The Bane of Fullness (day 2370)

I don’t want to hold onto this enormous feeling.
A Skeptic once said the past isn’t present,
So let us believe that a fullness isn’t real
(A limit we reach where we can no longer give, share, believe),
Let this feeling take us on a tenderness stroll
Like sheer cotton shading giant pillows we lounge upon,
Meandering through ancient streets and wild forests
Where we stop at every third park bench we pass
To sit closely and pretend we’re still consciously speaking
In syllables that reason can understand and explain,
For to me your words speak in gestures only my ears
– And perhaps the dear sweet Cupid who so cleverly pinned us –
Can fully grasp at, mingled so heavily with vibrant lips
My eyes cannot escape being entranced by,
And breath mine hairs can feel so warmly upon
With your gentle yet firm fingers ever so delicately
Squeezing a new pattern into mine palm of eternity.
I want to hold onto you, the back of your neck with softest of curls
As our lips mean to share what we’ve intoned of a feeling,
Forgetting for brief moments our shooting star madness
And living a while longer by the bane of our senses.

Ode to the Big Cedar (day 1759)

I looked up to wonder
How many years has your bark
Entangled your sinuous heart,
The very fibers of your girth
And timber, thick.
How long have you towered
Above the rest of your
Brothers and sisters
Reminding them through a good example
Of how big and strong they can yet grow?
And my mind runs along your vertical stripes
To follow the years of your growth
I count the markings
The lateral indicators
Of a healthy year or a false start.
And if I listen carefully as I stroll on by
I can hear you whispering my name
Reminding me of why I came,
And to whom I owe this poem.

big cedar tree in the west coast of Canada

Up Against the Wall (day 1093)

I’m alone here,
Not waiting for anyone.
This is the show space;
This is my call.
So when I lean up against the wall
Take a double notice man,
This isn’t curtain call
This is a casual evening stroll…
Saddled and suited
Eyein up the ninety suitors,
Oh everybody comes a calling
When I’m up against the wall.

Strolling (day 886)

Day dream with me,
A stroll if you will,
Through weeping willows
Flirting the edges of a pond.
Home to Canadian geese
With park benches
Scattered about
In an loosely knit pattern;
Two left, four right.
And old lamp posts –
Think nineteen fifty New York
Al Capone and the Rat Pack,
Steeze so steep
It takes a cane to walk back up –
The only way to hold this dream
Is to head along,
Around and around
Strolling through the gay couples
Hand in hand in thought and plans,
Midday sun with passive flies,
Squirrels about gathering nuts
While little bits of escaping grass
Grow up between the cracks,
Making the scene one of delight
One of softness
Fit for a stroll