echoes of Autumn…Tanka/Haiku

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echoes of Autumn…
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voices like leaves rustle and
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scatter to the wind,
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yet another poet’s pen
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has sadly been set aside.
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windy-leaves

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a wordless farewell…

like the brightest leaves they fall
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when their season calls.
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but just as the memories

of true love always lingers,
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creativity
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and their inspired poetry
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forever remain.
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dedicated to thesilentfingers, Tanumoy Biswas,
Memoirs of a Dragon, cubby and Tiffany Coffman. ty, all.

Monday Haiku: the Winter bell tolls

the Winter bell tolls
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the first morning frost,

an indiscriminate shroud

of hibernation.

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white season of fears…

of my foulest memories,

weigh heavy today

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as unforgiving

winds strip trees of their shelter.

red and yellow leaves…

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Autumn’s last heartbeats,

become litter along curbs

and i want to… sleep.

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Sleep…the last refuge

and escape for the weary,
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i just want to sleep…
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winter_sleep_by_inessa_emilia-d37bxtz

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fade…a clarification

dear friends…i thought it was important to make clear that this poem is a story, it is fiction and it has nothing to do with my day to day, loving relationship with my partner Scout and i. i guess i muddied the waters a little bit when i spoke about my momentary melancholy, it happens to me from time to time for no apparent reason. i just took the opportunity to put those feelings into words, and that’s what this story is.

so sorry if i created any confusion.
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this poem is meant to be read as this song plays in the background
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even in the small apartment they shared
he could now carefully manipulate his body
so that no part of him ever touched her in passing
in the cramped kitchen, reaching into the fridge
at the sink, rushing to get ready for work

as if her skin didn’t grieve
the absense of his touch, as if she
couldn’t truly remember when he didn’t need a reason
to press up against her, just because he needed to
as if her lips, didn’t miss parting for his

she’ll admit to being slow
to fully absorb, what had changed between them
or maybe it was just her easy nature again
smoothing over the rough spots
blaming herself, for whatever might be wrong

at first she thought
it was just another mood he was in, a phase
she would wake up any morning now, and this could all be gone
back to when they shared more than expenses and a place to sleep gone… without a word spoken about any of it

it’s not that he was unkind, and it’s
not that he would say things that would upset her, he knew better he just never said anything right anymore….
yet they both played their charaade in public, it was
when they were alone together, that the silence screamed loudest

in the dimly lit rooms,
filled with 40 watt bulbs and questions that could never be asked end tables crowded with yellowing memories, framed pictures of their early years together, smiles and endless chatter during their torrid romance when everything seemed possible

when… he said everything right, all the words
she ever dreamed of hearing from a man
all she ever imagined a man might make her body feel
and now he flinches, at an accidental brush across his arm
like her presence… is an imposition in his life

now, it’s a fear that grips her chest
when she dares to face the possibility of this truth
she’s learned… she takes comfort in the hollow pain
her loneliness a reliable lover now, she stays
because it is far less frightening, than what she doesn’t know . . .
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because no love should ever just fade…
there is no reconciliation in apathy
no healing in the cruel silence of ambivalence
an unsteady self is left shaken
attempting to answer questions that pleaded to be
but were never answered
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because love
deserves more than
a cowardly exit . .

summer of sorrow

dear friends
i had no intention of writing this, as we were
driving to the farm on Friday these words just
began arriving. why?… i have no idea because i
haven’t thought about these memories in decades.
oh, the mystery and wonder of poetry….

so Scout took the wheel and it all spilled out,
before we reached the farm. everything told here
is true. i changed her name, it didn’t seem fair
not to.

i don’t often put the song i write to, up top,
but this song IS part of this story more than
any other poem i’ve written. it was the only song
i listened to that summer when it was released.

as always, the words follow the slow tempo. ty.
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oh Lola,
my Puerto Rican Princess
you wrote such exquisite poetry then
oh, my peaceful flower child
where, where do your words reside today?

we loved each other, our senior year
so immersed, in Tolkien and Kazantzakis
so inseparable, a promised ever after in our eyes
so untouchable, to a world beyond our view

the purity and innocence, of a first true love
our reflected light so intense, we outshone the sun
we were just 16, the only moment that truly mattered
was whatever moment we were in

born a little too late for Woodstock,
we were still committed and it was always
about Peace, Love and Understanding with us
and oh, did we wear our hippy proud!

i can still remember, the whole bunch of us
hangin’ out, smokin’ out and singin’ out loud!
while you braided my waist length hair
right there, on the worn steps of our high school

an hour later, you gave your Valedictorian speech
hell…there wasn’t a dry eye in the house
oh Lola, you made your boyfriend so damn proud!
then, just one week later…you broke my heart

walking those miles to your apartment
with a flower, I always picked for your hair
you and him were holding hands and laughing
the flower died…right where it dropped

gone was your ankle length, silken skirt
gone was the sheer, embroidered Indian blouse
and the peace sign necklace I saved up for
who was this girl, with cut off shorts and t shirt?

and so began my summer of sorrow, that year in ‘71
and so began a lifelong habit, retreating in silence
when the pain becomes so unbearably real
there was no peace, no love…only my fountain of tears
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images (32)

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and then about ten years later,
i shut the lights and locked the door
to my little shop and went for my run
and no matter the temperature or weather

wearing shorts, sneaks, headband and ponytail
i ran and ran and ran, ‘til I just couldn’t run no more
hey man, I was committed…….to never being hurt again
but there was no peace, no love and no one to understand

and as I was bent over, trying to catch my breath
under the arch at Washington Square
this woman who seemed so excited to see me
hugged me right through, all the sweat on my chest!

‘how are you, it’s so good to see you! how long has it been?’
and then like an electric shock, thunderbolt to my heart
i thought, ‘oh God no, my Puerto Rican Princess,
where, where, where did you go?’

oh sweet Lola, my faded flower child
you probably don’t remember saying this
as we sat down, and the bottle came out of your purse,
‘Aragon, I made such a mistake leaving you. I’m really sorry’

all I could say, after us both taking a hefty swig,
‘please, please tell me, you took that full scholarship to Vassar’
her blank stare said, ‘do you wanna’ see some pics of my kids?’
so as one pain began to heal… another wound took its place
and her promised call…never did ring
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now I don’t pray all that often, but i knelt that night,
‘please, please, help her come to her senses. help her see!
or send someone to save her..….then send someone to save me’

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

 photo 20130423_122711.jpg

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

s.a.d.ness

crocus abd bees 2012 001

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/