Poetry from Alwayslooking
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These poems are dedicated to L.S.
It was only a glass bird on a table,
Fascinating in its smoothness.
I remember being drawn
To touch it just once,
Never expecting its owner
To place it in my youthful grasp.
Frozen, I stood with tiny hands
Curled around the polished form,
Certain any simple twitch
Would send this lovely, precious gift
Crashing to the hardwood there,
Which cooled my naked feet.
That was many years ago
But I can feel the tremor still.
The fear of breaking what’s most dear
Returns each time you come my way
And I offer up a welcoming smile,
Knowing you my greatest treasure.
For silence is my constant friend.
If once you knew how much I love,
I know you’d slowly disappear.
Which leaves me where I always was:
Holding my heart in trembling hands
And looking nervously at the floor.
{A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference}
{Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
An echo as profound as death
Rattles about my weary soul.
I must be careful.
Long ago you told me
Of the limits of your heart.
You bade me never dream
Of a closeness
Beyond your ability
To give.
You may knock at the door,
You said,
But don’t expect an answer.
And yet, I need you now.
My pain has grown,
Defined in a loneliness
Made more profound
By being invisible
To those I meet.
There is noone here
Who understands
The me inside,
But you.
Yet I must be careful.
And so I pray
For just one moment
When you will know
My need for closeness -
Will initiate the contact,
Offer up the touch,
And draw me to you -
For one moment when
You will be careful
Of me.
{A Bird In My Hand} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference}
{Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
The world rests on my shoulders
Tearing muscle, warping bone,
Its fearsome bulk pressing down
To quash all hope of joy.
I stand in darkness, peering still
Into a void almost of substance
In its thick, inky nothingness.
And so it will always be, I think.
For so it has always been:
Dark aloneness
And the weight of the world.
Yet suddenly a presence joins me,
Another pair of hands
Strong, slender, cool,
Shifts the load I carry,
Until we two go forth awhile
With the earth between us,
A burden bearable in tandem.
You look my way, as we move.
Eyes, kindled with wry wit,
Like knife-slashes of lightning
Part the surrounding blackness
And light the path we trod.
Then you are gone.
For this great globe
Above me still
Remains my own to cradle.
Yet, in your wake,
The awesome sphere
Seems no great demand
Upon my frame,
And I find rest within
Knowing, when the dark
Thickens once again,
I can reach for tender hands
To help me bear in patience
The weight of a weary world.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard}
{The Difference}
{Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
When I speak to others
There always seems
A need to temper thought
To find the words
To meet the expectations
Of those to whom
I must communicate
The part of myself
They wish to hear.
When others speak to me
There always seems
A barrier built, I think,
Of expectations they
Long ago placed
Upon my head and heart,
Limiting the me
They can approach
With any understanding.
When I speak with you
It is as if
A light had been
Turned on in space
Illuminating all I am
To one with eyes to see.
I am me
You are you
And we speak
Truth.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
ECHOES
(Note on a letter from Vita Sackville-West)
It was a letter from someone else
Discovered by chance among ancient texts.
She wrote to her lover
In terms of ache and quiet desperation,
With passion and with gentle wit
Speaking still of need and yet of the mind -
Asking the embrace of thought as well as the rest.
How her words echoed in my brain,
This literary woman from another time:
Her voiced want reflecting my own yearnings
Each time you are near, when understanding
Climbs out of its standard habitat,
Stretching to envision new worlds
The sharp edge of your intellect bids me see.
Yet still, at letter’s core,
The message the long ago lover wrote
Reflected other phrases which ring in my heart:
I miss you when you are not near.
Like she, I write in dreams
Fantastical letters which vanish at dawn.
Like she, I stand defenseless, loving you.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
Listen. It begins once more
Within my heart - the music of hope -
The harmonies thrumming there
Coming not with the stark precision
Of Bach's mathematical canons,
But in the lush landscapes
Of a Vaughn Williams symphony
Or the wistful yearning tones
Of an English cathedral's choir:
Resonant depth, a sensual formality.
Listen. With no breath of wind
I hear your voice in the night air.
With wonder I feel, yet again, your presence,
Floating within my hesitant breast.
Vibrant with the rhythms of joy
I walk the counterpoint of a life enveloped
By love which, like an invasive tune,
Sings eternally - a vision constantly new:
Dreaming of a moment when I shall discover,
Within your arms, the rhapsody of forever.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference} {Echoes} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
A silly game it was,
Made of myth and stars and fantasy,
Sent by a friend.
Ever the skeptic, I toyed with it,
Startled when it labeled me a romantic.
Scoffing, I donned again
The overcoat of efficient logic
In which I live my days,
Yet deep within I knew it true.
For else, how could I love you?
How else could your presence haunt my days
Or stroll like starlight through my dreams?
As in truth, in gentle silence, you do.
And so I return to the game,
Packing it tightily into box and drawer.
My secret is safe, I know.
For you alone carry its key.
Only your eyes penetrate my formal mask.
Only you, one day, shall see clear through
To the passion alive in my soul.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference} {Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings}
{The Breakfast} {Ode to a Bowl of Grits}{Top of Page}
THE BREAKFAST
dedicated to Bongo Bear
I wake to a nudge and a breakfast tray.
There, amidst bagels and lox, coffee and silver,
Your heart is left for my disposal.
Gazing there, I see within a simple repast
The story of our touching souls:
A sound foundation, outwardly solid
Yet inwardly pliable, absorbing the rest.
Fragile flavor, manifested here in earth’s salt
And sea’s bounty, bound together
By smooth richness, tactile subtlety,
Spiced with a biting flavor sprinkled
Like capers over the whole.
And yet, taken in isolation,
Each component offers only a single taste,
Often dull, lacking splendor.
Together, the explosion of combination
Offers far more than the sum of parts.
So too you and I, my love.
Apart we live in incompleteness,
Insecure, aware of what we can never be.
In compliment, we make a world
Complete and rich, varied in texture,
Together we spice the blander moments,
And, with hearts nourished, make a life.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference} {Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{Ode to a Bowl of Grits} {Top of Page}
ODE TO A BOWL OF GRITS
dedicated to Bongo Bear
I was far from home, seeking warmth
And sustenance to start my lonely day.
Like a surrogate mother, a waitress
Far more interested in her gum than in me
Set the steaming bowl before my place,
Sending a waft of homey friendliness
Into this bleak and impersonal space.
I breathed deeply the scent of salt,
Of buttery richness and fruit of the earth.
Simple it was, this morning meal,
Reflecting the day that would come:
A day of work ordinary but needed,
Filled with its own satisfactions,
And leading me, in the end, to you.
As I ate, I saw your face before me.
For you are like this dish as well:
Salt of the earth, you stand solidly
In the real world, steady, steadfast.
As this earthly repast fuels my body
So your rich presence sustains my soul.
The love we share is a meal in itself.
{A Bird In My Hand} {A Need Unheard} {Self Portrait, as Atlas}
{The Difference} {Echoes} {Adagio for Heartstrings} {The Game}
{The Breakfast} {Top of Page}