Waltz of the Distant Lovers

There they joined from distant cities
by his casual request to meet
on a ship’s wooden planked deck 
for a sweet simple old waltz
A canopy of strung up lights 
mingled with crystal constellations 
A playful swell of waves 
rose and fell beneath them 
unbalancing certain steps 
and dislodging reserve
Sparkling notes drifted out 
on humid air
carrying their bodies 
to an intimate time
They did not miss the grandeur
of life’s elegance to deeply inhale
Bold eyes intersected, 
then shyly broke away
His hands more firmly pressed her body
in deftly guiding gliding motion   
Salty warm Caribbean breezes 
caressed their heated faces and
with gusty fingers tangled her hair
Impressed by a lower latitude
the crescent moon lay on its back 
and bestowed a satisfied smile

But What of the Ordinary

Be great, be amazing 
be famous, affect the change, 
be unstoppable
But what of the ordinary
quiet one that speaks no words
but smiles at a child
What of the workman
that drops the bucket
picks up the dirt
driving away as 
the sun descends
The hole is bigger
but you might not notice
What of the person that
makes the smallest 
change for good
and lives content
in the shadows 

I have lived in the spotlight
had some small 
measure of fame
There is no greatness
You know your secrets
You do what you can
because you can
Being in the way you can
There is no more

Hide and Unseen

Did you know
your children hide
As their birthright they are 
born meaning makers
And everything you say
will have meaning
from the most 
loving, “you’re brilliant”
to your exasperated
“You never get your 
shoes on right”
They are not guileless
they are just young
They will decide
that if they are brilliant
than they must 
be perfect
lest you be disappointed
And they will hide 
what they perceive 
are their imperfections
If you tell them they never 
put their shoes on right
They will decide
that they are somehow
made wrong and
thus don’t belong
Parents, you can’t 
get this right but
perhaps you could
tell them they are 
wonderfully perfectly 
imperfect beings
That we all are
And that you would
love it if they would 
tell you when
they don’t feel like 
they are enough.
Even though you know 
they are.

Not So Simple

The winding twining twisted vines
wrap together rising upward
leaves intersecting in canopied shelter
Connected souls wrap consciously
to bind in their intimate longings 
a healing haven for restless minds
The force which compels the vines
drives the souls toward satisfaction
But while chaotic vines thrive
as their simple only compulsion,
the souls needing simple connection
discover chaos may tangle their destiny


Hows does such a little person live 
In such a big persons body?
How do they fit?
Who runs the show?
The little one
Because they were there first?
The big one because
they know better now they’re grown up?
Then how does the little one
manage to so well 
reach the top
and run the brain
Yet motivates the feet to run away
or kick the can
of good intentions
Are little ones stretchy?
Or do they just know how to j
ump up and down
until they are noticed
Tag they say.
You’re it.

If You Shiver

If you lie down on the 
banks of a river
gazing outward 
your eyes can capture 
the sparkling stars 
riding the waves
If you stop and look up
you are able to 
see capricious clouds 
performing their endless 
altering dances
If you surrounded yourself
with the sweet scent
of winter jasmine
memories of tropical places
can fill your mind
even if you’ve never been there
If you wave to your neighbor
and truly see their spirit 
a soul reflected in their eyes 
you can give yours freely back
be truly seen, lose nothing
You may feel the biting 
pinprick of an artichoke
or the rain on your face 
dripping down damp and 
frigid into your collar
What are pain and shivers? 
A gentle reminder
that You Are Here
There was no promise 
Only luck gave you
skin and breath
You are impossibly 
You Are Alive

Where to Write From

You might think that
to be a poet
you must have a
way with words
You can keep thinking that
more room for me
You might think you 
must reach way down 
in the weeds
pulling out muddy roots
from your sodden brain
or recall in detail
places of distinction
You might think you 
must go heart searching
to find phenomenal
fodder for verse
or have personal connections
with the waves, the sun, 
the moon and the stars
There are those 
who have done that
But really you might be
content to write frilly froth
of fabled fellows
Or maybe, just maybe 
you’ll surprise yourself 
crawl down deep like an 
a spelunking explorer
to places in yourself
you haven’t been
or yet even noticed