4 Poems On 1 Photo

In moments that matter,
Other people’s feelings become
Matters of moment


I see stories everywhere,
So I don’t go out that much;
Half-unfinished tales crowd in,
Daughter’s tears and mother’s touch,

Signifying — Daddy’s gone?
Signifying — Hunger? Thirst?
Speculation, all the time:
Writers: we’re the very worst


In autumn, tears, like dew upon the ground
Unbidden come to cover mulchy leaves;
The air grows hard, and little space is found,
Though paths be wide, for one who sees, who grieves —

But love, a blanket, warms us when it can:
A moment’s pause, a word, two hands to touch
That close the distance, whate’er be the span,
That’s caused by what’s too wrong, too hard, too much,

But still lets tears maintain their gentle flow.
This is connection’s secret, to respect:
Each other’s cares to care to truly know
And neither to obscure, nor to deflect.

  There is a time for each of us to fall,
  When only loving kindness helps at all.


When you can love someone
More for the love they give others
Than they give you,
You will understand

All The Things That Matter

Our trivia we line up well,
With that we show command —
But all the things that matter, seems
We cannot understand.
 
How strange, but how predictable,
To think that we’re so smart,
But never comprehend a thing
With matters of the heart.
 
Regret becomes our atmosphere,
Chagrin becomes our fate —
And all the things that matter, turn
To things we know
 
Too late
 


 
Silent in the meadow,
Sun betwines with shadow;
Part of every feeling,
Staying, coping, dealing —
 
Everything has scattered:
Hearts in all directions,
Tears that bear inspections,
All the things
 
That mattered

painted / blanket

behind a door,
inside a box,
wrapped up in papers with a bow

is how he feels
about his love:
so much that she will never know

he’d give his arm,
he’d give his heart,
but he can’t make his feelings felt

and silence like
a blanket falls —
for what she doesn’t know
can’t help


in painted sadness daylight goes
and takes her long hopes with it;
it’s time to care about herself,
it’s time to stop and pivot

and do the things she knows she must,
and to herself show honor:
although she knows she’s giving up
some things
she’ll always
long for

in the shadow of autumn

welcoming silence
in the shadow of autumn,
calming, and cooling —
finding yourself by stopping,
coming to be by ceasing.


the mill stopped running:
it’s boarded up, deserted.
my uncles worked there,
with calloused hands that still threw
footballs with us on weekends.

ten of us playing
out in the old empty field
in sight of the mill;
many falls spun by, and both
we and the mill stopped running.


she was fresh air, and I the earth;
she was the sky, and I the sea —
every last second, joy to birth,
every found moment, ecstasy.

weightless and blue, without any heft,
no promise, no vow, and no guarantee —
then she was gone, and I was left
with earth in my heart, and my eyes

the sea

emptying

two walking along,
hands clasped, hearts joined together;
love, the best they had

emptying themselves of self,
adrift on currents of hope


the matters back of mind that fester –
those are never small —
the things we leave behind are thus
the heaviest
of all


they jumped off of the boat and swam;
they’d stripped off most their clothes –
along a sunset riverside
with sand between their toes

and love, like some new miracle,
made each dim past recede:
their boat lay empty near the shore,
but they were filled
indeed

paths

labored wandering
from the paths of righteousness
for no one’s name’s sake

surely goodness and mercy
have forsaken the world-lost


we choose the paths we mean to take,
but find ourselves on others;
the children that we meant to make –
as fathers and as mothers –

are born to others; set in stone,
the products of our choosing —
we can’t go back, we can’t get out,
and cannot win
for losing


My life, I lived you rich, with all the foam
That I could fill – in glasses and and in baths –
In luxuries found far away from home;
Illicit trysts beside forbidden paths —

Hypocrisy: of manner and of taste,
Of words at variance with lived-out style;
The choice is only how time goes to waste,
Each trip is only one more lonely mile

But still, to seek the glow, and wear the shine:
It is the heart of elegance and worth –
For I took yours and made into mine,
And sowed the seeds of rapture and new birth —

He laughs the best who ever really laughs,
For they are all the same, they are — our paths

Snow Drifting

— 1 —

There is a fullness in this place
Caressing muscle, heart, and bone;
A chilly glow, an open space,
The chance to think, and be alone,

And sing without the need of words,
To speak without the use of sound —
Just feel the moment, fully borne
With such small glories as a life

Is crowned

— 2 —

Last night, you came to me without your shoes,
And sank into me, suddenly; and I,
Who’d thought about it many times, believed.

Like leaves out in the snow and twisting wind,
Beneath a moon that doesn’t know regret,
We moved because our hearts were meant to dance —

These freezing hearts were meant for just this dance

— 3 —

In Spring, on a gleaming bench,
He asked the girl to be his wife,
In Summer, in a forest glade,
The pledged each other love and life.
In Autumn, color changed to gold,
But love must conquer all, and will —
In Winter, here’s the bench and glade,
The gold is gone, and all

Is still