A Certain Air

Oh one might suggest

yet time,

a knowledge

some would say

her own reveal

design the layout

a lifestyle leaves envious

an anxious onlooker.

 

Yet stop a moment

an aroma

the beauty mix of fresh brew

in java and sweet elegance,

for it is there we discover

hers is strong,

we the onlooker

that glance

blessed by such

is real

is woman

is the constant surround of that which we

perhaps weak male

might give solace

rather than shallow demand.

 

For it is hers

this soft mystique

rightful

hers alone …

yours

silent male

is only that of the

welcome traveler,

a privilege

delicate a flower

bloom.

A Shifting Sunrise

There are days when it can be felt

a morning solace, peace of mind

a sort of reason to be able to thrive.

 

We count on those hours with hope,

not like planning the night before –

oh tomorrow will be that day.

 

We just feel it in our pores

we know the rains will come steady

as will a basking sunlight of freedom.

 

We just don’t know when we might

be asked, handle both in the same hour.

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

for Zelda

Sun Bathing

screen shot 2019-01-13 at 11.05.17 pm

 

thank you #sanctuaryofwords for the inspiration …

A Quiet Memory

she would dance

my eyes follow

her steps always

my simple heartbeat

one, two, one, two

one, two, lunge

for her final step

always my ledge.

Slick Eyes

wake to motion

a constant campaign

of bodies linger

spent by a need

we seek this

quiet relief

begun hours ago in dreams

until this is ours

a moment

utterance is crescendo

inside, outside

wrapped within warmth

such urgency to whisper

good morning eyes.

Stepping In Front of Buses

It happens,

people don’t plan it,

don’t even imagine

the possibility

of being hit by a bus.

 

Think about the metaphor

a train, a subway, an 18 wheeler

each one a massive

expedition of extreme power,

capable of changing lives.

 

can you visualize an instant

when suddenly everything

you believed just a second before

changed

dramatically with no altering solution.

 

she, he, they, all of them together

stepped in front of the bus

bodies tossed

with little regard for landing,

only the reality of lifeless endings

 

I remember when I was a kid

her name was Mary,

apparently with her dogs

both of them lost as well,

she caught between two trains

 

We all grieve those we love

we need to realize their moments

of love and endearment

are meant as signature compliments

to their lives being a part of our own.

Wondering The Hemingway

The first time I read he died,

I thought it a plot line.

I wondered how could a prolific artist

make such a morbid decision.

I thought, characters, roles

in the book please

-real life, fantasy-

 

the strain of alcoholism is real,

as is,

the dangerous notion of

escape,

I am living proof.

He reached a level of proof he close to not deny.

I have walked through life with suicidal notions

the majority

of my life.

 

Most often the reasons are very real

mistakes I have made

a reputation of not meeting a standard

the simple notion of

exhaustion.

 

we all have a job to do

we all have a job to do

 

yet today I am worthless,

barely able to complete a sentence

and yet here I am

speaking to this society

– we are all warriors –

some lost in our own fear,

others drawn upon the beauty

inspiration provides a healthy life.

 

I don’t feel healthy today.

Someone told me recently I have

touched so many lives.

What happens that day they wake and reslize

I was trying to convince myself

more attempting to guide them,

and I realized, I lost.

 

what happens then!

Waking

In water skiing there is an element

of risk.

The ability to ride the wake

sometimes an art

more often

a comfort zone whereby the player

may gasp freely for air

while being thrust upon a sea of

shattering glass.

 

Still they hold on, still reliant.

 

In love

there too is a wake

a place of sometime fortune

elsewhere loss,

 

it is the finding balance

the.conscious eye

the some way riddled body

must learn then

withstand freely

an ever changing

wind-swept horizon.

 

still they hold on, still reliant

 

In death

there lays the wake of memory

always marvelous

an eternal glow

and yet

the hour of loss

the same calm

such similar pattern of holding on

finding balance

plays silent

in the rush of

our wandering mind.

 

still they hold on, still reliant

 

would rushing through the water

with all my strength find my wake

 

without her sweet guidance

 

~ finding my way, a personal journey –

for Zelda

Because I Wanted What You Held Inside

yes, it was the passion in your eyes,

the way your words drove me,

made me want to never look away,

for you to know I was there,

searching, desire, a certain lust of your being,

and I did stay with you for as long as you might let me

if it meant one day

I would find myself inside of you, journeying further as your own need,

drove me to explore every aspect of whom you might be,

woman,

exquisite in all of your natural magic,

I would listen to your whisper in my ear,

that final meant to be endeared gasp,

that, ‘yes now, I want you to be inside of me’

that this is whom we are,

and found together

our center is a one ness,

a trivial description,

yet in sweet simplicity,

I have been allowed to  know

woman

Touching Lives

Lover’s Bridge, The Highlandslovers-bridge-highlands

A reminder

how many lives

do we touch,

a teacher, a caregiver, an advocate,

EMT, driver, counselor,

motivational speaker …

lover.

 

Remind me each time  to wonder,

out loud,

what have I gained

or am, are we, should any of us

anticipate the central idea has been lost

to ego,

to need

to logic

to society

speaking out loud

rather than using a discretion

allows real love

genuine reason,

heart and soul

met as one.

 

I stood on a bridge,

held her in my arms

swore I would never let go,

listened to the river water

run underneath

like forever.

 

I found your eyes that day,

they stay alight inside my dreams




~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

photography – http://www.paulappsfineart.com