aPaD

A Poem a Day. 01

Where is April?

woke to snow
mixed with ice-rain
first day of flowerful
and no weather change
it's still winter within
you're still so far away
we're still clinging to hope,
in the still of the wait

Waking

like the sky of spring
too bright and aching
pulling up clouds for covers
let the rain fall
and ease me back
to our bed
to curl into your arms
and wait in sleep
like a new leaf
unready to unfurl

Another Late Night

...and no sign of the end of the road, the narrowing tunnel, the broadening expanse of the dreamlands call. You are so wrapped up in the cocoon of your own changes that you can't see out, stretch out to share an arm and shoulder to cry (havoc) upon.

I cannot need you so much, who have so little to offer in trade.

Trapped in the patterns, in the road travelled too well, and the ruts too deep to lift a crippled foot free.

I saw an old horse yesterday, heavy and lethargic and hurting. His knee looked like mine, his leg misshapen by pain and lack of use. If I was a horse, I'd have had me put down ages ago. What hope of a life without movement, freedom?

October's Moon

moonlight frosting runneled condensation

bottles of ink lining the sill

chilled pre-dawn air

so cold in my shift, these thin sheets no protection

so cold the thin film of ice I scratch into

the brass nib heavier than my hand can hold easily

the words spidery, stilted, a spell half spun

and so cold the emptiness

your missing voice

your absence keenly felt

a wound the full unsilence

white noise, moon noise

static across the space between us

the vacuum and dust of so many failed flights

scratched record radiation of so many rocket launches

to nowhere, leaping up into the stratosphere

only to fall back to earth on fire

lucifer’s laughter

to splash down impotent

having only achieved a part of a dream

(did we fail to dream enough?)

one small step is too far

and you wonder what is wrong

you wonder why the distance grows

it isn’t, it doesn’t

it’s only that we feel it more

sometimes

when the moon pales

and the chill air enforces the small coldness

the loneliness of these sheets

the deep fears

of insignificance

of efforts never made

of time spinning thinner

of impermanence

the words scratched into ice

that will melt when the day dawns

leaving only a faint

memory of the feelings

until the moon shines on them again

unending cycles

lonely lunacy

Summerswing

swing me wide

in my pale green dress
catch my bottom in your hand
momentarily rest then push
the chains hot under my

hands old tire seat

blackstrap heat

again again laughing
you push me wide and high
skirts fluttering petals falling

sandaled toes pointed

tucked under then unfolded
in that deep physical memory
unfolding a smile like the giddy sun
deep in the pit of my stomach
sometimes you make me

swing-dizzy like this

wompaskiddy

spun wide flung
a feathered fine drift
of white cloud swaying
in that deep amethyst sky

drifting apart till I come down
as a summer rain cool soft
or a morning mist
to kiss your eyelashes
closed against the fall of
my droplets kissing your face
wait don’t stop baby push me again

push me harder swing me higher again

fling me out farther into forgetting
recalling I am not twelve again
nor again am I innocent
of all this

pain

Rich Words

When Dreaming

The snow can fall in drifts that become
the pink cherry's petals
the sky can slide
between azure and indigo
or even echo the shouting yellow
gold of the sun in the glint of the rings
we gave each other
the single twist of warm metal
against the bronze and cream of our skin
the clasp of our hands a Moebius strip
unending, ever changing the day

when you look into my eyes
and see all the green of the sea
the fathomless truth
and I see in yours the reflection
of my own hopes, this long sojourn ending
in the touch that begins the next

your shoulders are broad
your skin warm and honey-soft
your hands possessive and gentle
taming a fearful heart with a stroke
down my mane, the river of hair you so love
to smell, to bury your fingers in
and breathe poems into

the neverness of the dream protects us
holds us true to our course
the wind blows as it may
but we are guided by Polaris
and the music of the spheres
wave-rocked on a keel wrought of the few breaths shared
the sighs of such lovers lost in time
and knowing only that when all is right
soon will come
and we will have our time

When Then

Misted rain, soft and springy,
June. Already? Our chance has passed
Was it ever really a chance

Or just a date I selected at random
When you pressed for the answer
When?

May!
I said, May, flustered and
A little mad that I had to know
When, when?
A month too far distant (in December) to consider
It might never come to pass…
May has fled
And now… it’s June

You are still there and I am still here
And we stand staring
Looking across
This chasm of space
Cut by time’s white water rapids
Growing deeper, if no wider,
As the weeks, and months,
And then the years pass.

We dream but refuse
To plan for the essential eventuality
We dream loudly, we dream frantically
We reach across and feel the phantoms of each other
Held tighter than lovers
But if we do not step forward

If we only ask
When
And do not say
NOW!

It might never come to pass.