I am not secret letters
Or a piece of written word
I am not Spring’s blossoms
Or twigs left to the wind
I am not warmth in a hug
Or laughter of memory
I am not sweet sun so high
Nor pale moon tonight
I am not bed to rest thy head
Or coffee to rouse morning dread
I am not sound from croaking frogs
Or serenade from happy birds
I am not late
Or early
I am
Or I am
I believed just so strongly that you would be the one
So much so that I chairiscuro’d my heart into day and night,
Night and day.
So longing with my open arms I stood uninterested,
Drooping at edges of my sanity
That left holes so deeply imprinted into my unknown matter
I had successfully reprinted what I’d callously called
“Out of Stock.”
Now? Now I would like to re-brand my interests,
Remove all the old artifacts that so delicately had collected
Dusty particles of my memory,
And remind myself how little it mattered in the end –
Dust being all that could sprinkle our dearest dreams –
As raindrops came tumbling down upon a rainbow I’d ignited.
So my desert teardrops exclaimed to my heartbeat, strong,
Oh this desperado desolato,
In an anguish that I could not anticipate…
Because spring had not yet sprung.
Memory had the young lad locked into heartache
Said a long face into still waters, messy brown hair.
Even puppy’s breath flowers, scattered about un-special pebbles
That were delicately delivered by glacial giants in a spring long ago,
Couldn’t lick the apparitions floating about.
Mounting piles of she-loves-me-she-loves-me-not
Couldn’t dare stop to observe silent friends soaring high above,
Or recognize it wasn’t what was left without.
But the great deal of compromise left standing tall
Two men in full militia calling: go within.
Life shall bless and repeat again,
Love shall pass along.
And with our praise
Little ones shall grow
As poplars bloom in spring.
Like the sun at twilight’s hour
Little ones must lay down to sleep,
Rest their heads and sleep a while
To let wings ruffle down;
Night shall wrestle in.
I missed your hand, we reached to touch;
A blossom in spring and my soul’s a window.
And we don’t need sound responses
To beckon our eyes awake now,
We don’t need a perfect sentence
To shine on down in spring’s lasting blossom.
I am aware you painful memories,
Took filtered glimpses at running water.
To be the liver of animosity,
A grand entrance with delicate personalities.
Discussion and her sister curiosity
Played the small orchestra to my memory.
There’s sun here,
Beaming into my leftover sex eyes.
Wet ground pushing through
My grandmothers heirloom blanket
Floral – diamonds for my pleasure,
Tranquil.
A lover’s legs wrap beyond consciousness,
Creasing my hunger
And playing games with children
Learning how to catch Frisbees,
And hipsters bikes
– Bloody impracticable bikes –
Making criss-crossing lines
Across freshly sprouted spring.
I’m drinking a wild blend of red
Eying patrons eying me…
I’m not annoyed with screaming children,
Just wondering how fun their game really is;
How long fun lasts
Before someones mother has had enough,
Started worrying about what types of spices
To leave out of tonight’s meatloaf
Vegetarian meatloaf,
Hipsters meatloaf.
The dreadful spring
Every single year
Without relent
I’m left with allergies
Some say it goes
Some say it lasts
6 years or so
But not for me
Not since I was
A wee gooseling
Splashing in little pools
Following my sweet mother
I’ve been so stuffed up
It’s impossible
Simply impossible
What is a goose to do?
I honk, I honk loudly
All day I honk
This way and that
Not angry, just congested
Karl can be purchased here.
A lonely walking along the springs night air
Has a traveler thinking about matters to beware
If ever there was a time for spewing melancholy
The drip drip drip of the morning dew would induce
Such a state of ephemeral excitement ensues
Leaving the steps slightly quicker
In a race against time to return home
Gather the tidbits of nonchalantly whimsical
Ideas that flow rather seamlessly forth
Did we exude the true meaning of all of our thoughts?
As autumn turns white as pearls
I’ve never let you go
As leaves have long since fallen
There’s never been inward fog
As ices water our fields
Birth it neighs with life
Wobbly knees and scared eyes
There’s never been overwhelming rains
As the rains have been scared by gold
Navy blues, purples, and burgundies
Watching the bee lazily wander
No searing burns have ever fazed
As sprouts begin to curl
What was calf is now a cow
Vibrant greens have all turned yellow
Yet still no weathering of my soul
Excitement boils over the unruly ground
Steaming and popping and causing little sparks to go off
While the action frits and frets
It’s the bumblebee that loathes
Infatuated by the spoils of fall
It’s spring here now; memory still strong
And the sun begins its reign