,
None is wasted
None is.
They build closer and closer
Taller and taller until the sky is blocked out leaving no reminders of what is real.
The bus I ride from the airport to South Station navigates the empty streets, turning and sliding past the emotionless statues, the empty tunnels,
Past the tunnel doors that lead to nowhere and follows the
Streets and turns made just wide enough to fit through, does someone actually plan these places?
Or do they grow by themselves, out of each other
In layers and layers of cement and iron bars.
I feel the need to be silent in the dark empty city night.
The bus interior is dark except for my reading light
A tiny light illuminating
Just what is below it – me and my pen and paper.
Am I the only one who is really here
The only on paying attention …
All else fades to darkness in the back of the bus
The end of the tunnel, the dark and abandoned South Station.
It is an odd sensation thinking of the millions who lay sleeping all around me. As wildlife sleep at night, hidden out of sight in the forest.
The city draws the millions to it, holds them here, caught in the rush and sorrow of a life of illusion, but too busy to notice.
It is only in the dark of early morning that
The beauty and truth of this place is revealed.
Minus the noise, crowds, exhaust fumes and indifference,
The city glows with a knowing internal presence.
I feel its sadness like the bridge and
Street corner statues feel it.
They and I recognize each other as the neglected and forgotten ones.
Only alive when noticed but only noticed by each other
And only when the city sleeps.
MC 5-20-16
“I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah”
Leonard Cohen
Rain
The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as the
Rain falls in sheets and slides down the roof over its edge in a curtain of water.
Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and
Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.
The sky is lower on rainy days and
Holds us close and grounded.
Sounds are muted and muffled and
Light is defused in grayness.
But it is not a sad and depressing grayness,
But a soothing and peaceful shade
Full of the necessity of sorrow.
A rainy day is soft and dark. It begs us to stop, rest and be mindful of our surrounds and loves.
It reminds us to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows
Into a place of inner stillness,
And there remain, content to just be and accept what is.
I Must Wait
I have to wait, just wait,
There is nothing left to do.
Tonight is cold and dark,
I must wait for the sun.
My love is intense and passionate,
I must wait for its object.
My mind is confused and alone,
I must wait for a friend.
My heart aches and pines,
I must wait for a song.
My life is a series of waits,
But my soul is tired of waiting.
Time must slow down,
So I can catch up.
And when I do, all of the waiting will have been for nothing,
Because I will find that it is all already here.
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