Points of stone July 17, 2014

We press against the cold stone

Two trolls under

The drip, drip, drip

Of this old stone bridge

Each edge of the

hewn stone

pressing in us

as we press together

soft against soft

until even that

gets hard,

the drip, drive drip

as potent as a

Chinese water torture

Only this is not China

And this is not water,

And the bridge is not

Refuge against the storm

We feel rising inside,

Our lives

Circumscribed

By this arch above us

And the rushing water

At our feet,

The swish of traffic

Rushing overhead

Unaware of our haunting,

We not so much

Fearing sunlight

As preferring the mood of gray

Twilight shares,

Needing no shades of it

To enhance the ache,

No artificial inducements

To increase the edge

Of what bookies out of us

Like points of stone

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These circles of life Nov 8, 2024

 

Almost a year ago maybe more she danced around the May Poll, not in May, but for her mother's birthday, on the sand of a historic Beach town I nearly went to when she was there, a dreadful coincidence, I think, since she if she had seen me there, she would have jumped to the wrong collusion, assuming somehow, I had done so deliberately, when fate or God or some other higher power intervened and caused me to alter my plans to come later, when the whale appeared near the same Beach she did. How do you interpret these things, can they ever make any sense, when she once again altered her life and her living condition for reasons I still know nothing about, seeking contentment elsewhere with others than those she had resided with, these circles of life we cannot avoid, a stone into the middle of a pond

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Consumpion July 15, 2014

A forefinger rubbed along the lip of a glass makes it moan;

My fingers stained and sticky from dipping inside;

This wine makes me whine from inside out;

Finger to tongue to test this vintage

Before I lift the lip of glass to my lips to sip,

My finger on this rim seeking soft edge

Into which I ache to plunge,

Tongue first and then the rest of me

A sip, and then, alas, consumption

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Carrying on Jan 14, 2025

 

I sit at the crossroads of where I once was and am once again, the ruins of an old farm, from a time when I last came here, not far from where she sprouted wings, a caterpillar reborn as moth, her pretty wings taking her places my feet won't let me go, the did stalks of last fall’s corn, strewn along each side, full of memories, full of decay, the last gasp before winter turns to spring again, before summer, the decoration then with green, the old dairy farms turned into gas stations and Cannabis stores, celebrating the demise of our way of life, I search for the fruit and vegetable stands that have long gone the way of the dodo, no way to go back to redo what was undone, only carry on

 

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First loaf July 13, 2014

She bakes bread

Each fall

After the first frost,

Clutching the long thin

Handle of the wooden spoon

So hard her knuckles

Go red

Veins thick along each

Finger as she stirs,

Working up the batter

Into a fitful froth

Until it is too thick

To beat,

Taking it out with

Both hands,

She molds it into

A long thick loaf,

Her hands are strong hands,

Gripping it tight as she kneads

Each finger pressing deep

Into the soft dough

Until she makes it hard,

Too tough to knead,

She stuffs it into her oven,

Where the deep heat

Makes it rise,

Makes it perfect.

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Before winter’s embrace Jan 9, 2025

 

Sunlight filters through the closed windows of my overheated car as winter wages its war, the glow rippling from the rooftops, the grip of freeze on my fingers as I try to hold on to the memory of warmth, now so seemingly distant, too many years to remember when I last touched the sacred places, and last felt the cling of her lips against mine, this season the most dismal, the least sense of hope, enduring what needs to be endured, clinging to what warmed us back when we thought we would never feel warmth again, she being a different person now than she was back then, she seeming to accept something she sees as inhibitable, basking and sunlight while I still envision what she looked like, felt like, tasted like before Winters embrace

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Love never stops July 13, 2014

Love never stops,

A lost penny rolling

Between the cracks of pavement

Or over the stones and sand,

Aching always

For a place to land,

Clinging to the fingers

That last held it,

Caressed it,

The imprint of love

Lingering on all

Touched by it,

Even ever rolling

To some unforeseen crevice

It never intended to go

A constant memory

Of that one moment

When love

Like a brand new penny
still shone bright,

It remembers

It never ends

It always renews itself.

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Home is no longer home Jan 10, 2025

 

I walk past the old bank that served as our office until it became a bicycle shop, a rare moment in that part of town, where I fought tooth and nail to return to, though all the parking lots are gone, replaced by buildings nobody can afford to live in, the view from the second floor window where she sat gone, as well the New York skyline, blocked by brick as if it is ceased to exist, leaving only the memory of what we could see when we still could see it, and this intense sense of loss for something we can never get back, a changing world we cannot change back, regardless of how many times we click our heels or how often we chant there is no place like home, especially now that home is no longer home

 

 

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It tastes fine July 12, 2014

I touch the tip of it with my life

And it tastes fine,

I trace the curve of your lips

With the tips of my fingers

Feeling the shudder

Quivering in both of us,

The quake of earth

The shake we make

With each spark

Our hearts start

When flesh touches flesh

And we slide into a place

We never expected to arrive,

The tips of fingers or tongue

Pressing into you,

Seeking some pleasure

The taste of you

Linger inside of me

A never fading memory

I would not shake

Even if I could

Bound to it,

As if to the earth itself
no quake can shake from me

Tasted your taste,

Smelling your scent,

Touching all of you

With all of me,

I touch the tip of it with my lips

And it tastes fine.

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hotel with gold trim Jan 11, 2025

 

My old journal says she went there more than once, the summer before Sandy tore up the pier that stretched out into the sea, then later, months after the storm, the majestic green hotel with gold trim I ache over with each visit, as I pick the scab of an old wound, I just won't let heal, my brain manufacturing a rogues gallery of men who might have shared that place with her, maybe one man again and again, unable to say no: a glass of wine over a fine dine and then a good time between the sheets, the whole time, I wish that man -- the one so full of charm and grace-- might have been me, jealousy rearing it's ugly head even all these years later, when it all has become moot, and yet -- drenched in that salty air-- I can't help myself, tempted even now to go up the steps and see if she might be there

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Life’s choices July 12, 2014

I sip from the lip

Of this cup

I curl my fingers around

Round, warm, spilling

Its sweet juice into

My ever hungry mouth

The harder I squeeze,

I am a honey bee

Hovering with

Stinger and nimble fingers

Choosing which to use when

To sip each drip

From the lip of this cup

Or to plunge deep

To seek sweeter juices

In the depths of this flower.

Ah! Life’s choices

Never so sweet

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For our own good Jan 7, 2025

 

My life is filled with cats and kittens, the last two from the last batch of kitten making machine we have in our yard, two due to get neutered put on hold when the boldness of the two popped her head into the refrigerator just as I tried to shut the door, drained for a day of her usual energy, forced to go to the vet to make sure she's not permanently damaged, restored by docs who assured me of no serious harm, as she mothers on me as if I am her real mother, the only one she trusts, who may will feel betrayed when I take her to a more distant vet to get fixed, after she endured this short trip already, and I feel bad, having betrayed her for her own good when I am already guilty of having betrayed other people I loved for my own good

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Glowing July 11, 2014

Sunset dances

Through my rear window

Like pixies dancing,

On dust particles

with promises

Of magical things

I live my life

On the edge

Of outstretched

Fairy wings,

A perpetual Peter Pan

Dreaming of being

Taken off to

Never never land,

Settling for the whisper

Of wind and

The stirring of dust,

And the glint of

Sunset decorating

The edges of my life

When I can find

No better illumination

Perhaps knowing

Deep down

Nothing is better than this,

Flying on this trail

Of pixie dust

That leaves me

glowing

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Old woman in the rain Nov 11, 2024

 

An old woman pushes a basket full of laundry along the street, the rain pelting at her hood, the wheel marks showing briefly where she's been, gone within moments like footprints in sand, she huffs and puffs, steam rising out of her with each struggled breath, needing to get clean before she gets dirty again, to reach that place still many blocks away, getting wet in the already if not heavy rains, a sock or end of towel poking out the top of the plastic bags homeless people most often use -- as if she is not too far from that fate, as if scared if she does not get these things clean, she won't be clean herself, pushing ahead through the rain, her wrinkled fingers gripping the handles of the basket, all four wheels slipping and sliding and making her feet slide, too. looking up, cringing at how far she still has to go, knowing it will always be too far

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This heat inside July 10, 2014

The humid air

Presses against my skin

Like a long, wet kiss,

Each step I take

Pumped up my blood

So I boil

Inside and out,

The wet tongue

Of the July heat

Moving over

Each curve of me,

Stirring me up,

Making me feel

Naked walking

Under the beat of sun,

As I make the most

Of the tenderness

And tension,

Struggling to rise

And finally feeling

The intense release

When I reach

The top,

The green world

Exposing its rich interior,

The fallen petals

Violated by

The recent unslaught

Of rain,

Though it would take

Noah’s flood

To fully release

This heat

Inside.

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A walk on a winter’s day Jan 6, 2025

 

The snow comes just when they said it would, decorating the new year with moisture that doesn't quite bury us, the chill air through which I swim, recalling those less painful days when these incidents did not foreworn us of climate disaster, my footsteps leaving a trail behind me across sidewalks of a city I visit, yet no longer live, covered in white as I walk, feeling again as I did as a kid, bundled up, almost immune, when I make my way to this place or that, life never being what we predicted, just what occurs, and I still feel the past clinging to me, even when the trail I leave fills in, the who we are matters less than what might have been, winter finally greeting us with the foreshadow of a spring to come if not tomorrow then some day soon

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Over and around Tuesday, July 01, 2014

The sweat dribbles down

My cheeks as I walk

Up the stiff incline of

The viaduct connecting

Hoboken with Union City,

And Union City with beyond

The rub of cloth

Against my chest and thighs

The heavy breathing,

The rhythm of movement

In this overheated air

And the taste of salt

Sweet with sweat

That drips onto my lips

And into my mouth,

This life journey,

Up and down

In and out,

Over and around,

Pressing me firmly

Against powerful urges

I cannot resist,

Nature I cannot overcome,

Though ache to surrender to,

But must keep moving

Or fall in on myself

Like an overheated sun

Twisted into a black hole

Of smoldering desire

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AC Nov 6, 2024

 

I'm not going to AC even though my boss wants me to, this set for after an election everybody I know hates the outcome of, the old Trump plaza knocked down and the Taj turned into a rock venue, too pricey for working people to afford, the boardwalk spiffed up, too, so that which used to be attractive, no longer is. my previous visit the final nail in the coffin for me, when they put up Big Brother casino TV screens every few feet, selling us on the need for us to give away what little we have left, after the hotel bilked us, and the early morning search for coffee had me running into a stretch limbo filled with near naked women, rushing passed me into a 7-Eleven while I strolled for The Great divide between the rich and poor, and though I have no reason to think this, the whole thing makes me think of her, the casino filled with cigarette smoke and whiskey, and the near naked ladies running back to the limo full of waiting men, none of whom are me.

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Walking on the moon Sunday, June 22, 2014

It is not my heart that warms

At moments like these

Blood boiling to temperatures

That might rival the sun

This I feel from the inside out

An expanding universe

That must explode

Or implode upon itself

We are not made

To contain such extremes

This frail shell of flesh

We are told

Sustains life only in

Moderation

But we are not

Moderate beings

Walking on the dark side
of the moon or the light

Passing from one extreme

To another

Freezing feelings in one degree

Evaporating them in another

Somehow managing to

Find a compromise

Between the two

That fine line between

Light and dark

We walk like a tightrope

Always fearful

We might fall off

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No new New Year's resolution Jan 3, 2025

 

I have no new New Year's resolution, only the same one I have recycled year after year, waking each day after the ball has dropped with the same expectation, like a wish wished again and again, even when the wish has never been granted, never acknowledged.

 I am always on the brink of thinking it might come true; it never does, not a hamster brain as she once called it, just the vague fog that rises with the end of the year and the start of the next, thinking over and over, if I wish harder this time, it might come true, and after all these years (more than the baker's dozen) I wait to the same place, the same Faith as I have all those other years past, and despite this the letdown, I know I will resolve to wish for it again the next time and the time after that

 

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