Pressed Grasses

Coming upon a patch of grass
Pressed hard
Where once stood a tent
I thought of the brevity of time
And the hurry of life.

I wondered at those who slept here
Near the soft hush of the river.

Did they pause
To watch fish dance
And silver light leap?

Did they breathe the dawn
Sweat the heat of noon
Drink the blushing moon
Like sweet wine?

Here
Where fire seared their fish
Did they celebrate
Their sustenance
Thankful
For the river’s gift?

Here
Where lanterns glowed
Did they sing their joy
To the stars?

Here
Where cloth hid their secrets
Did they join
In the way of lovers?

Here
A patch of grass
Pressed to the earth
By moments of life
Memories were made
Gathered together
With fishing poles
Pillows and frying pans
Packed and taken
Leaving others to reckon
At bits of personal history.

Sweet is the gathering of a stranger
Wondering at
Pressed grasses
At the edge of a river.

Solace

How came this
Softness in my eyes?
This easing of my features?

Once
I had the glint
Of an eagle
The jaw of a bear.

Now
Young men hold the door
And young women pass
Without a fleeting glance.

The second hand soars as a sparrow
The minute hand glides as a hawk
And the hour hand hunts
With the stealth of an owl.

The advance of years is not comfortable.

I once relished the sun on my skin
And the wind in my face.
Now I seek the shade of the elm
And find shelter from the blade
Of the breeze.

But there is solace in memory.
I hurry backward
To feel the wire in my frame
And the steel in my purpose.
It waits for me there
Like a maiden awaiting her prince.

Time is the stream in which I wade
Its waters my balm.

Take my hand and come with me.
The water is not deep
But exceedingly kind.

Mixed Joy

From behind I held her
Bodies warmly molding
To one another
My face deeply buried
Into her soft auburn hair
My arms falling across her breasts
My hands resting upon her ribs.

She leaned into me
Eyes focused upon a random spot
In the morning sun.

She breathed a small sound
From the depths of her throat
A satisfied sound
A sleepy sound.

Thank you
She said
And I smiled
From behind her left shoulder.

I love you
I said.

She began to gently sway
Humming a song from the 80’s
Playing on the radio.

My arms relaxed
Falling to her hips.

Coffee or shower?
She asked
Pressing her body into mine.

What I wanted was apparent.

I see
She said
Laughing
And we returned
To our bedroom.

The bright morning sun
Lifted higher
As I mixed my joy
With hers.

There Comes a Time

Her pale skin
Was as soft
As warm
As the spring grass
Upon which she lay.

The soft breeze
Rippling the waters
Beyond our patchwork quilt
Tossed her long brown hair
Tugged at the fabric
Of her sundress
Revealing the charm
Of her form.

I leaned against the rough bark
Of an old oak.
Dappled sunlight played upon her
The way children might frolic
Without care
On a bright noonday.

Her gaze held me
The way her arms might.

The corners of her mouth
Turned upward
Into an easy smile.
She was not speaking
Yet she communicated easily.
Her thoughts broadcast
The way Tibetan prayer flags
Summon attention
Calling for care.

Come to me
She was saying.
I am yours to love
Yours to explore
Yours to have
In the delight of the shimmering sun.
Yours.

There comes a time
Language is intrusive.
Words grow clumsy
Get in the way.

There comes a time
The entire universe collapses
And the only action appropriate
Is to reduce the space between
Until lips meet
And tongues express
Wordlessly
And the only reason the day
Holds charm and purpose
Is to introduce
One to another
Until there are no longer two
But one
Occupying two shadows
Indistinguishable
As separate forms.

There comes a time
All language
Is reduced to a sigh
And the only reason for memory
Is to return to one moment
Long ago.

Visiting Terra

The ground tilts
Dressing in strange color
And texture
As it rushes upward.

Grass is not as soft
As you imagine
And the impact is swift
Hard
Unforgiving.

But stay there.
Do not move
(As if that were possible)
And let the earth do its work.

It will tattoo you
With marks with which to remember
Your visit.
Blood and dirt
Have long been familiar
One with the other.

Someone will come.

When your awareness returns
They will bear you up
Will deposit you
In a soft place
And speak gently to you
When you are able
Once more
To hear
To understand.

I assure you
Following this unexpected visit
To Terra
You will learn just how short
Are your legs
And how unforgiving is the land.

Perhaps it is time to become
Kin to the cane.

An Oasis

Within the space
Of her arms
Is what little warmth
This life affords.

Therein a steady
Application of grace
And sweet safety
Sustains me.

Within the brackets
Of her heart of peace
I find an oasis
Amidst desert sands.

Her twin graceful fawns
Ever refresh me
My enduring solace
And my love.

The Labor Required

There comes a time
The working man
Pauses
To deeply breathe the
Warming air
Take a long pull
On a jug of cold water
Wipe his brow
With a worn cloth
And briefly lean
Upon his plow.

Such need is true
No matter the field of endeavor.

A husband stops
To refresh
By looking upon his wife
Breathing in her presence
Drinking in her devotion
Cooling his passion
By leaning upon the instrument
Of their union
And know the effort expended
Is worth the good of their field.

There is a time to stop
To appraise
And think
To consider
And refresh
To know
And appreciate
Not only the joy
But also the ache
And realize
It is satisfying
To be expended in the work
Of well-doing
In the knowledge there is coming
A reaping that will
Provide a rich store
For the winter to come.

He celebrates his tiredness
In realization that weariness
Is nothing less than satisfaction
In the knowledge progress
Has been made
Toward the building of concord
Between two whose love
Is worthy of the labor required
To sustain them.

In My Humble Opinion...

The most alluring perfume in the history of woman-kind is Victoria Secret's Vanilla Lace. Can I get a witness? That amazing scent is locked in my mind forever. I am dismayed to know it is no longer produced. (Naturally, it must be on the right woman).
~ James

The Secret

There is one strategic move
When a man loves a lass
That is most important
As that man makes his pass.

He must know just where
To touch his darling girl
That will make her body tingle
And cause her toes to curl.

The pressure of his hand
Must be just enough
To give her full assurance
That her man must know his stuff.

The technique must be sincere
If he is to prove his ardor
Because if it’s not done well
She may show him to the door.

Long before the romance
May lead them into bed
There is one thing necessary
That must be done instead.

Before their breath grows heavy
And their lips meet in kisses
A good lover knows well
How to please his misses.

To assure her of his kindness
There is one thing he must not lack.
That secret is to know just how
To place his hand upon her back.