Love and the Road

Once we rode the sunlight and the wind.

The days were full of motion; the nights were full of food, music, laughter, and love. For young though we were, we knew what we liked, and we knew how to find it — wherever we might happen to be. We were perfectly free, and we used our freedom fully.

But time wears down everything, and it wore us down, as well. The road was still there, and the desire to see more; but boards covered up more and more windows of our old haunts, until one day, you looked at me, and couldn’t see the same man you wanted to share adventures with anymore. The boards had covered me up, as well.

So you left.

My life has moved on since then. I’m happy now; happy without the things we once thought indispensable.

But sometimes, in that rare moment when the world grows quiet around me, I hear the sound of a distant automobiles, and I see you again, in my mind, as you were then: young, free, powerful, without a care in the world, talking to one of your friends back home on an old-time hotel landline.

I was not the love of your life; you were not the love of mine, either. But we did live together. We learned, we laughed, and yes, we loved.

Once, we rode the sunlight and the wind; that sun set long ago, and that wind blows lonesome out on the old roads.

A Place to Launch

Another phase, another type of platform,

A place to launch, a time to say goodbye;

A thousand things we meant to do, but didn’t,

The Fir-tree and The Catcher In The Rye


The literary lessons learned in losing,

The hopes of soaring ‘neath a brand new sky —

Another phase, another type of platform,

A place to launch, a time to say


i wrestled in my bed with sweat and demons
as madness tore into my febrile mind
the burning from inside that brooks no pretense
the loneliness that’s always there to find

across a rope-bridge chasm you were staring
amid a blaze of red and wild face
but no amount of shouting broke the silence
and no amount of running closed the space

but how your look seared into me with loathing
the river down below was all afire
i longed to bring you back and home to safety
but felt the platitude in my desire

in vision-tangled sheets i woke to humming
the sound of air-conditioned ambience
i rose to splash my face and drink some water
with little hope and little left of sense

i stare now at a screen that sits impassive
i’m not sure who i am or how i feel
it’s strange that after all the things i’ve been through
it’s only in my dreams
that life seems

love told me yesterday

love told me yesterday
that you would not be long;
i waited for the right

time —

or was it hesitance,
this pausing at the base
of what might be a hard


the shadow of a cliff,
the fear of losses past:
the sun is setting,
should i go

or stay?

love told me yesterday
to wait to feel the sun
just came up on the two of us


where once

the weeds are high out in the field,
the days are growing long —
so much of life we grade by yield:
how much, how far, how strong —
it’s silly, really. isn’t it?
The way we all keep score —
    where once the world seemed beckoning,
    it welcomes us no more.

the journey seemed to have no end,
but then that came, abrupt —
the licensing of lunacy,
the venal and corrupt —
we build another fence outside
a house sans roof or floor —
    where once our arms were opened wide,
    we open them no more.

the same begins as ever ends,
a unity in time;
the poet strolls through empty bends
and straggles for each rhyme.
and love goes begging for a song,
to dwell among the poor:
    where once we knew why we were here
    we seem to know
    no more.

we live, we love, we laugh, we learn

we live, we love, we laugh, we learn
we test, we take, we toss, we turn
we bake and boil, borrow, buy —
we cram, and crab; we cringe or cry

we walk on wires in the night
our cats in tow, our minds a-flight
we touch the moon until we burn
we live, we love,
we laugh,
we learn

Picture credit : © Kiosea39 | – Teenager And Cat Walking With Balloon On Tight Rope Above Clouds Photo

across five schisms

the argument was fulsome, true,
but schisms were a way of life:
the enemies of enmity
were at the fifth of main and strife

but we ignored their feeble taunts,
and kept our place along the line:
across five schisms did we go,
acerbic, but still