Perhaps of all the things that motivate one to create poetry, number one would be the joys and sorrows – the elation and deflation – the almost indescribable feelings and thoughts that are engendered by romantic attachment and detachment. This Chapter from the Eternal Sea is very self-centered in the most part. Chapter IV is in the same vein and also has a subset that includes some ‘incoming’ poems that were sent to me. There may or may not be a ‘match’ among the poems included here. Looking at what has been written, I can picture just a few situations that can be ‘tagged.’ The rest let’s just dedicate to this most delicious of sentiments and experiences, and to lovers whomever and wherever they are.
Make When Now
When I am with you, I want to be The person I like. Too often, I’ve been driven by ego, Claiming abject love. Too often, I’ve been a petulant kid, Ready to run when rejected. When I am with you, I want to be The person you like. I want to fit in The nooks and crannies – The interstices in your life. When I am with you, I want you to be The person you like. There are lots of joys And wondrous moments To share, being together. There is spiritual delight; Closeness and ONEness, And oh those EQ’s [Emotional Quakes]. There is mutual appreciation, Sharing of experiences – Sharing of sadness and cheer. There is a fit Where the individual piece Is preserved In the jigsaw of life. So, it is time To celebrate Our joys and wonders. It is time To bury petulance, Together with ego’s fantasies – Being fully aware, Each of the other. Can we walk those paths That from time to time Criss-cross in ecstacy? Can we make when NOW?
Love Is like Each growing thing: It needs to be Nourished to grow. Weeds choking it Need to be plucked. Sometimes the weeds May be perennial; Other times They may quickly bloom, Fade and die – Never to grow again. Some love Yields food for the body; Other love Nourishes the soul. Once in a while – Sometimes it is a long, long while, That very special flower blooms. It has no reason; It has no rhyme; It just IS – Is sheer joy Happiness to behold, to savor. A love to be IN, To be a part of and share. No point asking why or how; No real way to resist. Just roll it ‘round – Savor . . . enjoy. Give thanks! Give great thanks That life has dealt something So GOOD! Love Is like Each growing thing. When nourished And allowed, We all become A song to sing.
This poem won me “Poet of the Year” award at the State University of New York, Morrisville – Kudos to the English Department there.
A crossroads, Creeping through those inner parts: The interstices of marrow; The backstairs of the psyche; The third eye’s retina, The final jangle Of each ganglion’s pulse; Memory’s yet-to-come input; The light rushing ‘round the corner To confront my soul’s Beyond tomorrow. A pulse, a beat, a cacophony – Sounding and playing That ‘other’ Who’s been a part of you; That soul who, of late, (So sad “of late”) Whose vibrations have set off That who wave Of sympathetic notes, Until each mini-second Of each hour, For every day that I live, Sounds with the potential Of the love that who will deny . . . Exists. Of love that cannot be denied; Sounds of the realization Of wishes – past and present – Sounds echoing but a moment In the eternal span of time.
A crossroads, I devine, Is near – or here. Which path, which road, Can we kick up In harmonious steps; Joyous dust that will play Tunes of delight, Sorting itself into masterpieces. Kaleidoscope of love, Fusing with growing strength Until its power and light Melts two super beings Into a galaxy Whose power sweeps all before it. Or, do the lovers Take separate paths: Tears moistening Purple forget-me-nots, As distance renders the bond Between two suns. Memories Have been etched in the paths – Yes, bittersweet renditions Of nagging regret and uncertainties Over what Union with realization Might have yielded. There spins between these orbs That gentle, lovely soul - The “we” – Springing from the essence of each That grows with each day; Each revolution Spinning off a mass Whose light may outshine All others. Though spirit drags Crossroads there is. Here is my hand, Tomorrows call And we must go on. Will you take that hand And match my tread On the road We both can trod?
The Last Note Of Your Song
I really like this one – the concept of being “the last note in the song being sung,” in the final ‘act’ of someone you love – unconditionally – just shivers my timbers (love that phrase also!). Music, to me, is the universal language – it speaks to all who hear it and creates a whole other sentiment and understanding from words – particularly if the words are ones you don’t understand because they are in another language. Life itself has an eternal music – an eternal song.
The fire of life Burns bright and burns strong, Energy is singing Life’s eternal song. That energy flows Into matter and music, And we human spirits Are created to use it. We were created, Humans, tigers and doves, To experience life’s dealings, It’s travails and its loves. The fire of life Burns bright and burns strong I want to be The last note in your song. The lesson is simple, Open and clear, Be in the Now, Be Present, Be Here. Do understand that the eternal quest Is to be at ONE, In the Creative Spirit’s nest. The fire of life Burns bright and burns strong, It’s the space between the notes, In Love’s sweet song. The music you play, It’s best loud and strong, Makes me want to be The last note in your song.
My Love Lies Inside
I can feel The spot Where you lie. It’s on the left side In a revolving curve, Underneath My heart. I reach out To bring you in. The melding seems Not terribly hard. Then, I tuck you away. My love Lies inside.
Life's Magnificent Charge
Bubbles burst; Rainbows disappear; Warmth and light Are followed By biting wind And darkest night. Joy can dwell inside. Visions paint Our brain’s eye With every colored hue. So, too, Love sits in the saddle Of a charging steed – And, oft times, Falls off. Nothing, here, though To stop Life’s magnificent charge: The struggle Up the hill In stickered wood, Reaching the exhilaration Of the top.
Life Is For Living
Life Is, oh, so many things When a smile surrounds. Life Grabs and holds me When I listen to your sounds. Life is for living When love is a-giving: Life is, oh, so many things When you are around. There are many forces One can’t ignore: All the Kings’ men and horses Are here to assure That life is, oh, so many things When you are around. Life has its reason In each and every season, My senses get pleasin’ When you are a teasin,’ And life IS for living When you are around. So keep up the music, Be with it And choose it; Love is the harmony That the soul sounds. Life is . . . Just so complete When you are around.
The sweet nectar of life Moistens the dewy petals Of the lovely flower That is your soul. I, Bee-like Fly to draw The nectar For my new hive. I leave Undisturbed, But enriched. Blessed be YOU: The flower Whose nectar Has become The sustenance And sweetner Of this new life.
NYPL (New York Public Library)
The big central public library of the NYC system is at 42nd street in Manhattan – (no one ever says ‘Manhattan’ – it is ‘The City’ or New York). The main entrance is framed by two stone lions. I stood there fairly often and wondered what they were saying and what they cared about – if anything. And such riches inside – although relatively hard to access.
The lions turn The other way – Cathedral of knowledge Framed our joy, Temple of learning Knows nothing Of the twists Fate can employ. Cold books, Scratchings on paper, On shelves All properly in a row. Yet, outside, In the warm drizzle, Emotions Create the glow. The spark Grows to a fire; The flames fanning “True Love.” The lions turn Another way, Which condition Is the real one? Which state The ultimate Truth? Can all those collected words Give the answer? Does it lie Under that roof? Was all that A temporal flush of emotion, Or rather the coming together Of the one and only truth? I am caught up In the challenge; Where is the answer? How to pick, How to choose? Perhaps, They are inseparable And by choosing One would lose.
I met a woman during dance classes at The Omega Institute – I was single at this time, having relatively recently gone through a ‘friendly’ but still difficult divorce. Would another woman enter into my life? This poem reflects the ‘odyssey’ that ensued.
At first, You smiled at me – Just an ‘innocent,’ Sweating through five shirts, Trying to figure dance steps For a performance I would only get to watch. At first, You enticed me. You came back, Smiled a lot, And was always ‘there.’ At first, How nice it was To have someone Excited to see you And seek you out. We talked; It seemed so easy and ‘nice.’ I got “hooked.” At first, You confused me; And, yes, You told me It would be four months – At least – Until I could come to your house: I came the next weekend. At first, I slept as a guest; Then I held you – God, holding you Was the nicest place I’d ever been In my 21,870 days. It made me feel That I wanted to do it For another 31,930 days. At first, You drove me crazy; And then there was raised The specter Of discomfort and mistrust. You didn’t believe me; You thought I would intentionally hurt you; God, that gave me Such pain. I trusted the truth would prevail – And it did. The scars healed on us both. I came to want to be near you – Lots; To refocus my place Of Being in life. I wanted to be a support system For your life’s goals. And then, You said I was crowding you! The ground fell out From beneath me. At first, You had opened for me A new door to love. I loved your music, And making music with you. I loved your laugh, And laughing with you. You picked me . . . There I was, laughing with you. I loved The comfort of your home And being comfortable there. I even loved Your regal pair of felines And figured we all Could have a wonderful life together. So Where was this explorer to go? I thought I was On the ‘right’ path, Yet kept running into “No Trespassing” signs, Seeing nothing But brambles ahead. At first, You had picked me. How nice it was To have someone – Someone you grew to love – Excited to see you; To seek you out; And make you feel welcome. Oh,so good! Holding you At that time Was being so close To feeling at ONE With the source From whence all comes. So, now, (that now was a couple of decades ago!) Can we move Past picking out To create what comes next? So, now, Is there a path To your heart And love’s life I can follow? Will you take my hand, Will you take my heart, Will you dance with me To the Universe’s beat? At first, You smiled, Enticed, picked . . . Confused – Where will it end? (It did) And as my friend T.S. Eliot said in The Hollow Men: “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.”
My Soul Just Ain't The Same
Head kinda heavy And chin hanging down, Fighting through the Earth-bound fog; Eyes, mind, Lifting up. Then rose salmon Cotton-tieredn cloud. Mountain tops rounded – But not bowed: “You are your own best friend.” To live, then, I am learning . . . Damn well, how. But, And this think Is an essential part -- A true nub of me: My soul ain’t the same When it is not Connected to “WE.” In fantasy land, Church into theater is re-made; On the screen Don Quixote’s a-questing, Seeking Dulcinea A scullery maid. And, yet, I dare . . . I do Dream the impossible dream, And turning homeward Search for the path Upward to the sky. Crescent moon, Long and erie, Piercing through earth-bound fog; Then still looking up . . . Arriving – But not going inside. Stars fixed in random beauty: Fixed by each of our searching eyes; Crossing then – A flash of light-- A “shooting star” . . . Fate; Kismet; Calling to Westerly shores, To goals near and far. My soul is a good one – So welcome journey-mate and friend. Somehow, somewhere (Oh, I know) I have discovered (with you) That place where that road Has an end. There are beginnings: Myriad dreams. Gazing upward becomes normal. Life is so much fuller, It does seem. So choice: Here you face me (us). We know it’s no game, Something is not quite right – And to fix it I aim. So hear you this message; Think of the shame When we are not together . . . Our souls Just ain’t the same.
Cheeks: Whose muscles stretch In joy and freedom. Mind: Wide, absorbing, Released. Emotions: Unmixed, real, Warm. Ears: Grasping the rumble, The deep depth Of you. Nose: Filling With a special scent. Limbs and blood, Nerves and muscles – Body alive As it draws Breath of you.