I Knew Then

I took the full fruit
Of my love
And held it out to you.

You took it mildly
Eyes downcast
As only you might do.

I took your chin
Within my palm
To lift your face to mine.

I beheld
Your angel eyes
A look within, sublime.

I sat with you
In the rays
Of a golden, setting sun.

You took my hand
And I knew then
Your heart was fairly won.

Never

We never loved ‘neath the stars
Nor strolled down winter lanes.
Our toes never tumbled leafy streets
Nor did we kiss in summer rains.

But, oh, we loved with passion
As few on earth may do.
And didn’t we give our hearts
As might the braver few.

We never sat on canyon rims
To gaze creation’s art.
Our eyes did not behold the moon
To light our purer hearts.

But, oh, we knew the poetry
Of love that binds the soul
And didn’t we take its fruit
In every moment that we stole.

We never paid the price demanded
A sacrifice for adoration’s fee.
Passing years have dimmed that time
But we once loved, oh, didn’t we!

The Question

I need the fire again
The burn and scald
Of the urgent
As primal need.

I have grown complacent
Far too accepting
Of the mediocre
The banality
Of ordinary days.

There is no longer
An itch
Propelling me
To want more.
Without wanting more
There can be no
Achievement.

Suffering has become my meat
And pain my mistress.
I am devoid of the want of life.
The only thing
Upon which I can depend
Is for misery to hold my hand
To sleep beside me
To be my companion.

The enemy of complacency
Is desire.

The question remains…
Is the desire to desire
Enough
To destroy complacency?

In the Meantime

In a moment of crisis
I begged God
Give me more time.
It seemed reasonable
And he was gracious.

That was sixteen years ago.

Now I sit here
A reasonable man
Looking back
Sixteen years
Wondering if any good
Came from it.

My doctor tells me
Just keep taking my meds
And come back in six weeks.
In the meantime
Complete this battery of tests.
Schedule a colonoscopy.
Cut back on the salt
And consider a treadmill.

My counselor tells me
It’s one step at a time.
Don’t overdrive my headlights.
Take some time out every day.
In the meantime
See the accounts receivable secretary
On the way out
And come back next Friday.

My wife tells me
I never focus on the essentials.
I’ve checked out.
Where did the romance go?
In the meantime
Watch this Hallmark Movie.
Some flowers would be nice.
Maybe some Fannie May.
And try a little harder.

My boss tells me
The stats are overdue.
The payout ledger needs updated.
My schedule is packed solid.
And my hours are cut.
In the meantime
Multitask better.
Read the new HQ bulletin.
Eat lunch at my desk
And park in the distant outer limits.

My friend tells me
Better me than him.
Stand up to the world.
Man-up.
Shut up.
Quit belly aching.
In the meantime
It’s my turn to flip for breakfast.

God asks me
How I’ve enjoyed these
Sixteen years of grace?
He tells me it’s best
Not to ask permission
To alter his perfect plans.

And he wants to know
If I want sixteen more years
Of mean time.

Our Nasty Zen*

Have a cup of coffee
Maybe some eggs and toast
With me.
(We can talk of the course
Of our lives
And the distance ‘tween you and me.)

Yes, it looks like rain.
Been a long, hard winter
Too.
(But what I’d like to ask
Is what the hell happened
To me and you?)

Sure, I’ll get some sugar
And some more cream
For your cup.
(But how do I delicately
Probe, beyond the arcane
“Whas’ up?”)

Yeah, that’s my new truck
Parked out there
In the lot.
(Do I dare ask how you are?
That’s too intimate a question
So I guess not.)

Tell me about the kids
And all the surface
News.
(I’ll pretend to show interest
About your Caribbean
Cruise.)

So, your husband got promoted
And a new red ‘Beemer
Got him rollin’?
(I’d rather hear about his
Prostate and trouble
With his colon.)

Yeah. It’s been great.
We need to do this
Again.
(But in my heart I know
It’s karma, and this our
Nasty little Zen.)

*Sometimes poetry is just fun!

Broken Pavement and Strobes

Midday rains slicken the avenue
As umbrellas bloom
Along the financial district
Like mushrooms on the forest floor.

The city murmurs business here
But further south
Where broken pavement mimics
Broken lives
There is boredom
Bluster
Violence
And death.

Blue strobes flash from cruisers
Red from ambulances
And fire trucks.

Twenty blocks divide
The wealthy
From the broken.

She was six years old
Sitting on her front porch.
He was fourteen
Walking to his grandmother’s
For dinner.
She was an honor student
Huddled with friends.
She was six weeks old
And her father was changing her diapers.

These children
And hundreds more
Were shot and killed
In one of the most elegant
But violent cities of the world.

The innocent dead stare from the tomb
Their blood on our hands.
How may we celebrate our gain
As we bury our loss?

Perhaps that is not rain falling
In the financial district.

It is God weeping.

A Baptism

Fog and rain join
To birth a soft silence
Muted tones so still
I hear my heart beating.

Traffic sighs from the streets
Busses belching diesel.
Puddles along the curb
Invert the world in monochrome.

Leaning against a doorpost
I swallow fresh air
Heavy with ozone
And the scent of damp earth.

I wish my hands were full
Wish my heart was full
My life full
Filled with purpose and meaning.

But this is not so bad.
Better to have one chance
Than none.
Better a little hope
Than none.
Better blurred vision
Than blindness.

Better fog and rain
Than fire and ice.

Empty pockets remind me
I am clothed.
Hunger reminds me
I live.
A headache assures me
I feel.
Even traffic reminds me
There are places to go.

I allow the rain to soak my bare head
A baptism in resolve.

To Readers Who Ask About my Mystery Woman……

First, I sincerely thank you for your amazing comments on my poetry. You encourage me more than you may realize.

Secondly, I must say there is little more I can tell you about my “Monarch;” my “Darling.” I promised her she would always remain in hushed solitude among the chapters of my life story. All I can tell you is that she was a tremendous source of joy and wonder to me in what was the darkest times of my life. I have had no communication from her for thirteen years. I often wonder her whereabouts; what course her life has taken; if she is happy. She taught me that life has meaning, even when it is at its most bleak. She showed me that the most incredible pleasure may be had even in a touch, or in her eyes. She would stay on the phone with me while sharing the beauty of a golden sunset. Her waters flowed deep. Though a very private person, when alone, would share everything freely. She was almost shy, until suddenly she was not. She was surprising; her laugh the tintinnabulation of bells. Her's was the most cherished of loves and friendship. I wish she could have stayed, but she could not. While that was devastating to me, I supported her need to follow her heart. I wonder whether she reads my work here. Sometimes I feel she does. I hope so. But she probably does not. I know there is no chance of rekindling our lost flame. Life moves us beyond that which has passed, opening new doors as it seals old ones. My poetry reflects the wonder of her, and a time moving always further away. I wonder what she looks like today (beautiful, I am sure); how her life is going. I think of her, and the time we had. I think of her all the time.

Monarch…if you are reading this…...well…...you know.

~~~ James

Borders

I remember sweet morning air
Fragranced with growing things
Earthy scents
Mixed with the aroma of coffee
Wafting from the kitchen
Where my father sat
Smoke from his cigarette
Floating in shafts of sunlight.

The morning news
Mingled with the static of its AM signal
Issued from our radio’s tiny speaker.
Beyond our window
A neighbor’s lawnmower buzzed
The tang of fresh-cut grass
Adding to the bouquet of morning.

I was a child
And free to mount my bright red bike
To patrol the boundaries
Of my expanding world.

The Burlington tracks beckoned.
I would search for railroad flares
And maybe a rusty spike.
A penny
Flattened on a rail
Would prove my daring
Prove I was there
Alive
An explorer no less eager
Than Columbus or Magellan
Mapping his ever-growing world.

What became of the wonder of it all?
When did the smells change
The sounds dull
My senses tire?
And what became of my treasured penny?

Expanded borders
Are not the same
As giant worlds.