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.

Writing Love Stories

I’m a romantic. I love a good story of passion between two people, from the scintillating nature of their sensuality, to the quiet elegance of touch in an intimate moment that reflects what eyes will search upon. I love the notion of heart and soul obsession with one another, a constant of the desire and wishful nature of finding one another imagining the beauty of whom they are, they might be,  together. I do so enjoy being able to create a wonderful love story in poetry, one that causes arousal in the reader, a sort of take me away fantasy that leaves them grateful for the adventure.

I have found myself struggling in recent months because I have this seemingly fraudulent experience with love, and so I began writing about first loves, long ago loves, times in my life where I recognized love to be something that took away all of my loneliness, so completely I couldn’t feel anything except the beauty of sweet delight inside the mystique of love. The word fraudulent is a powerful assessment I can only attribute to my being alone with my feelings. Oh that wasn’t always the case, but it is today. The reasons are not negative, they are more based upon preservation.

Personally, I’m willing to take risk for the love I feel; however, in order for it to be real, then both parties have to feel the same. One cannot outdo the other’s focus upon finding peace with themselves. One can only support the efforts of another. That to me is love. There exists the confusion of love as well, because one might still believe what the other has convinced themselves as otherwise.

There exists again my struggle, so now my love stories have trepidation. They contain unknowns because only I am writing them, and I haven’t clue their reception. I only know there continues to be in my heart the beauty of woman, the muse, the loveliness of a person whom holds my heart and soul, and gathers the energy that allows me on occasion to find the words necessary to continue the next chapter of my love story.

A Soul Searcher’s Gaze

Screen Shot 2019-02-07 at 4.48.18 PM

I wrote this piece today as part of a network of poets that I am delighted to write with. I know I said I’m going to limit my poetry here, but it is still going to show up. Quite honestly I’m having a hard time leaving this page behind, because so often my writing would be a true appraisal of my feelings – whether directed to anyone or simple thoughts in my head.

So today, I have been thinking about my soul, and everyone’s soul I suppose. I know mine aches with a passion that cannot be fulfilled, and yet, we were told when we were children raised in a Catholic enclave that the soul is not something tangible. We can feel our heart, we know when it aches, it being a combination of the brain not fathoming pain, and the heart being such an organic reactionary to our personal struggle.

I cried in my quiet time today – this has been rather frequent. I don’t write these words looking for sympathy, more so I suppose I am asking for empathy that I hope people might relate and have some takeaway from my current state of mind. It is funny because I’m in tears a lot and it has me wondering about the condition of my soul. I was raised to believe the soul is a huge component of our spiritual morality, and so on occasion throughout my life I have sometimes feared the damage already done. I guess I am sort of in that place again. I’ve done a lot of damage both to myself and those close to me, and I am unable to find peace in my world at present. I also don’t have a solution beyond just being able to express my journey to whomever chooses to read these words.

This is a far different image than the sensual poet I have created in this site for the last few years. This is the real me, there are some that know the real me, but for the sake of my own need to express myself, I appreciate the anonymous nature of this site. It is not hard for anyone to read between the lines and perceive the constant confusion I do feel.

So back to the notion of the soul. Mine hurts, and there is a constant search happening, and I don’t know how long or where this journey will take me. I do know it is not nearly the dark chasm I was miring in weeks ago, but there are days. Routines are difficult and finding purpose is a struggle. I just appreciate I suppose a venue to express myself because I do respect that there are listeners and I guess I just appreciate your eyes.

Have a wonderful night and stay warm. Be back soon, I guess.

On Eyes

If you have looked in eyes,

beauty is there,

the chance of a moment to reflect

in each other’s soul


when two lovers do allow time

to fall into the ocean of their eyes.


Time will move to forever

rather now

strings of shelter slip away

so beauty inside the passionate

nature of love

can explode like that sparkle

the glint, the sensuality

we might feel when we allow

the real of a moment

when relying only upon

the eyes.


I stand alone,

a person walks by,

we announce one another,

continue on our way,

and I know today,

there will be no one in my life

whose moment

I can count upon

to rest my weary heart

on eyes.


Oh to be inside the presence

of such is the lovely chance.

When Now Stood Silent

When wonders arose

spoken philosophy

would we ever notice

moonlight again.


Standing on certain principle

would love really matter

if in the end,

a soul began to unravel


He might recommend

some nuance in compare

yet never would the moment

translate toward his delusion


keep in mind the word

meant clearly to aggravate

as in love we all sacrifice

what is real in fantasy


Only soft recall allows such beauty

When now sweet dream stood silent

A Contemplative State of Mind

I wish it could be happy,

wish I might show you a picture,

wish every day would be the same,

but I discovered it isn’t that way.


I’m told tonight it never was,

all of the imagined fantasy,

the moments of unbridled passion,

were simply a facade, hypocrisy.


I’m standing alone tonight,

afraid of everyone around me.

I let myself take a journey,

and found the bitter end.


Oh to know the magic of happiness

to be able to shed delight

upon every soul our lives encounter

rather the wrath of personal woe.


The expression I carry tonight,

this one, you are imagining,

it is the truth,

my own realization of what once …


what is, what was, what could

forever be this final dignity.

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~