A Love Story

Once, a shy girl: soft imploding,
Preset pillows, pressed decoding,
Colored contacts, carbo loading,
Lover, fighter, guard of dreams —

Then, a new boy: bright exploring,
Hope expanding, thoughts outpouring,
Dark hair shining, passions warring,
Writer, painter, all extremes —

Came a moment: golden gladness,
Manic mixture, molten madness,
Scenes of soon-forgotten sadness,
Two lives taken off of shelves

Once, a shy girl: gotten bolder,
Then, a new boy made to hold her,
One more day, but not just older,
Two new people, now


For love, she’d waited all this time,
Her dignity and heart intact;
She kept on through the lonely while,
Though the odds seemed stacked —

But now she’s met someone, she says,
Who holds her, and the truth, both — fast —
And isn’t love magnificent
The day it finds your door
At last

Old Man, Waiting

He stayed, although they’d told him she was gone.

An old man in a hat, who you might miss,
Sat waiting for someone who’d never come;
The room had cleared to silent emptiness,
But he would not believe – would not succumb –

In touches seen but only privately,
He’d known love from an acorn to a tree;
The heart that sealed itself, and clicked its locks,
Would not convert that love into a box
Of wood made from the one phenomenon
That graced his life for all these many years…

The room filled up again, and life went on,
While he sat staring, past the edge of tears.
Another night leads to another dawn,
One light goes out, another one appears –

While somewhere, far inside, a curtain’s drawn —

He stays, although they told him she

Was gone

The Swirl of Seasons

He loved the colors of the swirl of seasons,
The semiotic utterance of youth,
How lassitude gets tangled up in reasons,
And how all our finesse becomes uncouth
In search for just a little bit of truth;
Like pictures in a child’s book we see
The swirl of seasons and mortality.

She asked for loyalty, some faint allegiance,
For love to see the soul and not the form,
And set to seek among the swirl of seasons,
To find some shelter from the coming storm
Where laughter was the rule, the gauge, the norm —
Like stained-glass colors: clear and autumn bright
That herald morning after dismal night.

The met when each was searching for an answer,
An image each had carried in their heart,
A silent singer and a secret dancer,
Who joined, then hoped to never be apart,
As though each ended in the other’s start;
The swirl of seasons, now, in polychrome –
And how the search for love, sometimes, hits home

Ghost Chain

The day she dressed up for the prom
The haunting was in full effect —
Her mom said she looked beautiful.
Her family did not suspect

    The presence of the ghost their daughter
    Now took with her everywhere:
    As he was chained, and tightly, to her heart.

She danced a long time with her date,
He didn’t see her distant eyes —
He said her really liked her dress.
It would have come as some surprise

    If he had seen the ghost his girlfriend
    Now took with her everywhere:
    A ghost that was chained tightly to her heart.

A kiss out on her parent’s porch,
A passion sent but not received —
He didn’t feel her reticence.
For by her words he was deceived –

    She couldn’t, didn’t want to, shake
    The ghost that she took everywhere,
    For in her mind, they’d never be apart —

    The phantom boy she truly loved,
    The ghost that she took everywhere,
    For he was chained, and tighly, to her heart.