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

{ the feel }

when he still had the feel, the earth
was cinnamon, and waterslides,
and autumn like a kiss, a lingering,
discovery, no guides,
each whole experience — a birth.
when he still had the feel

when sorrow had another place to grow,
he held the air and ground
inside a heart that stretched into the sky,
each field a temple mound
he came to love, to really know.
when sorrow had another place

see, now — the dirt is open, bare,
and all is silence but the air;
the wind on his uplifted face
blows in from some less sorrowed place,
and he knows buried, underneath,
the feel is there —

somewhere

Saturday, A.M.

Cold woke and dream-rocked;
Knees creaking, shivering —
Finish the fruit while there’s yet time
(Eyes still mostly water, with some stone)

Love’s on a friendship never borne:
Thoughts slip and words linger —
Sleeping past Orion’s welcome.
When did these become my hands?

Tiny bell that signals message.
You are there and I am here —
Into the dark I have to go:
Into the sky that swallows up

My dark

Snapshot – Forest Sunset

The sun is setting full behind the trees
Its rays like arms that reach up in the sky
Then slowly start to fade out by degrees
As crickets sing an evening lullaby
With frogs that you can also hear nearby
And wind and cars to finish the refrain
So put down everything that’s gone awry
Let go of all your sorrows and your pain
Release the thoughts that bind you to the breeze
Hold on with all your heart to times like these

Standing in the stillness of the sunrise

Standing in the stillness of the sunrise. Mourning
  the loss of what she hoped to find
  that wasn’t meant to be —

But giving up the past is part of not suborning
  her loving heart to thinking that
  to settle’s to be free —

There is a place for looking back,
  there is a time for crying,
  and none of us is good enough,
  but most of us keep trying —

For everything is learning when you just keep going:
  the book you don’t get down again,
  but leave up on the shelf

Standing in the stillness of her heartbreak. Knowing
  she’s better off to feel this way,
  than not to be

  herself

Snapshot: Her Evening

How she spends an evening —

Her landlord’s kids have strewn the walk with toys;
She smiles as she steps around a trike.
She hears within a laughing, running noise,
The joy of children to the childlike:
And after some brief play, she’s off to hike
The longish stairs that lead her to her room.
She flips a switch to chase away the gloom

That never really leaves nor really stays
(Except when tears unbidden come at night)
But she is cheerful on the worst of days.
She pauses by the mirror at her sight
(The wind has blown today – her hair’s a fright)
But soon downstairs she goes to talk and eat,
Before she makes her evening’s long retreat.

Up in her room, she thinks of what she’ll write.
Ideas she has, like waves or grains of sand —
She’ll work on three or four of them tonight,
Then stop to listen to a favorite band
Remembering, at once, his darkened hand
And that he is no longer by her side:
The man who played the groom to her young bride.

The house is quiet, all the kids in bed;
The night is still and peaceful in the main:
And love has never died within her head,
Nor been defeated by the throbbing pain
Of heart so full, it cannot all retain —
But still, the graceful night enfolds its own,
And love surrounds her, even when alone