She‘ll Be The One

Son, let’s have it be understood:
It’s work to be worthy of somebody good.
To be kind, and be strong, and to understand —
To do what it takes to be this kind of man —
This is the voyage. It’s part of your walk:
To matter in action, and not just in talk.
For honor is everything when you’re a guy,
Not money, not fame, but the look in your eye
When you know in your heart you’ve been doing your best,
You can hold your head high, and at night you can rest.

But that’s not enough — or, it wasn’t for me.
You’re gonna meet someone, and you’re gonna see
That the world is much bigger than you could have known.
In the way a book’s read, or the way her hair’s blown,
In the serious way that she teases things out of you,
Laughs with you, looks at you, never a doubt of you.
You’d give your life for her, gladly, it seems:
She’ll be the one who’ll beat all of your dreams.
And strangely enough, though you won’t think it’s true,
She’s working hard

To be worthy

 
Of you

Somewhat Midnight Hill

Far from the place we used to live,
Wandering rivers find the sea;
There, on a somewhat midnight hill
Stands a young couple, you and me,

Far from the gray mistakes we’ve made,
Foundering ships and trips on wire,
There, on a somewhat midnight hill,
Watching the smoke float ever higher.

Oh, for the now appearing stars,
Indigo sky and velvet blue,
There on a somewhat midnight hill,
I can be I, and you can be you,

Far from the flags and voices raised,
Ocean heard breathing, constantly:
There on a somewhat midnight hill,
I can feel you, and you

See me

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

Tower

A vigil kept in empty times
To watch for signs of safe return;
The mission of forgotten folk
As long as there is wick to burn

Because — well, there is no ‘because’
The world would have us recognize —
But, maybe, this is what love is:
To wait, to hope,

To agonize

Neon

She shines like neon,
Colorful,
Reflected on
The city streets

She sounds like rhythm,
Audible,
The feet that move,
The heart that beats

    She’s still the light that guides me home,
    The reason that I love the night;
    A better kind of power, that
    Makes sun seem tame, and rain seem right —

She tastes like neon,
To the eyes
That find no shining
Through the throes,

When at the end
Of this much day,
The sky may dark,
But still —

She glows

exploration

tangled fall and wind aslant
should is shouldn’t, can is can’t
up and moving, must away
find the heart, forget the day

clouds that beckon from the skies
wind that laughs, and ground that cries
soul that sorrow knows, and grows
simple devastation

mangled wall of former grief
love is long, but life is brief
up and moving, in the fields
harvesting the flow life yields

though the path be wet and cold
though the back grow weak and old
conquered fears, and heart that hears
still in

exploration