The last leaves Dec. 10, 2025

 

The last leaves from the trees in the yard are gone from limbs, strewn flat on the ground in need to be raked, when the forecast already predicts a deep chill, though not yet below freezing, the cold seeping deep into my bones, retained until spring thaw, mother nature’s holy ritual as the calendar winds down to the official first day of winter, and then three bitter months of bitter cold we must endure before we feel warmth again, before we see the first buds promising the return of leaves to the trees, promising a sense of hope, the way we hope love will embrace us, each day marked off as if a prison sentence, locked in this frigid embrace until we are recalled to live, love resurrected as with the leaves.

 

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What connects us May 9, 2015

 

I like to think there is more to connect us than what lies between those legs of yours, though in the dark of night, when I move, I often think of you, I stroke up the fires that makes you come alive in my mind, and imagine again how it feels to plunge in deeply and hear you moan, this fantasy that arrives just before my eyes close and I descend deep into dream where it all become that much more intense, and no number of strokes can contain it.

I like to think there is more to it than this, and yet, this is what I miss, the game of tag, touching that button I know will make you react, each time I get deep enough to push it, this thing we do (I imagine) that connects us again and again.

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Stranded again June 18, 2025

 

Stranded again, with a car that won’t start when I most need it, this dependance on people and machine, too acute, and I still linger on the edge of dreams that always have the same landscape, which I can’t possibly reach with or without machines, forcing myself back to each dream each night when I closed my eyes, seeing faces I have not seen in reality for a decade, yet still ache for. as I did when I did back then for real, sometimes, stranded in that dream world as well, unable to start up or get there or hold on – once I’ve managed to reach there, no dead battery keeping me from that place, but something else, more acute, something that binds me and makes me ache to never leave..

 

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When you left Dec 19, 2012

 

I see you even now as I saw you in the heat of summer, down in the lobby below where I perched in my loft between the stairs, you with sun dress and sunglasses glowing where the sunbeams poured down through the wide windows of what once was a bank, you're 33 years sitting on you so lightly I mistake you for a teen, virginal not a virgin, an attraction that still makes me ache, now that cold has replaced heat, and you like summer and fall have passed, into a much chillier season.

 I did not see you leave only heard rumor of it, yet feel your absence as if someone cut out my heart and it still beats even in its absence. I pray to get it back when I know I can't, no more than I can restore that summer when you looked so grand and yet, even then remote and inaccessible. a virgin who is not a virgin, who even then needed to leave to be with someone other than me, sun dress and sunglasses, caught in sunbeams that remain always in me, lost about seeing you leave

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Drowning again aug 26, 2024

  

I fall behind on my posts

I get a deluge with of hits from Singapore

 as if I could actually stop

this stuff is in my blood just as she is

is this Morse code is she sending a message

 are all 600 hits telling me to keep going or to stop

I breathe water

 I'm so deeply immersed in it , in her

 the accumulation of it all

leaving me sitting at the bottom of the sea

 with no way to ever reach the surface

there on my own accord

still stirred by all that has stirred me before

 I drown in the memories

in the same churned up stuff

that nearly drowned me before

I can't stop

 I can only occasionally stagger

desperate to read the tea leaves

that tell me what she wants

I am as helpless now as I was then

 and perhaps no more wiser either

 

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Robbing the cradle June 31, 2024

 

She is young enough

To be my daughter.

Oh, what a twisted concept,

Oedipus brings us,

An old man

Struggling with

Teenage urges,

She eight years junior

Of my flesh and blood

Off-spring,

Retaining much of

The charge,

My real daughter has not,

For all that has transpired

In her life,

The essence of who she is

Clings to her,

If not quite Ponce de Leon’s

 Dream made real,

An abbreviated version,

even if she sometimes

Goes on about her

Her middle age.

She could have been

My daughter

Though I dare not think

Of her that way,

Clinging to the illusion

Old men get when

We think we have

Missed out on

Something in life,

And rob the cradle

To make up for it,

Doing the impossible

Going back in time.

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Still struggling July 7, 2025

  

three kittens in the yard; life used to be so hard, the old song claims, this, the third batch of one cat has produced yet not without flaws, the one week old from an earlier batch she abandoned, never meant to live, even when we struggled to keep it alive. Now, another troubled kitten with the latest batch, with non-functioning front legs, she kept rather than abandoned, we determined to fix it and release (nobody would adopt it), but no able to survive out of doors with our without us, the way his more sturdy siblings can looking, up at me with utter sadness when I come near, as if it knows fate is against it and yet tries to thrive, hobbling after the others, trying to take part in a life that may end up too short, yet still struggling

 

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