I know that I didn’t lose my answers
When I stepped off late at night.
When I closed the door and shifted sheets.
When I spoke my prayer dance to the moon.
When I laughed heartily
Allowing my soul to saturate
Every breath you exude.
Because this is my intake
And answers don’t get lost here
Where answers don’t get forgotten.
Tag: door
The Art of Forgetting (day 1035)
Even visitors don’t bring lost songs
As they wipe their muddy shoes
At my open doors.
Like angels losing faith
I roam from here to you.
Along my back door, trails:
Straight out from here,
Switch crossing deeper into the woods.
I catch your disguise
Lost in my naked eyes.
Because I don’t know the answer.
I don’t know why we laugh
At birds feeding hungry.
I don’t know why I hear you
When you think long and
Deep into hollow’s eve
Flickering against the softness.
To catch me is your effort I praise;
Perhaps my missing piece,
My soul’s mate.
But long dropped baskets
Keeps staring at me.
Harmonizing (day 1027)
For all that I could remember, for all I could ever remember, for all the times that I dusted off my aching knees to build up my power of love that thrust my gold into the clear blue skies; it was all I was, all I cared to be, all I had dreamed of being, all that was allowed to rest – to be the remnants of some hard played game digging into worn parts of my gloves.
For without these delightful glories (curdling my cream and harmonizing my deep south Presbyterian choir) I was merely a soldier. A hard edged, fine tuned, stainless steel blade of America’s finest earth (plus of course the blood, sweat, and rock hard fists heft my direction). Hardly left a consequence upon my check-marked debriefing.
Here I stood in future’s year, inhaling deep to remember what it felt like laying on the freshly mowed grass in the heat of summer, slow moving cars rolling along manicured gravel. An itch, creeping in and lingering a while as momma’s freshly squeezed – and heavily iced – lemonade tinkled around inside a transparent and sweating summer repair.
But now I wasn’t heading here or there. I wasn’t coming or going. I wasn’t even known amongst the squirrels and bluejays and Chester, the neighbor’s dog, had wilting flowers.
You cannot crush what once lived inside a boy. A man can not fall flat and lie upon his back and let these thoughts turn and turn and turn without the understanding of what has come to pass. Much like Tchaikovsky’s flurrying madness, torrent thoughts arrest my secret moments until the uneven dice with blank looking stares roll the number five five times in a row. To end a second chapter but never ending. Never an end. Never to be ended.
Without knowing then, I was knocking at a door I had left without looking back. A door that still had a mesh pane to keep out the flies. A door that creaked and banged shut no matter how slow it was released. A door that acted as the liaison between country folk and their well meaning manner. A door that punctuated my knocking and brought old – as in aging – footsteps squinted hard to recognize the stranger the stood just on the other side.
I’m Sorry (day 786)
I’m sorry for wishing upon a star
I’m sorry for shading in my grays
I’m sorry for holding my glass half full
I’m sorry for not wearing socks
I’m sorry for listening to birds
I’m sorry for squeezing my hugs tight
I’m sorry for singing in the rain
I’m sorry for dancing you around in circles
I’m sorry for laughing at the jokes
I’m sorry for whispering into winds
I’m sorry for handling the hot dishes
I’m sorry for opening your door
I’m sorry for carrying the heavy stuff
I’m sorry for kissing you under that old oak
I’m sorry for making you tea
In Spite (day 712)
In spite the growing dissent
Of fabricated lighting
Creeping in from out there, farther
Past the nightstand, painted in dad’s home project brown
Past the economy series paneled door
Past the last tenant’s floor mat hallway and
Beyond the door that almost shuts
With the backwards door bolt
In spite the chandelier
Atop the family portrait staircase
That’s powering the dollar store light bulbs
Blackness crawls in, dancing with the music
Suited to tame even the wildest of beasts
Hugs at the Door (day 569)
A comfy chair places me at home
Wrinkles that each tell a story
Smile back at me, or
Crease as I sit amongst the pillows
Memories float through the air
Of a time long gone now
It’s funny how we remember things
Like they were just yesterday
Sometimes the memories
Are built into photographs
Slightly raw on the edges
Handled for years
I think the biggest prize
Of all the nooks and crannies
That is found at home
Is in the heart that hugs me at the door
They’d Moan (day 481)
There was a door that creaked as it was stealthily opened that gave him away every time
It wasn’t as if they minded, they both smiled to themselves as they knew what it meant
Love, so they thought, was at work in the house so they let it continue in its name
She said she was 23, he knew she was 22. He didn’t lie with his 25
It’s funny how age becomes less and less relevant as the days whisper on by
The bed could fit them both, it was a nice feeling with the warmth of each others skin pressing down on their sleepy whispers
Loose bed sheets that wrinkled at the foot of the bed would never be needed in passion
There was a point in the passion where both of the lovers would pause
Where they would both crawl over towards each other and look into their eyes and still be sitting there in their underwear
This was passion, fueled by desire, that would rupture where they stood and teased
It was fun at any rate, to slowly take off each others small things and reveal something secret and intimate
Skin that was smooth, and delicate clipping, and eyes that crawled more than a spider with a smile
More and then less, and more and then less was a game that was exciting to play
A game that would take the both of them longer and hopefully both of them higher than before
Did they lose touch just then, when the passion was within, or was it lost to them a long time ago?
But they embraced each other, nipple against nipple, and turned up the heat in the room
They’d call and they’d moan, and they’d let out a groan, and they’d pull at the hair on the back of the neck
They’d flip and they’d roll, and they’d stop and they’d call, and they’d make it all matched in their body
And the race was on for eruptions song, dancing a dance where two can play and the best of the days is when it grooves
Take all that away in a moments display, in a push for the top of the rafters
Then draining away that marvelous display comes a time for bliss like a setting sun in the arms of a lover
And a kiss, a kiss on the forehead, wet with excitement and no delay and breath that enjoys how fast it does roll
A little fun at the toes as the sheets that have stowed are un-tangled and used as a cover for the flesh
Legs that are near reach around and pull close with emotion set fit for the time
With low murmurs that roll through the waves in a friendly waltz the night slowly takes control of the two lovers until movement no longer becomes conscious
Fuzzy Slippers (day 271)
If it wasn’t for this cursed intense desire
To see what is behind the door
To take that red pill with a glass of water
I maybe would have had a nice sleep last night
Listening to something nice and easy
Perhaps a small fire cackles in the background
Or the warm smell of tea freshly boiled wafts in
Warm, fuzzy pajamas, with nice slippers to boot
Out of The Cold (day 167)
Abound with joy she zipped up her pants
Wrapped the scarf one more time around
Before she braved the cold wall facing her
She stepped out the door into the brisk air
Cooly calm after the night whirled in her head
Like a heart worn, still spinning top
Anticipation in waiting, like the empty bowl
Full of surprises but still quite unready to expose
The vampires call now, late in the night
The steps jump faster, as joints stiffen against the cold
The bus .does. .not. .ever. come quick enough
Fucking transit, mumbled under her breath
As a lady, she smiles, ignoring the smirks
As a temptress she squirms, applauding the smiles
Alone she hurries, out of the cold
Animals and Doors (day 52)
If it wasn’t for
The little doors
Crisscrossing the floor
I’d have an easier time
Remembering which
Animal to mount
Upon the wall
To show my appreciation
For all the space
I’ve been given
In anticipation
Of this very hard decision
As to which door
Upon the floor
I should pull for
To make my way
Into the day