in the wings

a repost for my new friends from July 9, 2013,
and a special ty to my friend Cindy Knoke, an
incredible photographer for always rummaging
in my archives.
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a great big hug to my daughter on her 14th birthday
for sharing this song which inspired this story/poem.
please feel free to listen to it as a soundtrack.
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in the wings
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they seemed to meet, quite by accident
but something in their eyes, told them otherwise
this wouldn’t be their first conversation
but.. it always felt like it could be the last

like a patient, who knows their time is near
with so many faces yet to see
and…confessions to make
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and…sunsets to end
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their now daily talks lasted for hours
even after they left that little cafe
feverishly texting on the bus back home
sometimes…through the hush of their night

they would talk of paintings, songs and poetry
any silly thing, as long as there was a reply
the hold on each other, so tenuous
an undertow…
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the pull of fear as real
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he not so accidently, brushed her hand on the table
she instinctively recoiled, placing it on her lap
she apologized quickly, she was sorry
but regretted showing him so much

his practiced stoic reaction, said little
this time his heart, tried valiantly to follow
‘but isn’t that how it always goes?’
setting a few more bricks in the wall

he was a little braver than she was
or maybe his clock, was just ticking faster than hers
he said the words, that they both feared
and knew it was wrong…
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the moment he spoke
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two hearts… waiting in the wings
for love to speak and heal their pain
all the words… they shared between them
could not help them say goodbye
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say…please say

throughout this decade long romance
our shared serendipitous journey home
and our day in, day out conversation
the ups and downs, living this crazy life each day

darlin’
you see through me like no one else ever would
every imperfection, my softest underbelly on display
i’m trusting you, more than i trust myself sometimes
your unconditional love, an abundant never ending gift

but hey,
we figured out our role reversal many tears ago
you, that valiant hunter gatherer with a heart so bold
me, a nester, seed spreader with a heart so easily bruised
tradition? because only you and i know what works for us

and you know i never want to be your burden
but you know when i retreat to my silent shadows
and it doesn’t mean you said anything wrong
but darlin,’ whenever i get quiet and close my doors
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…so i need to ask you for a favor

take a minute…look me in the eyes,
say…please say those three words
that will make my world all right
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‘If You Don’t Know Me By Now’
we all got our own funny moods
i’ve got mine, woman you’ve got yours too
just trust in me, like i trust in you
as long as we’ve been together
it should be so easy to do
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if you feel like a second read, play the song, pick up the
slow tempo and the first crescendo in the music will sync up
with the end of the poem. imho the best cover of this classic tune.
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digital misivs

jacked on Marlboro’s and mocha java
she lives safely in her word cloud,
laying belly down with candy wrappers
littering the unkempt futon bed.

smartphone, notebook glowing
in that messy shades drawn room
and sometimes pink hair spilling
out a Neff cap covered eyes.

Skye, exists as ‘anonymous’
tattood and thin, small framed
her cool demeanor her paler skin
nothing touched her since he left.

and crossing paths in the gangway
with the new boy down the hall,
his immediate smile spoke volumes
he brushed against her as they talked.

but that spark its cruel reminder
of hurt she really can’t forget
her promise to call forgotten,
the spark was just suppressed.

Skye spent that night as every night
a private etherland of love
texting poems of lust her loneliness,
drift…digital misivs through the dark.

written May 2013
submitted to 20 Lines A Day

in her eyes

she

told me

everything

in her questions

written April 2013
submitted to 20 Lines A Day
prose and poetry challenge for April

s.a.d.ness

Sunless skies, endless
grey clouded over grey crusted
snow, creating havoc for crocus shoots
struggling to make their stand.

Winter, a slow
death by it’s thousand windy cuts
an imperceptable emotional fade, and
so few words shared between them.

Purple and orange
in full bloom now swathed across
front yard lawns stirring expectations, and
memories of their languid summer days.

Teal sky days that
started warm and ended warmer,
their uninterrupted steady sun and their
sleeveless shirts and moist sweaty skin.

Sun, her kiss
once assured his unsteady heart. So many
purple and orange reasons to be hopeful but
March, always the cruel reminder.

written March 2013
revised FOR April 2013
this poem was submitted
to 20 Lines A Day prose and
poetry challenge for April.
http://anexerciseindiscipline.com/2013/04/13/s-a-d-ness/

that day

She arrives

loosey goosey

through the door

light on her toes

despite our

few days of

separation,

for years the

weekly ritual.

Our eyes meet
grey to grey and
her skin color mine,
though reaching down
to kiss her forehead
seemed easier that day.

Hands could always effortlessly wrap around
my fingertips meeting at her sometimes ponytail,
or mingling among those tangled golden curls.

And when did her head snug in at my chest when we hugged?
Like the kitchen door frame penciled ever higher in our old house,
maybe our bodies will mark those imperceptable passages now?
Time it seems to move so slowly until that day, when it doesn’t.
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my first poem
written 2012,
revised April 2013
submitted to 20 Lines A Day
prose and poetry challenge for April
http://anexerciseindiscipline.com/2013/04/12/that-day/

That Day

for my daughter

She arrives looseygoosey through the door light on her toes
despite a few days of separation, for years our weekly ritual.
Our eyes meet grey to grey and her skin color mine, though
reaching down to kiss her forehead seemed easier that day.

Hands could always effortlessly wrap around
my fingertips meeting at her sometimes ponytail,
or mingling among those tangled golden curls.

And when did her head snug in at my chest when we hugged?
Like the kitchen door frame penciled ever higher in our old house,
maybe our bodies will mark those imperceptable passages now?
Time. It seems to move so slowly until that day, when it doesn’t.

My first poem
written April 2012
revised Aarch 2013

submitted to 20 Lines A Day
prose and poetry challenge for April
http://anexerciseindiscipline.com/2013/04/12/that-day/

That Day…A Poem

The inspiration for this diary was the perfect Sunday I spent with my 12 year old daughter. ( who will officially be named Little O. We talked about the new school she tested into and will begin 7th grade next semester, about her friends and the school she will be leaving, her piano recital and the math placement test she took the day before and thought she did well on both, about all the sports teams she’s on now, we swapped YouTube videos, she helped me choose a new 4g phone and we played catch in the local schoolyard. Later that night, she did drawings of Japanese anime while I wrote this poem, combining the two videos we shared earlier that day.

Little O and I have a long tradition of sharing YouTube videos and we normally trade one or two with each other on our visits, usually music, sometimes science related or funny animal videos. When she was younger she loved FailBlog and we used to laugh for hours as she played them over and over, but that day she sat me down to listen to a few songs by Birdy, a young singer/songwriter whose big break came just recently, when one of her recordings was chosen to be in the movie soundtrack for ‘The Hunger Games.’

Please,
Play the Birdy music video and just let it play while you
read the poem, then play the time lapse video with sound off.
If you give the poem a nice slow read, the music should end
just as the last frame appears in the time lapse video.
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Little ‘O’, I have a video for you to watch.’

‘Cool.’

‘Daddy, listen to Birdy, she’s only fifteen, she’s from England.’

‘Wow, that’s an incredible voice for a fifteen year old,
how did you find her music?’

‘Her song was in ‘The Hunger Games.’

‘Did you like the movie, I know you loved the books?’

‘The books were much better.’

‘Yeah, you’ll find that will probably happen a lot.
Her songs all have a sadness to them,
I love sad songs though, I always have.’

‘I do too, daddy!’

‘This whole album is a melancholy mood piece,
I like it a lot. Do you know what melancholy means?’
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She arrives looseygoosey through the door, light on her toes
despite a few days of separation, for years the weekly ritual,
our grey to grey eyes meet and her skin color mine, though
reaching down to kiss her forehead seemed easier that day.

My hands could always, effortlessly wrap around,
fingertips meeting at her sometimes ponytail,
or mingling among those tangled golden curls.

And when did her head snug in at my chest when we hugged?
Like the kitchen door frame penciled ever higher in our old house,
maybe our bodies will mark those imperceptable passages now?

Time, it seems to move so slowly until that day, when it doesn’t.
.
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