Tagged: poem

12-28-14

I’d seen love on the screen, written in pixels and
colors and scattered dialogue-
love plastered onto billboards and left to peel and
fade under the harsh sunlight,
their meaning flaking away like dry, molted skin-
love was seen in magazines, mannequin smiles
pasted in a glossy frame and frozen into paper
realism for all time,
just one dimension of the whole sphere-
love finds its way into all places,
creeping into play like water penetrates dry soil,
there to ferment or to grow,
to nourish,
or to evaporate-
your eyes, like starfire, peered beneath my skin
like a telescope peers into the soul of a distant
world,
and reminded me of the wholeness of
things-
what will I take with me from this place?*

12-27-14

Like ships laden with cargo, we voyage with packed holds
deep into the belly of the unknown,
an eager armada robust with the vigor of exploration
and the scintillation of mystery,
calm under the tremble of uncertainty and the
trickle of trepidation-
our nostrils flared and full,
lungs satiated with the rush-
what adventure awaits beyond the spray…
sea foam skies wash within the clouds like a high tide
still life,
intention spoken on letters of green and blue-
words without end, thoughts without aim,
swirling around our feet like the rushing sea,
our tale penned gently and tucked tightly in the bottle cast out
into the wide blue fields,
our souls forever woven in its ink*

12-22-14

Words are just the pigment behind a thought,
the brush strokes that smear the world with grains of
intention, fodder for interpretation-
they are the burst of color for flashes of brilliance,
the random ink globules that scatter the paper,
the errant sunburst that illuminates an old photo-
words are visual incarnations of the heart’s ideas and
sketches,
echoes in the dark,
whispers hushed into the cushy retreat of
our vulnerability,
soft to the touch
like a silken weave brushed against our skin…
that familiarity-
that comfort-
that halo of warmth radiating from a sunset-
words are just the price tag on the car,
the miniscule glint of sunshine on the dew drop that sets it
aglow,
the flicker of blue moonlight between the December reaches
of the cold, black limbs-
just the pigment-
just the beginning-
just the quiet respite in the eye of the storm…
words-
spoken,
written,
hidden or expressed,
form a path meant to be sought,
followed,
and lived*