The sky is dark purple
And I can’t see a single star
The only things twinkling
Are faraway orange streetlights
On the horizon
It still looks pretty good though
Even if they are man made
And not the type of things
That people usually get
Romantic about
A twinkling light is a twinkling light
At the end of the day
Living in a run down environment
You have to take your romance
Wherever you can get it
My eyes search someone in the crowd
Vision has dimmed but not the hope
Waiting for the face my soul searches
To relish the serene beauty, which
Springs the life in me!
Morning wakes me with golden hands
The blue sea churns some tunes
Cuckoos sing sweet melodies
Makes me feel romantic and young!
My dreams shatter why? I know not
Why nights are not a bit longer
I see you in the mirror of my dreams
And lament when the mirror shatters!
I always felt you beside me
In my joyous moments, and in my grief
In my thoughts and in my daydreams
You were always there as a part of my soul!
Love me, my love, before shadows
Disappear with heralding morn’
In a sultry summer casting a gloom!
Sit on the cold rock by the stream
And drown in the serenading music
Drops, falling from the wet leaves
Awakens dreams that you are here
Listen to the song of the ocean blue
And the lovely tunes nature plays!
Love me, darling, endlessly,
Dance with me in the golden hue
The golden horse with the golden mane
Has been waiting for us, did you know?
The warmth, I welcome after winter’s chill
captured in letters where large tears have dried.
From one I thought for good, even for ill
I’d marry come the shadows of July.
Rare was her beauty, yet her greatest gift
was her keen wit and a splendid style
in her dress and dance, ‘twas almost as if
the gods looked down upon her just to smile.
I was envied by many close dear friends
save one who circled us with much intrigue.
Used lies and gossip to put a sad end
to lovers he both envied and deceived.
Worse, it seems she will keep that wedding day
with he, I called friend, who stole her away.
To new addictions
it seems now
I must add narcissism.
Admiring work
on a coffee house wall
pencil portraits
looking not like
victims or…
“I’m good and cheap”
says the artist
too thin but her smile
is pretty when
I say OK.
Adding a few years
she tells me
she’s 22.
I pose not at all
as her lines converge.
Dark graphite
finding light
on paper
in her steady hand.
We talk about or I do
of the novelty of nothing
“uh-huh,” she says.
Till it becomes a habit
a drug of choice.
“Uh-huh.
What do you do?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I tell her.
“You hungry?”
“Starving! Pizza works. Will
you feed a starving artist?”
she jokes.
“Make me better looking
and I will” and she does.
Later, she eats five
of the eight slices
of a medium pie.
Kissing me twice for tipping
her twenty besides
her fee
and the pizza.
I look at the drawing all day.
Ah, to love
one’s self…
later, I put it
in a frame in
the closet…
You can only love yourself so much.
The prickly roses and the violets, too are gone
sweet memories of past picnics and summer fairs
of Renaissance ladies, leading us to lush lawns
where I won at the games, two large stuffed bears
that drunk on laughter, we gave away, that once upon
a lifetime ago, inscribed in our hearts, a dream shared
though its beginnings courted danger and purloined risk
with your dark hair and shaded eyes shadowing escape
when I took you from that biker you hitchhiked with
taking to the highway that we found in every place
I remember your stolen smile, your half-way kiss
that one day was gone without any forward trace
though I regret tears that come with a fool’s blindfold
I take comfort in seeing what you mean to me still.
Uneasy with the thought that you have left
evidence of your return I am without
no calls or message at all, except
the echo silence makes with each new doubt.
A prison I might call these empty rooms
bereft of one who lived inside its doors
and left me prisoner under a pale moon
like us eclipsed by all that we ignored.
Ask anything and I will take to task
to undo or repair what made you leave.
I sit here with tears and an empty flask
not sure of what I have or truly need
The sadness of not knowing’s difficult
lack of parting words- the final insult.
I sense something
pending
that I don’t want
to talk about
because I am afraid
that it will jinx
the everyday magic
that doesn’t happen
all the time
in fact you can
feel it like
the hum of
electricity
in the air when
star-crossed lovers
meet by chance
in places like
the butcher’s counter
where one does not
expect romance
but there with the ham
and the cheese
she sneezes
and he says
‘bless you’
and this prepares
them to share
future bacteria
and the socially
acceptable
hysteria…
of togetherness
and I know this
is soon coming to
infect me
and I will again
feel lovable
and hopefully
hopelessly
incurable
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