Alison, Love, Poetry

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: Forty Years Ago and Last Night

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel

(About a 2 minute read)

I. Forty Years Ago

I lie awake into the heart of a soft summer night,
Listening to the cicada shove life forward,
Beat upon beat, until their wild, shrill drumming
Is swallowed silent as a memory into time,

Then begins. Again.

And I remember Alison.

I lie awake into the heart of a soft summer night,
Listening to the cicada shove life forward,
Beat upon beat, until their wild, shrill drumming
Is swallowed silent as a memory into time,

Then begins. Again.

And I remember Alison.

Once a woman passed this way
Into the heart of a long ago summer,
On the wild, shrill scream of a generation then alive.
In their ending silence I became nothing, no more

Than my name.

I became numb.

II. Last Night

You know how it goes,
You meet people, good people,
Company for awhile.

They fall away,

Each one falls away.

One reason after another,

They fall away.

You gave up playing Twister with them long ago.
You no longer try to change your core
To fit inside their skins,
You’re not looking for a twin anymore.

One night you’re thinking about her
Was she the hinge, the turning point?

The first person you ever loved?

Yeah, she was the first person you ever loved.
And tonight maybe you’re finally seeing it true.

Maybe, you think — the thought comes too slow —
Maybe she was the only one who could have walked
The distance, the whole distance of your life
With you.
Why the did you leave her?

Why the hell did you leave her?

Does she have nights like you have nights now?
Did you betray not just your love,
But both your loves?

Maybe she didn’t love you all.
Wouldn’t that be better than you betrayed her?

But you can not believe now
— not now —
— not this night —
That she didn’t love you.

There is no refuge.
There is no salvation.
There is only the truth.

You would only go numb
If you ran again
From the truth.

Art, Honesty, Literature, Poetry, Quotes, Shreya Vikram, Wisdom, Writing

“Shy Writers Die.”

“Shy writers die.”  — Shreya Vikram (in an email to Paul Sunstone).

“The moment you feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself.  That’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.”  — Neil Gaiman.

Abuse, Butch, Courtship, Friends, Life, Living, Love, Lovers, New Love, Philos, Poetry, Rae, Relationships, Resilience, Romantic Love, The Art of Living Well

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: Butch and Rae, Rae and Butch

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel

(About a 2 minute read)

A kind man,
Butch’s dad did his best
To raise his seven kids.
On a hundred and fifty acres,

It was bottom land,
Rich and deep,
But it wasn’t enough,
He never got ahead.

He never got ahead
And worked himself to death,
The death of a kind man.

Continue reading “A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: Butch and Rae, Rae and Butch”

Alyssa Holmes, Amanda Reilly Sayer, Anupriya Kumari, Friends, God(s), Jane Paterson Basil, Love, Lovers, Marysa, New Love, Outstanding Bloggers, People, Poetry, Relationships, Romantic Love, Shreya Vikram, Terese, Teresums

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: No Returns on Lost Hearts

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel

(About a 3 minute read)

I beseech thee! I, a wretched beggar, beseech thee!
In the hour of Marissa’s crisis, in the hour of her darkness,
I beseech thee! I beseech You whose lowly latrine
Is not only infinitely above me, but is thoughtfully plumbed
To drain into my life.

You who are sacred, holy, and divine
You who are the Twisted Circus Clowns Above Us All
Have mercy upon my friend Marissa,
Have mercy on her, you Clowns!
For Marissa has lost her heart, her only heart —

And tragically, her heart has been found by mine.

They won’t, Marissa. They won’t help you at all.

Trust me, I know the Clowns,
I’ve seen them with my own wisdom.
It’s always good to pray in times of crisis
But the Clowns won’t answer prayers.
I do it for tradition, Marissa.
My prayers for you are just formalities.
I only pray for the sake of tradition.

Continue reading “A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: No Returns on Lost Hearts”

Agape, Alyssa Holmes, Anupriya Kumari, Authenticity, Being True To Yourself, Death, Eudaimonia, Friends, Human Nature, Jane Paterson Basil, Life, Living, Love, Lovers, Marysa, Muses, Nature, Passion, Philos, Poetry, Quality of Life, Relationships, Resilience, Self-Flourishing, Shreya Vikram, Terese, Teresums, The Art of Living Well, Unconditional Love, Well Being

I Will Sing Songs to the Ice

(About a 3 minute read)

i.

Something huge fell against my door last night.
Something crashed the silence of the night.

When I was calm enough to look through my window
I saw a tired stag with a broken leg
Struggling to rise.

It failed at first, but then, with horrendous effort,
At last gained its feet.

Last night I saw a tired stag with a broken leg
Slowly cross my yard, pausing every few feet,
Perhaps to ease the pain.

The fur on its back was tuffed up and disturbed
Like the stag had been pounced on and in a fight.

Last night I saw a tired stag with a broken leg.
Last night I saw a tired stag with a broken leg.
Last night I saw a tired stag.

ii.

You are comely and beautiful.
Your still-satin skin glows
In the grace of youth.

You are comely and beautiful.
Your life opens towards the future
Like petals spreading in the morning sun.

You are comely and beautiful.
Your mind roars over the rocks
Like a crystal cold mountain stream.

You are comely and beautiful.
Your heart yearns for the heights of love
Like an eagle for the sky.

You are comely and beautiful.
Your still-satin skin covers sleek muscles
Covers sleek muscles and unbroken bones.

You are comely and beautiful.
I watch you as you take my breath away.

iii.

Tonight, I can hear the cracking of the ice
Beneath my feet.

Tonight, I can hear the cracking of the ice.

My winter is half run.
At 62, my winter is half run
And my life now thaws
Into your spring.
Rushes over boulders into your spring.

I have loved you more purely and more passionately
Than you in your youth might know.

I have loved you with eyes that see well beyond yours.
I have loved you until my heart
Has broken and been reborn.

Tonight, I can hear the cracking of the ice.
Tonight, I can hear the cracking of the ice
Beneath my feet.

Tonight, I will sing songs to the spring.

“You can fly higher, my love,
You can fly further than you think.

“You can fly higher, my love,
You can fly more beautifully than you think.

“You can fly higher, my love,
You can fly to intimacy with the sky.”

Tonight, I can hear the cracking of the ice

And so tonight, I will put on heavy skins
And sing songs to the ice
Before my fall.

Tonight, I will sing songs to the ice,
And I will put on heavy skins.


Curious readers might want to check out Sharon’s poem, Struggles on the Ground.  It strikes me as having themes related to this poem’s themes.

Love, Poetry

You Are Too Far From My Arms

Years ago this morning I was so happy
I twirled down the street, a paper flyer
Danced along the gutter by a breeze
And knowing no future nor a past.

But years have passed within the hour.
I have turned towards you so earnestly
That I have forgotten my own name.

Now my life hangs suspended, put on hold.
Something swirls and tightens in my chest.
The miles between our cities
Have turned intolerable,
Have turned into the obscene
Light-years between the stars.

Your email said you were suffering, my love,
Your email said you were in pain.
And I want to hold you
Until you are whole again.

But you are far, too far from my arms,
Your face is far, too far from my touch.
Your body is far, too far away
For me to press you close enough
That our hearts will hear each other
And know to beat in unison,
And know to beat as one.

You are too far from me
And my heart must break for yours
Alone.