he flew beyond the hay fields
over europe
he made it back
though some of them did not
young men
who never saw their tiny children
who lives and dies is more-or-less
by lot
when he came home
he dusted crops and carried
the mail
around the town to everyone
an old man dying
when the old were still young
who left out here an extra
skeleton
He mastered her in cobalt blue,
She conquered him in diamond white,
In colored rooms, with red Shiraz,
And battles won without a fight
She took the path of innocence,
He took upon the parvenu,
And soon they both were set in stones
Of diamond white and cobalt
Blue
Observe: the heart that knows the truth,
That sees the light, that feels the heat —
Who quiet in the study learns,
But still is welcome on the street —
Behold: the difference-maker who,
While much-respected where she goes,
Is like a river underground
Where no one knows from whence it flows —
But this — this is the barrier
Between her truth and everyone:
A different type of prejudice,
That sees no trouble, so assumes
There’s been none
You know her angry, critical;
A person certain, full of pride –
But once, there was another her;
From time long past and distance wide —
She loved a boy, who was her heart;
But he, at last, his love denied –
He left her on what should have been
The day that she became a bride
So now you see her as she is,
Someone who always seems outside;
Who keeps her distance from the team,
With comments both acerb and snide
But if you knew her as I do –
The love that never died inside –
You’d know that hearts are full of fields
Where flowers grow
That none
Have spied
(“Hearts Are Full Of Fields” – 6-30-2015)
looking back upon
the woman I thought I knew –
now, the secret storm
pours in around the edges
her hidden sorrowing seas
(“the woman i thought i knew” – 7-5-2015)
Cassandra writes far better than
I ever, ever could;
But keeps most of it in her mind
Where it does little good
Abiding with her cigarettes
And straight Crown Royal shots;
Anesthetizes her regrets
Picks off her straggling thoughts
For cynical and sexual
Is how she likes to be:
But yet beneath the skin and ink
Is pure humanity
She lives in an apartment
With a lingering touch of mold;
While I live in my luxury
Amidst suburban gold
She scorns me, but she’d do me
To submit me, to control:
As nightly, she must strangle out
The poet
In her
Soul
hours of long labor
alone on darkened mornings
for this day of light —
moments in competition
carried by track level speed
