Twenty days to Christmas Dec. 5, 2024

  

It’s 20 days to Christmas and all through the house, the cats are a stirring, and I feel like a mouse, huddled under covers with my nose in the cold, no Santa expected, not even to bring me coal, a haze in my head I can’t seem to clear, no Xmas cards to send, no hope of good cheer, no temptation to send well-wishes, no address find, no presents to wrap save for the ones in my mind, the heater in the living room doing nothing at all, to warm me the way she did as I recall, a kitten for company flat at my feet, while the distance between us is to vast to reach, and I wonder if Santa will ever find a way to deliver his greetings on this coldest of days, no card will I send her if ever knew how, no text message to deliver, no tiding for now, just chill of the season as I ponder her fate, the coming of Santa bringing his cheer way too late.

 

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When the snow comes Jan. 19, 2025

 

Snow comes and melts, even though it is still cold, like magic, there then not there, my life evaporating before my eyes, a rabbit in the hat trick, the card I pick the magician predicts, all things – as George Harrison said – must pass, and I miss them, even the painful stuff, stirring up in me that other adage of “better to have…” which I do not believe down deep, where the pangs still reside, and I dredge up, things that also come and go, or as she said once, mostly go, the snow fall at dusk that vanished by dawn, the clutched memory that slips through my fingers as snow turns to ice then to water, dripping away, I love the snow, but hate to see it go

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His Annabel lee oct 8, 2024

   

whenever I come to the Sea

 I think of his Hannibal Lee

 the love of his life

who got snatched away

as if drawn out by the endless waves

 I think of how he longed his whole life for her

Never getting to see her again

though each wave only making him crave

longing to find a way to save her

when if she still could be

 she lost  it in the sea

for regardless how many times

he dives for into the waves

he can’t save her,

though he sees her in each wave

as they come up and with reluctant clinging

 to that prayer he cites

 she is the sea

his Annabel lee

just as she is mine

 

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Hook. Line and sinker Aug 17, 2012

   

I might be neck deep in it

quicksand licking at the my bottom lip

but she won't let me drown

 I have her hook deep in me

only I'm not sure which one of us

put it there

 she complaining I stare too much

and yet doing all she can

to call attention to herself

 so I can't look anywhere else

 later asking for a phone number

 from me I'm sure she doesn't really need

 my brain rattled by it all the contradictions

and maybe my cyber nanny is right

 when she tells me my poet friend

just wants to have control

 tugging on the fishing line

from time to time

to make certain I'm still on the other end

 I squirm but I can't escape

and I'm not sure I want to

being hooked and taking it all in Hook line and sinker

is better than being set loose

to have no connection

to drift aimlessly in the high seas

 for no purpose

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with apologies to baudelaire 2015

   

are my eyes blue

as she thinks

or gray or green or somewhere in between

fogged over as if with dream

as I stare into hers

that are so brown or black

I see my reflection there

we living our lives with overcast skies

 always with the promise of rain

 and perhaps pain

rain dripping down her cheeks

 blurring her vision

 my eyes are as blue as my mood

when I wear blue

Green when my shirt is green

a camouflage as I ache to hide with

 or as gray as the sky

or in this season the sullen landscape

 of falling leaves none nearly

as brown as her eyes

 nor as deep

 nor as full of promise

drawing me in

my blue green gray eyes

 searching out the depths of hers

 to dig up what treasure

 I might find there

are my eyes blue or green or gray or something in between?

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They are always there Sept 6, 2012

She tears not look back she says

believing they are always there

 looking to snatch from her

all she's clawed her way to achieve

who would shoot her to the quick

she having learned the ropes

 of the street to survive

and finds she can't trust anyone at all

Then  tend to betray her in the end

 Truth, loyalty, fairness

relative terms no one can rely on

 and she steers to the right path

to some hopeful destination

 often regardless of the cost

with me this silent observer

 condemned to Bear witness

while at the same time

accused of the crime

am I they?

 or are there others

 who must bear the weight of her fears

this string of wannabe or one time lovers

 in whom she has lost faith

 who are they who hunt her at every step

 who seek to steal all she has accomplished

who she sees out of the corner of her eyes

shadows that cling to her heels

if not me or only me then who else

 and what is it we threaten to take

 what are the things she clawed herself to get

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It never goes cold 2015

 

the heart never forgets

even when we tell

ourselves otherwise

 each beat in our chest

recalling it all

pumping blood up

into our brain

 so as to keep

what we thought

 as dead and buried

perfectly alive

the heart feels what it feels

stirring up the coals

to keep us warm

on those coldest of nights

 we feeling it all

the way we felt then

maybe more so

 it does not grow dim

it never goes away

 it never gets less

 only more and more

 pumped up by memory

 which our heart clings to

 it is not what life is about

 it is what it must be about always

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