meeting you
unexpectedly
your life so different from my own
with the commonality of good natured banter
and an interest in the world
wishing you well
on your journey in this life
as you wander in and out of love, work, play and family
a blessing, a smile, and a warm heart for our brief encounter
my oldest is a woman now
her childish ways replaced
with a knowing, older glance
her sweet face has lost its curves
and found angles and planes and shadows
and glances where mystery grows
Wallowing
is all I’ve done today
letting that stone of sadness
sit heavy on my chest
Wallowing
bathing in the grime
sitting in your hate and rage
remembering each word and phrase
Wallowing
unable to move beyond my misery
I know I’m letting all your nasty
simmer inside of me
you’ve been right there with me
through good and bad
you’ve listened to the happy and the sad
you’ve always been there when I needed you
to let it all hang out
to let it go
you’ve been the truest friend
the best companion to the end
you’re voice to me the most beautiful sound
and your touch is how I’m found
we share so many loves
Chopin, Broadway, Brickman
we’ve had so many beautiful moments
with family and friends
My Grand, My Grand
you’ll always be my oldest love
*props to Ray Charles and Billy Joel whose song is a way better play (pun intended) on this idea*
*This poem was written when I was 19 and wanted to find a relationship but also wished I was more self satisfied and could live my life without desiring someone else. It describes cold rational intellect telling me to find meaning and happiness without a romantic relationship that was at odds with the strong impulse towards connecting deeply and intimately with another person. I’m now 48 years old and 25 years married and it seems like a lifetime away. But I remember that deep yearning and longing that conflicted with wanting to be independent and satisfied with just myself. *
I mourn the internal, instinctive needs
covered with the white, soft quiet powder of intellect
I wander through the chill
I step on and on
with feet that burn with cold
her prismed flakes cover my face and blind my eyes
her soft, illusive shapes fall upon my upturned hands as I reach to catch her empty beauty
I face the raging storm that falls upon my beating breast
upon my warm and eager hands
I trample a thousand green blades of grass
I stumble over fields of lillies
my frozen ears cannot hear the sweetness of the thrush
alone, alone with myself
I blunder throught the drifts
and seek the desires of a human
amid the storm
I mourn
loyalty and kindness
may they ever bind us
may they form our words
may they move our hands
may they govern our hearts
*The poem comes from my favorite verse. Proverbs 3:3. Never let loyalty and kindess leave you. Tie them around your neck as a reminder. Write them deep within your heart. The picture is my son around age 11, he’s now 17, a young man, very different. Here he is handing me a wildflower boquet he picked in the hill country of Texas where we had pulled over on the side of the road to pick flowers.*
I can taste your beignets
dripping and powdery
dissolving on my tongue
gold, glittery, gritty
I feel your African American heritage singing it’s soul and rythym
gilded with French curtsies
you are a mystery New Orleans
your clapboard, saltbox unpainted homes
speak of barefoot children and generations of your people
people grown in the rich, loamy dirt of music
seconds, sevenths and ninths
blues and jazz tickled with horns and drums
witchcraft and christianity
stirred in a pot
cathedrals and voodoo in strange harmony
your swamps verdant and green
with sultry beauty
their hush filled with a chorus
chirps, slithers, splashes, honks
New Orleans you are old
ancient with your people whose customs and tongues
meld together the songs of tribes and gilded Europe
Creole you are
a jewel to your nation
a vibrant, living tapestry of your people
dancing in the street, dancing to your beat
