Walking In A Field Of Lilies
Early in the morning
The dew is on the grass
The smell of the earth
Is on my nostril
The wind on my hair
And a bird is waking from a night’s sleep
Morning is clear
And a bird is on the wing
Babies are hungry
And mama and dad
Are looking for worms
***
Mermaid and The Sailor by Charlotte Mair
I”m jealous that the sun may touch your face
jealous of the clothes that wear you well
jealous of the bed that cradles Love by night
jealous of the pillow upon which Love”s head may lay
jealous of the miles that work so hard to part us
Ohhh
I”m jealous of those who gaze those brown eyes
jealous of the photo that locks you from my touch
the room, the stars that shine your face
the coffee cups __ that feel your lips and hands
caress
embrace …
And from this distance
to know not one
To know “¦
only in a dream __ might I see and feel
his hands meet mine
in sunsets, walking shorelines __ creating new prints, in waves of sand
then sweetly share in passion”s kiss
__ Love dissipates
as light of day wisps my room
to then depart on distant shores
To risk a thought__
this life”s lived many a time
knowing well bemoaning __this sailor”s wife at shore
still eyes keep watch and torch well lit by night
even at banshee”s howling calls
We brave the loner”s cry
Hair of amber pales __ silver steals its way
It is well a life of 50 and more
and sure it is __ weary __ this shadow
standing on these empty shores
as Mother Sea reflects these tired aqua eyes
To realize Ones heart is not yet stone
though smoothed by roaring waves
withstanding tests of time
To feel the thunder of love roar through these veins
once more
is torture to a heart that sets to thaw from fathoms
The mermaid is risen
but in so doing __ shall never return to swim
her salty seas
***
LATENIGHT T.V.
2 AM,
Donald and Carla sleep.
They manage the Rendezvous Inn
a cockroach infested
pay by the hour no-tell motel
for a Japanese slum-lord
who lives in Hawaii,
grateful to have this gig
after their hot-tub
and jacuzzi business
died a tortured death.
(forcing them to move in the middle of the night.)
Shut-eye is normally hard to come by
this time of morning.
The Weeping Willow,
a biker bar next door closes down
forcing it’s drunken, scuffling,
engine revving clientele
out into the street.
But tonight’s not so bad,
Carla never wakes,
dreaming of dinner by candlelight
in an upscale Parisian restaurant
this dissolving into discovery
of an original and signed Declaration Of Independence
hidden in the backside of a seascape
she buys from a local flea market.
Donald sleeps soundly as well,
his dreams not nearly as complex.
He’s busy banging out Susan,
Carla’s younger and much shapelier sister
on the industrial dryer in the laundry room.
(The one next to the Coke machine.)
While motel management makes zzz’s
their tabby pisses in the litter-box
and Conan O’Brien introduces Eminem,
tonight’s musical guest,
on a TV set in the living room
that Carla meant to turn off
before going to bed.
Under a Fingernail Moon
A pregnant lunar display, plugged into the sky”¦This is not for me.
I exist under a fingernail moon, casting less of a glow.
Providing scant beams, if any.
I prefer the thin, silver rim that pleasantly dips north-east.
It does not pierce the clouds, but gently hovers above them.
It leaves us below to find our own way.
It causes us to forge our own light, so that we may
discover the path within the eclipse of our destinies.
Biography:
I have been writing since I was around twelve years old. Some of my poetic influences are Ogden Nash, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Teasdale, Dickinson, Billy Collins and Dorothy Parker to name a few. Some of my published credits include “The Library of Congress 9/11 Documentary Project”, North Carolina University’s Presses “Free-Verse Magazine, ” Poems Niederngasse, Albany University’s “Offcourse Literary Journal”, Temple University’s “Schuylkill Creative and Critical Review”, Duke University’s “Voices” Journal, San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Muse Apprentice Guild Literary Magazine, York University’s School of Women’s Studies Journal, “The Permanente Journal of the Arts and Medicine”, “Ars Medica, A Journal of Medicine, The Arts, and Humanities-Mount Sinai Hospital, Toronto Canada” and The Pittsburgh Quarterly.
***
Gogglelagoshee
I am the house ghost tonight
making the floors cry out
as I try my words out
on my half lit house.
Tonight this restless soul
wanders the halls,
listens at doorways
for God,
or someone like God.
Love waits
in some of the rooms,
pain waits in others
and the ghost asks little
of either,
only a taste to say
I was
here
a total stranger one black day
knocked living the hell out of me–
who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was
-but now that fiend and i are such
immortal friends the other’s each
***