and now for you

my song is for your pain

a melody will take your hand

and I will take your sorrow

and i have for you

a tree for your backyard

a kiss for your lips

and then for you

I offer my arrow for your quiver

moving softly backward

remember our beginning

the big dipper

was your muse 

dark shades of blue

beyond the Milky Way

always together 

we fill up our days

always chores to do

grab a rake or ride a broom

we’ll keep going together

slower as we age

mark our calendar for the day

we feel it’s time 

salute the moon; ask the stars

to take us home again

I.

When I come to you

with tears that fall and

splatter to the ground,

you hold me close

and declare to my sorrow

“Devotion is your armor.”

 

When I come to you

with worries that break

the spell of our love,

you whisper love’s remedies

and declare to my concerned heart

“Imagination is your armor.”

 

When I come to you

with panic that resounds

in your world miles away,

you calm my fears

and declare to my faraway heart

“Stillness is your armor.”

 

When I come to you

with hopes and dreams of us

together for eternity,

you hold me close revealing

intimate secrets of assurance

 

“My love is your armor.”

 

---

 

II.

The poetry of your love

its sonorous effects

tied with a string or

set free on the windowsill

 

Like any moment in a dream

provoking questions of love or

transferring definitions to seek

alignment as a signal to my heart

 

Your intimate approach

a shape emerging gently

as a stroke of your fingers

touching the skin of my skin

 

The density of expression

its lyric energy singing

a rhetorical rhythm

revealed to mine ears alone

 

Neither kindness of a compliment

or heat of sexual pleasure

supply the magic ointment

as does the poetry of your love

my dear my friend my love my heart

 

do not waste your mornings

frying bacon for me

let us climb in our boots pull on our hats

we will run up the hill behind the house

 

360⁰ visions of painted silken skies

wind ices deep into our bones

tossing salty shivers of rewards

…our wide eyes delight in more than mountains

 

let us hold the joy we share for escapades

and dreams long enough to spill onto

the dirt road behind the corner store

that begs for us and waits to be explored

 

might as well pinch the cheeks of babies too

no innuendo no hidden thought propped

up to stand in the middle of the room

with wild abandon let’s grab our coats

 

and wind our way to the main street

store where they sell everything from

pick-up sticks to Levis and lace where we

also drink herbal tea with noisy slurping sounds

 

we do not waste our days on the insignificant

my dear my friend  my love my heart

instead we ride on carousel camels laughing

so much and loud it pains our ears

 

when permission to sing is granted

the lyrics long on soul and sadness

they touch for us what went before the

promises for tomorrow’s steadiness

 

do not waste your evenings

frying chicken for me my love

let us stuff logs into the stove instead

…and kiss the night away

 

Foreword: I was once a battered wife. When our son was born, I found the courage to leave. There were no women’s shelters in those days and people didn’t talk about it like they do now. Today I am in a loving relationship and the abuse is a faint memory. Though I have never forgotten it, I have healed.

If you’re in an abusive relationship, seek help. Go to a shelter. That’s what this poem is about.

 

 

hasty judgments struck from

a keyboard of false accusations

 

the melody becomes percussive

pounding frantic rhythms—the tempo of my nightmares

 

no harmony in our duet with bitter notes and

minor chords—no delight in our composition

 

what would happen if we changed our tune

listened alternatively to notes of love’s celebration

 

why not sing instead a nocturne chorus

perhaps a symphony or serenade

 

I’m hiding in an interlude of rhapsody—

legato—may we tune our hearts instead to love songs

 

I can’t stop loving you

lean on me

 

all I have to do is dream

save the last dance for me

 

instead I hear your endless empty promises

combined with sarcasm replacing good intentions

 

you chip away at my feelings of self-worth

while I bolster my courage to run from your abuse

 

bravely I seek a shelter where boldness burns and

builds—I have no more appointments with fear

 

secure in the knowledge there’s a shelter from your

aggressive symphony meant to conquer and control

 

brave now, I’m no longer your terrified, passive audience

slowly I’ll be free to compose my own melody

 

with a chorus of new elements and interludes

meant to press forth to a new-found autonomy

 

as I slow my tempo, rehearse my sonata—a solo voice

who recognizes ecstasy, accompanied now by violins of truth

 

wanting not to be battered, intimidated, or isolated

no longer accepting dissonance—no longer your victim

 

I pray for ease in my life—adagio—returning

slowly to my original pitch and beat awaiting

 

a finale to this mutiny where illumination composes

my decisions now, and in tune, I’ll belt out a new chorus

 

filled with notes of courage, strength and joy

into a new concert hall of my own promises

 

cruising through the traffic jams of our lives

 

 

not cohesive in our togetherness

we are accepted outsiders

using illiterate knowledge for an unorganized plan

where stationary travel leads to ecstatic lethargy

in this delicate crude world

of our unreliable steadfastness

is that a deepness rising in your heart?

an unpromised pledge of yesterday’s future?

i steadily fall into an awkward grace

like a sadness of pleasure in my satiated hunger

and oh! what oblique straightforwardness

is this playful work we do

me with my basket brimful of nothing

where I carry my separate belonging

and ever so slowly we speed to discover

a calm excitement—hidden in our perfect flaws

unrevealed we materialize—familiar strangers

cruising through the traffic jams of our lives

 

In the USA, April is designated as National Poetry Month. Perfect. I think I’ll write a poem. This one is me talking to myself about my own poetry.

 

 

Your Poems

~

They’re not all good—your poems.

The earth won’t move in

a different direction

an upside-down message of

~

extraordinary news

come to save us from ourselves.

They’re not all bad—your poems.

They rest on pillows of ideas

~

ready to spring and cause

a commotion somewhere on

somebody’s front lawn

as the sun explodes in through

~

the crevices you didn’t know

even existed there.

Maybe they fall short—your poems,

of making other poets weep

~

or laugh or smile outwardly

at your ordinary rhymes and words

set down with pen on paper,

meant to please or even to 

~

enlighten a preacher—a teacher

a drunk—a seamstress.

Maybe if you scatter words like

pebbles in the sand and

~

send them out with some smooth 

jazzy sounds of a saxophone,

we may feel a little better then,

riding two inches off the ground.

 

FYI: Not to worry. The author (me) is not the speaker of this poem.

 

 

Candied pineapple sits upon my tongue

sensory, sweet, bursting with joy

makes full my heart, and offers

your closeness, clarity, illumination

…my needs and desires revealed

 

 

 

You feed me candied treats

to coerce me into loving you,

conjured next a marriage feast

to force more sweets upon my tongue

…in full measured spoons

 

 

Lunar eclipse too soon, a proof

when in each other’s shadow

we cease to exist unto our selves,

lacking magic atop our stage

… on the surface of our moon

 

 

 

 

Relentless in our hope for unity

we listen and make love,

swing in a hammock of trust

swallow moments of preoccupation

…together, always together

 

 

 

Wanting to touch and be touched

sensations turn in swirls of dust on

chairs that could not hold you,

and yet I see you sitting there

…darkly handsome with perfect posture

 

The rules bent and broken,

mostly warped from your deceit,

a sour candy melting on my tongue

nothing else will draw us closer

…no slight of hand, no trick or two

 

 

 

 

 Naught is heard or felt or known

to stop the river of your betrayal,

I make instead a lone return

where summer dresses hang

…alongside winter coats