Nirvana June 13, 2024

 

she rides through the woods

on the back of a steed she could

 easily rename as pure joy

 this trotting across paths

 towards a sky full of dark clouds

 she might have sought

to avoid in the past

she and the beast journey

into the woods together

 perhaps a perfect partner

 each needing to heal inside and out

each needing something

to keep them going

a life that is more than

just the usual struggle to survive

her camera catching

 the back of the horse's head

as they move towards

 the horizon together

in a rare moment of bliss

she treasures after so

 many years of pain

 each stride taking them

 into Nirvana

email to Al Sullivan

Licking your wounds December 2013

 

Yes,

You are,

Though as you’ve

Said before,

If you think

You’re either completely

Bonkers, or ten people,

And I think you are

A person for each

She  shell you occupy,

Even if at this moment

You are trapped in

The one you’re in,

The one you ache

To escape from,

Carrying with you

That idea that

You might slip away

Unnoticed to some

Remote destination,

Like a wounded ally cat,

To lick the blood from

All the places you’ve

Been bitten,

But you can’t leave

Yet, and so, must lick

Where you are a

And hope it is enough

To cure you enough

To get by long enough

So, you can survive.

You are,

What you are,

And it’s the best

Any of us can hope for,

To be what we can be

At this moment,

Maybe better

The next time round,

If only you can fix yourself

And find another shell

To crawl into

Where you can feel

Safe again.

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Love is never wrong December 5, 2012

  

Love is never wrong, but it can be mistaken, we condemned to interpret it, like tea leaves, and we foolishly believe we read it right, only to find out too late we missed some important detail that distorts its meaning.

We should trust our feelings better, not our brains, since we are for the most part a scarecrow with hay in our heads, more heart than the tin man has, but less courage than the cowardly lion, when it comes to making our intentions clear.

Love is a base instinct, inspired by lust, which is never enough, and we crows on and on like a centipede, stumbling, bumbling into the heart of the person we profess to love, miscalculating, tripped up by petty jealousy, trying to avoid the pitfalls we always fall into, thinking love is enough, when it never is, though even now I feel it, even when unrequited, it is what I live for, even in retrospect, cut off, yet not unmoved, having nothing left to stumble towards, living with its regret.

email to Al Sullivan

Tumbling dice June 28, 2024

 

Someone will

always love her,

If not me or him,

then someone else,

Life is like that

Not fair or unfair,

Not even right or wrong,

It is what it is,

Just as she is,

An essence that

Draws people to her,

A pheromone trail

She leaves behind

Wherever she strides,

Stronger in some places,

Yet always there,

Continuously,

Irresistable,

But not always

A two way street,

Felt my one,

But maybe not the other,

In this fall of dice

We don’t always come

Up with seven on our

First toss, or get

What we need when we need

Something else,

Sometimes

We roll the dice and come up

With what we want,

Only she may not see it the way we need,

Love is like that,

The right roll at

The wrong time

 

br>email to Al Sullivan

Clicking our heals May 2012

 

She says she can't make it

for my birthday dinner,

I feel crushed,

 as if I suddenly learned

 there is no such thing as

Santa Claus or the tooth fairy,

 or even the Easter bunny,

my day passes like I knew it would

 if my life had never encountered her,

me, the tiny tot aching

at age seven for a bicycle I never got,

just some clothing for my birthday

 I won't wear until the fall,

 we all living this illusion

 of what we want vs what we get

, expecting something that can't be real

no matter how often

 we click our heels and wish for home,

she being the terrible twister

that shook my world

 and deposited me in the midst of munchkins,

 dressing me up in ruby slippers

for a stroll down a yellow brick road

to the even greater illusion of Oz

we still love

and we still click our heals

anyway.

email to Al Sullivan

Missing it July 2012

 Ok, I admit it, I miss it.

You always want what you can’t have

the less likely you are to get it,

the more intensely you think you need it.

I admit it, I do,

 from that first time outside

where she spewed cigarette

 smoke like a dragon,

too dangerous to kiss

 yet, aching to,

the fire inside nearly scalding

as that without,

subsequently all those other

if brief encounters,

an errant knight

 seeking to dip his lance

into the softest spot,

aching to stir up the blaze

 only found in the deepest places

only after significant duel,

the in and out,

 the stabbing down into the pit,

not to cause pain,

 but to cure it,

the wrestling required

to stir up these coals

with time,

to extinguish the fire

that burns so hot

in both of us.

Ok, I admit it, I miss it,

miss more what I never had,

never will,

 except for those times at night

when I close my eyes

and wish for it,

 wish it could all be real.

email to Al Sullivan

Tiger Lily September 5, 2014

 

 

In spring, tiger lilies bloom down the street from where she lives, rising up in a makeshift garden next to a Mexican restraint on the cliff, the stalks rising out of the brown earth as in the background, the New York Skyline looms, somehow pressing up out of the clutter of chewing gum wrappers and expired cans of diet Coke, tiger lilies that seem to guard the passage to her house, like so many stone lions on the porches of houses along the way, lilies I come back to have if no time has passed since the first time I wandered here, sometimes coming later than I expect, but always eventually there, while I always fear they won’t return, as if someone has dug up the bulbs and transplanted them elsewhere, leaving me no spring surprise, no hope for the future, no break from this otherwise bleak concrete environment, and yet they always return, rising up, filling the dull world with a bit of color we all need at that time of year, symbolic of her spirit, of what she was and always will be, a tiger lily that returns to life, year after year.

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