One Cobalt Morning

From dreams of iridescent blue,
  she woke to damp and cinder-block,
  the stone-gray sunset smeared across
  a pane upon a window by
  a door with broken lock and splintered wood.

A creaking spring, a bleary glance,
  her glasses off a windowsill,
  as slippering her feet, she rose
  to wrap a shawl around her, and
  to walk onto a courtyard looking out.

She waited in the cold and still,
  the night before a hazy mess
  of cigarettes and alcohol —
  and saying “I’ll enjoy this life,
  or die, at least, at last, in the attempt –”

A man she didn’t know at all,
  came out his door with coat and boots,
  and weary as a dying breath
  trudged off and up the hill and towards
  the distant town a half a mile away.

There was no warm to calm her soul,
  just unrelenting hollowness;
  but yet, a silent fixed intent
  to find again the dream so brief
  of cobalt blue and one love’s luxury

Just Another, Love

Allow me to enumerate
Your virtues this December:
You’re better than those other girls
Whose names I can’t remember

You’re better than all Hollywood
For you are far less fakey,
Although, like California, you
Can make my whole ground quakey

You’re smarter than you’re beautiful:
But somehow, yet, I’ve found
It’s also a true statement said
The other way around

You’re strong and unpredictable,
You’re tender and yet wise;
There is a morning in your voice
And sunset in your eyes

I know I write these poems oft,
It’s just another, love —
But there was no one then, or since,
I’d rather scribble of —

For you’re the sun, the moon, the stars,
The sunshine and the rain,
And I am sorry I forgot
To put trash out

Again

Barren Winter

The barren winter calls across the lake,
But what they hear are very diff’rent sounds;
Each sees the world on their own chosen grounds:
Results of choices that they daily make.

For she sees death in winter’s every move:
The cold becomes a penetrating freeze
That brings her down, somewhere past mere unease
To having nothing left to give, or prove.

But from the winter, he gains buoyancy.
Its very barrenness, a type of cleanse,
He finds his warmth in family, and friends,
And loving all life’s rhythmic tendency.

The barren winter light brings in relief
The shadows of their moods; each soul’s belief.

The pattern of the waves and wind…

… The people on the beach out there …

The pattern of the waves and wind
The people on the beach out there
The choices I cannot rescind
And all the memories I’ve yet to share…

The life that I have now is good
But scarcely free from care and grief
I’d lighten your load if I could
We’re here to do that – such is my belief…

I feel her fingers on my hair
As lightly they express her love
Why do I always search out there
When what I have is all that I’d dreamed of?