Her Touch

the sensory motion

of a feeling,

her touch

would in its

silent immediacy

take me somewhere

warm,

didn’t matter how

or why or when,

just the moment

that I might feel shelter

a sweet resonate

touch

would it be that this

might have

begun some silent sojourn

only I

could endeavor

to walk away

for it was me that so

did, does yearn

to feel that sensual nature

designed in love …

your touch.

Crying is Ok

I still do

moments

early morning silence

waves of you.

I check

feel the shudder

my body impaled

lonely is wrath

Listen to the clock

taps of time

In quiet reality

without you.

Becoming familiar

finding absence again

checking sites

the only part you give.

If I allow time to consume

and I do because

I want to always,

you … my cleansing morning

Cry

A Wish To Respond

How might I take back the reactive nature of fear

when while calling out my motives were clear

yet so early in the day she had spoken of time

asking that the overwhelming nature too sublime

if I might recall my every word, the passionate plea

would it have any matter, would our lives feel free

Oh to know the real nature of understanding you

so that this my catalogue of days have been so blue

last touch, your kiss the sensuality in your eyes

should then have left my heart to be more wise

Oh to know surely the way to touch your heart again

so this awkward departure our lives apart could end

Traveling The World – # 3

This one I took rather hard. I remember the first day I dropped her off from a double date – not sure why we were doubling, I think it was because neither of us drove a car. Anyway, she had these jeans, there is something about a woman and well fitting jeans, and I remember walking her to her door, sort of following behind and imagining we could do something together, she turned to me, and I gave a quick kiss and said good night. She smiled, I was in love. I went back to my friend’s car and the two of them were giggling. They knew.

Our lives together transformed me. We traveled to Europe and though the trip was fascinating we were feeling the end of things, though we were still good friends, perhaps no longer in love, well she wasn’t. However that’s the end of the story, let’s go back.

We became that couple that finished each other’s sentences, we played memory games with lines from movies, we had an intimacy that was beyond anything I knew. I loved every aspect of her, and I told her that often. We decided to move in together, I remember her saying, ‘seems the right thing to do.’ In my own naivete I believed at that point we would likely marry. However, something occurred that would later set a precedent in the remainder of our time together.

I met her parents – we drove out to South Dakota, her dad was a professor of philosophy, this rather tiny charming man, in a leather coat and jeans met us outside his office and we went to dinner. Her mom struck as reserved, but a polite enough woman. It was our return from that travel that struck me. She told me she couldn’t stand her parents, and that because of the way she and her sister were raised, she would never have children. Of course, I wanted kids, so this became one of those not talked about elephants the remainder of our time together.

There was still this happiness though, this incredible passion with one another. We both went back to school to pursue teaching degrees, and we are both still with our respective profession decades later. One day while sitting near a lake’s edge, we got on the subject of loneliness. I said to her for the first time in my life, I feel completely happy, and there is nowhere in my heart where I feel any pangs to bring me anywhere else. I was consumed by my love for her. But then she quietly spoke and words tore a small slice in my heart. She said, ‘there will be a part of me I will never share with anyone, you just have to accept that.’ I laughed and disagreed, but she gave me a look that told me it was true.

We talked for hours then, the whole time she had this twig in her hand from which she gradually removed all the bark. Before we left that afternoon, she gave me the now naked twig. I held onto it for many years, in fact I believe it is still in a box somewhere in my memories of our travels, our time together. That naked twig inspired one of my first published poems. My heart and soul wrote the words.

Sadly, after traveling Europe we returned and something was different. In the coming months we split and my heart was broken. I swore to myself I would never ever give myself so completely to anyone ever again in my life. I held true to that feeling, that testament, even in my marriage, which has no irony, only truth.

With this love, I had discovered the true meaning in all of its highs and lows. I could never imagine again being so much in love with a person that I would give anything in my life to have her back in my arms again. I was committed to keeping my guard.

Turns out years later, many years, I would be mistaken.

A Refreshing Change

It is funny really, I’ve been writing here for many years now, and have gone through a lot of transitions, times where I realized I overstepped my boundaries and those when I found myself confused by the atmosphere of readers, followers, the blogger’s mindset. Only until recently had I been writing completely for myself. Oh, there are inferences, and there always be, that is the natural course of the human condition. We have to connect our lives, otherwise our loneliness will certainly drive us over the edge.

I was close to the edge, I still am; however, in a manner of speaking, I’m standing on solid ground again. I’ve never wanted to be a person thought of as one who would use someone else to their benefit, but I think sometimes when we get caught up in our perceived pain we become helpless. For everyone and anyone whom I have ever bothered, hurt, surprised, I give you my apology. For now, I will continue to soul-search openly through words that maybe someday will become chapters of an essay with interlaced poetry to keep the reader engaged.

What is refreshing is that I feel comfortable simply writing from the heart. I appreciate your audience. I wish you all a wonderful weekend.

The Romance of a Letter

letters

That sense of wonder

has she, did it reach,

will there be another.

 

Oh to honor the parchment

of love in its antiquity

the eyes we well in a lament.

 

I could wanting my pen

speak in clear word

how is true my love then.

 

In some forever rhythm

the ink is laid

and the imagined him

 

whose blood and soul do

hold favor to her smile,

eyes that might find true.

 

Oh to find the true blessing

in words of a scrawl,

forever binding, always living.

 

When last I spoke I wrote

in a flash pages fill

with all my love so remote

 

yet here swoon in the quiet of a silent

peace fashioned a style not so ancient.


picture – pinterest

To Where I Go

IMG_0824

I remember a time when words would reach and respond, a time of sweet expression. I remember there was no effort in being blessed with a reach, a selective hello, a wonder of a passionate plea. I could become anything I wanted to be, and still an acceptance always occurred, a sort of light that would lead me to new places, newer imagined horizons, a peaceful sojourn shared with that certainty of love.

I come here now because there is an energy, a reminder, some sweet redemption for the pain that has drawn our hearts to distant paths, perhaps no longer walking in a similar direction, but I always try hard to let my evaluation of this time fade away so hope and desire might always remain.

I hold on to love as it is all I may ever have, it gives me strength and helps me realize that it did once exist, and no matter such societal expectations that drove a stake in between our lives, I’ll always know there was a time …

I sit inside a dream, a wonderment that lets me breathe rather than swallow me into becoming nothing at all with my world, my imagination, my creative soul. I know that time and life offer only a partial glimpse into what our lives may become, we have to live out the rest. There have been recent days when I no longer felt I had the same resilience for continuing forward I once had, but my strength is returning.

Inside that transformation contains a stolen heart waiting to be found … someday.

Until then, I drink my coffee, knowing whom it is I care and hold close to my sweet rendering of memory; she is a muse, yet un-mistakenly real, her mystique always with me.

Always here …

A Year Ago

I need to be clear. This blog will gradually become my place to heal. Those readers that follow, well I appreciate your eyes, your read, your compassion, and your patience with who I am and who I become … I am a person whom has become completely alone in one sense of the word. In many other aspects I am very connected with my colleagues, my children, my people that I interact with every day. In other words, I really haven’t anything to complain about if this was truly the life I did wish to live. The problem is it is not.

Today is Valentine’s Day – it is not a day I’ve ever relished. When I was younger and without someone on this day, I would spend the hours envious and morbidly sad. Over time I became one of the anti -V day contingent enjoying the sarcasm and cynicism that comes with the territory. Years later I did marry, and since we have celebrated a dinner for the past nearly three decades. This year we stayed home, and while she watches TV, I write in this blog, something that has become routine in recent years.

Up until around four years ago, I was convinced I would live out this life in the rather quiet manner I have, trying to be content and yet always aware that there might be so much more out there in my life. I spoke to someone once who said if you are going to be happy, you need to take action. I have reasons to not, it’s complicated. So today I continue to reflect. I looked back a year ago, and found a letter that said the same as anything I have written time and time again. I then went back two years earlier, and discovered the reason I am still here.

Happy Valentine.

Always here.