The Tranquility of Passion
February 21, 2014 § Leave a comment
the tranquility of inaction
will never surpass
the tranquility of passion
for to haphazardly
create your path
and exalt in wonder
and awe of life itself,
is a task of which
one will never tire
distance
February 18, 2014 § 1 Comment
to illustrate time
resting between me and you
we’d need a decade,
at least.
Awkward Valentine
February 14, 2014 § Leave a comment
brief comments, not lasting
nothing to remember, under bright lights
and thumping music
and a swirl of something syrupy
we smiled in passing, sugary grins
without much meaning
and you would sometimes toss a wink
over your shoulder, but it wasn’t
something I thought about
and then one day, THE DAY
when saints dance with cupids
and candles melt and drip
onto heart-dotted tablecloths
and the universe convinces
even bitter souls, they need love too
you winked and asked me over
so odd, I thought, of all the days
why not, I thought, why not
you were too tall for your kitchen
it struck me as sweet when you stood
at the island, a nervous man with a potholder
and pulled steaming enchiladas
from your oven, serving them carefully
on a plate with beans, and we ate
on a naked wooden table
under burning florescent bulbs
and talked about our dogs
the two of us, so odd, I thought
just eating enchiladas one night, THE NIGHT
and then you pulled out a pair of boots
took my hand and said, let’s two step,
and it struck me as sweet
the two of us, nearly strangers, two-stepping
to a cheesy country song
around your apartment
like it could have been any other night
Feb. 12th
February 13, 2014 § Leave a comment
This poem is for you and it’s February twelfth
I fear my day has been uneventful
I ate waffles for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch
A mid-day cookie was essential.
I won’t tell you in prose everything else that I did
It’s likely too bland to put into words
But I did think something I want you to know
I love you and I think you’re superb.
Sunday Morning Kitchen
February 3, 2014 § Leave a comment
it’s a blinding light cast
across the wooden floor
sending a sky full of dancing dust
upward and spinning
it’s a cup of black warmth and steam
between my palms
with some cinnamon because
my dad always makes it that way
it’s a soft paper floating
from hand-to-hand
dancing around the table
so everyone can catch-up on the news
it’s the refrigerator’s gentle hum
a heated stove-top whistling
a gurgle from the dishwasher
a beautiful appliance symphony
it’s a proud glass window
with fingerprints illuminated
showing off the outside landscape
shining light on our eggs
Song
January 24, 2014 § 2 Comments
A melody singing
again and again
a sweet, faint tune
that rings between ears
but sounds different
each time it plays, perhaps
the very same notes
but melancholy
at times
or gloriously ecstatic
perhaps
red with anger
at moments
and painful sadness
in others
and then blind passion
flooding emotion
or just
perfect peace,
all fantastically interesting,
though.
A melody that speaks
everything
you cannot say,
a tune that plays
between your ears
day-in, day-out
a hymn that sings a prayer
when words don’t suffice,
the melody of a spirit
that wonders
how life is any different
than a song.
The Bridge
January 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I was walking across a bridge
today, and thought of you,
because eight years ago,
perhaps on this very day,
our footsteps aimlessly traced
the same path to this lonely bridge
in the woods.
Although the arch underfoot
carrying me over the creek below
is the same as it was
on that day eight years ago,
everything else is different.
It’s strange how eight years
can double a tree in size
or overgrow a foot-worn path
be the lifetime of a blue bird
and completely dull emotions
that seemed so all-consuming
eight short years ago.
I wonder if you walked the same path
would our conversation on that day
replay in your mind?
Or would you simply hear a whispered song
of a bluebird landing on the bridge’s edge.
Moment
January 13, 2014 § Leave a comment
the memory of
humid night air
seeping through the vents
of my car, and us, still
holding air in our lungs
should our breath
stir the other
causing a butterfly
effect, of sorts
a punctured moment
to remain imagined
so we are still
and hesitance becomes
our greatest friend and foe
but the air surrounding us
is waiting too
absorbing into our skin
and remaining there
should we ever forget