Crying

and i'm crying and crying
and thinking
what does my body know about us
that i don't know,
and
am i crying from sadness or happiness?
or gratitude?
or all of the above?
she is so beautiful.

Whirlwind

the rain continues,
lots of rain last night,
beautiful, as you are,
as the rain and sun.
how can i, dust of this earth,
refuse this blessing, this grace? 
beloved, as the earth loves the rain and sun,
it is my destiny
to love you with all my heart.
it is also my destiny
to suffer the consequences.
i pray to understand all this.
this love is so much bigger me,
so much bigger than us.
we are specks of dust in the whirlwind of it.
... and we are the whirlwind.
go figure.

destiny brought us together.
and because,
like adam and eve,
we want to know why,
we have to live through it.
all the words in the great books,
all the words of the great teachers,
they can't explain.
the only thing is to live it.

i love you. i will not quit.
i am yours to do with as you please,
i am just a man, insignificant,
a speck of dust,
and you are bigger than all this.
love me,
toy with me,
send me to the farthest reaches of this world,
destroy me.
it's all in my favor.
all in yours.
it only feels like suffering,
but it is love.

Break

Little by little, the notion
wriggles its way into your mind
to love something so big
you will break yourself on it
 

4:16 AM

Pondering in the midst of the night
(life, women, love, desire),
I can't escape the notion
that its an odd and perverse universe
we live in.

For solace I read Olav Hauge
and the old Chinese poets,
and know I'm not alone.
Nothing much has changed.
We live like fools, we are fools.
In the words of Alan Watts,
"In the words of a Chinese Zen master,
"Nothing is left to you at this moment
but to have a good laugh!"

Thankful

The marine layer clouds
are rolling in again this morning,
driven by a cool breeze.
The sun slips through underneath,
with a tart, lemony light.
I gather my thanks for this life
and for you, my dearest,
and toss them into the air.
May the wind carry them to you,
and whisper in your ear,
"thankful, yes, thankful"
and then, flowing past,
caress your lovely face.

Love & Loneliness

i was going to write about men,
but what do i know of men?
i know only one man,
and of him only a little...

so, what is it with this man,
that without that woman,
the lithe, sun-browned, golden-eyed one,
the one called melina,
his world, the world
is unspeakably lonely?
all the mystics and great teachers
have no answer. They speak
of turning away, abstinence, withdrawal.
but i say we were put here, we two,
to yearn and long for one another.
and in that yearning and longing
the world is justified,
and in the space between the our heartbeats,
the conjoined heartbeat of two lovers,
the world stops in a breathless silence,
and then, drawing a breath
from the great well of silence,
starts yet once again, out of nothingness,
praising love, praising love, praising love

Unseen Light

dearest,
i can't seem to accept what is.
all i do is carry on, moaning and complaining, and
then say i'm sorry and ask you for forgiveness.
and so, to the pain of loving me
i add the unfortunate misdemeanors
of annoyance and repetition.
still, long distance, we talk of dirt and chickens,
and inside i am dying, and
i am sorry it is taking so long (there i go again).
i don't know what to offer you now but my silence.
i love you with all my heart and soul, and
i see the love shining in your eyes,
unlike any other i have known.

so why, sometimes, my "all or nothing at all" attitude,
and why, sometimes, do i just want to die?
not that it makes any difference,
it is just another "want" - just as i want you.
and just as reality sends what it will,
death comes and takes what it will, when it will, and
love comes and takes and gives as it will,
and life blesses me with you, and
part of me turns aside and say it is not enough
and i am, at once, bitter and so ashamed,
and weeping, i grieve for and loathe my perfect imperfections.

yet our love endures, and
burns bright like the sun,
and sometimes, under that sun,
i smell springtime in the air,
and inside this tired old seed of me,
inside the ugliness,
deep in the mud,
something new and fresh and green stirs,
and moves toward the unseen light.

The Long Night

I awake early, before dawn,
thinking of you and
quietly weeping.
Seeking to ease
the pain of our separation,
I read the words
of Alan Watts, Shree Rajneesh, Jesus,
They are all so true, yet
the words remain just words, and
the longing heart remains,
the dark remains.
Soon the light, I pray,
and the start of a new day.

Prayer

oh love,
i think of our words,
today's and yesterday's,
some sweet, some bitter,
and watch them all
rise as invocations
into the sun of our love.

i think of your lovely brown back,
bent to the sun as you garden
and feel my desire burn pure and clean
in the sun of our love.

i think of the petty and the fearful things in me,
and watch them burn to ashes
in the sun of our love.

oh love,
let us throw open the doors of our hearts,
let the light of this love
suffuse us, fill us, flood us.
let us live in this marvelous gift,
in the sun of our love.

---

Someone to Love

My son's dog comes over to me,

puts her paws up on my chest, and

looks deep into my eyes.

She affects love for me, and maybe it's real,

but how can a man know what's in a dog's heart,

when he doesn't even know his own.

I do know that she wants me to scratch her chest,

which pleases her a great deal.

I am offended in some mild way,

if this is all she wants from me,

and then i wonder:

is this how god feels about me

coming to him day after day

crying for a woman,

someone to love, and 

someone to love me,

and why he says (sometimes)

No.

Again and Awake

I've been through the fire again and again,
I am ashes,
yet the pain continues.
I cry and cry again,
it changes nothing.
I hold tight, I fear,
and so cannot awake.
Yet holding tight, fearing,

I am awake.
I cry again,
in overwhelming longing and grief,
and wonder if death brings relief.
Yet i believe the mystic who said:
if you don't break your chains now
will ghosts do it in the afterlife?
And so i step into the fire
yet again, hoping to awake.
Hoping? Oh man, foolish man,
cease your hoping and awake.
Awake!
 

Love Poem

Good morning dear one,

just so you know:

i believe in us.

with trust and love

inward, outward

towards our secret hearts

and the manifold world,

towards the alpha and omega,

and the meeting of friends

at the hearth of the one.

i believe in us,

in shovels and rakes

dirt and sweat,

seeds and sun,

and the mingling waters of us,

fed from the eternal spring.

i believe in us,

just so you know:

and this morning,

i send you my arms to wrap around you

when you need a hug; 

i send my eyes, shining

to show you my love and yours,

i send you my lips, soft, and

i send tiny seed kisses for your mouth,

your eyes,

your cheeks,

your neck,

your brown shoulders,

your breasts.

Plant them as you desire.

feel them grow into our love,

rich and radiant

under the sun that is you.

i believe in us,

just so you know.

I do.

crying

i spent the morning
reading the texts of the great teachers,
and crying,
tears falling to the opened pages.
Then i got up;
made coffee, went to work,
and left my tears
in the mouths of the flowers

For M 061612

The moth surrenders to the flame. You are the candle, yes, but the flame is love.

Ruminations on Last Saturday

I'm sorry I stared at your legs last Saturday,
while you were explaining to oblivious me,
that you were altering our relationship
(back to "friend").
I wasn't thinking anything lustful, staring at your legs;
just that they were so pale and smooth
(and I am reminded now of William Carlos William's icebox plums).
Your sarcastic comments
went right over my head.
Only a little later, did I get it, and I thought
about that apocryphal line in so many comedy films
in which an ample and well-displayed bosom plays a part:
"My eyes are up here, Roger" (or whomever).

12 words, Unisex Fortune Cookie version 060412

You'll meet that special someone.
Who'll break your heart.
You won't care.

Poetry (Too Much), Poems (Too Many) 041912

I read poetry
til I can't
make any sense of it (forgive me).
It doesn't take long.
Sometimes I just want to be told
what it is,
straightaway,
sans metaphor and the great leaps.
Take me by the hand gently,
move me through it slow.
I'll try and make sense of it
til I can't.
It won't take long.

My Valentine's Day Card for You 021812

A poem slept in me.
You woke it.

I Was [Dreaming of Rain] 021812

Sleep - that startled bird will take some time to settle.

"To fuck" is no longer
in my vocabulary,

a weathered and ragged pine, I rest amidst
the rough and tumbled granite blocks of time,

my eyes pitted marble
raised in supplication
with a prayer for rain
in a year of drought.

I make the call.
But will He come
and make it happen?
Will He bring it?
Will He?