Stars ready to play
Crickets chattering
Fireflies glowing 

Cows pacing to pasture
Goats vying for attention
Cats playing tag

Hay freshly cut
Garden ready to burst
Flowers in their glory

Harmonica dancing notes
Quiet rocking
Aged hands holding

A sky trying to wake up
Air after a thunder storm
A heartache that won’t go away
Jumping into a cloud and vanishing
The breeze of sheets on a clothes line
Lavender Tea
A sparkle of childhood
One second short of a track record
A pair of jeans on its last stitch
A child’s lost hope 
Chills of the first snowfall
Disappointment
A warm ocean 
A last ice cream lick that fell

This is the sound of slavery,
the Mississippi River – hot, humid,
sweat beads glistening from brown skin,
mosquitoes finding refuge.
The river raft, weathered with seasons
filled with generations
glides quietly
Grandma Martha on her final journey.
White daisies adorn the raft,
pure and sacred.
We, all dressed in white cloth,
starched from the sweltering hot globe.
Her naked feet stare up to the sky,
the soles calloused & wrinkled
tell stories now quieted.
Her soft hands
folded gently across her body
never again to see the
up and down movement of breathing.
This is our last meeting and
I stare at her,
I stare at her,
I stare at her,
then, touch her hand, one last time.

The urgency of it remains with me to this day.  The new town had begun to be drowning, it’s windows fogged, streaked with crooked finger marks, doors chipped and ragged, hinges loose, shelves once full lay empty and dusty. 
 
It was not long ago that I happened upon the new town.  I was quite comfortable living my life in the town I knew.  Yeah, there were times I wish my town offered more but it was enough.   One day I slipped out of my town.  I didn’t travel far until I noticed in the distance something was drawing me near.  I tried to hold back, was a bit anxious to walk into a new town, not knowing a soul, not understanding why there was a tug and pull.  Do I peek in?  Do I retreat to the comfort of my town?

Forward motion held out.  The door mat was quite enticing, red carpet treatment one could hardly imagine.  Could this really be happening to me?  I was drunk from play, drunk from the new found comfort, drunk from diving into the waters without a pause.  My guards left and I was naked with wild abandon like never before.  I felt hatched, birthed from a tightly held shell.  I wanted to be naked forever with this new town.  There was so much exploring to do that I could hardly wait for each new day to buckle forth.

Then one day the town changed.  It happened so abruptly that I could hardly imagine exactly where the bridge had broken.  Where once it’s fence, gates, doors and windows were expressively open, it shut down as if a total blackout occurred.  I didn’t understand and the shock of it burst forth a flurry inside.  It was as if the comfort of a long held sentiment was taken away. 

The only place I had left to go was back to the old town.  That seemed like the most mature and logical decision.  Yet I had forgotten the route I had originally taken.  Maybe forgotten isn’t the appropriate vestige.   Perhaps I fought the truth, rebelled against what lay open in plain sight.    Each new road I came upon I took, and yet, it seemed to take me back to the new town, the town I needed to leave.  I lingered there again, left, came back, lingered, left, came back, lingered a little longer and then I realized unconsciously that I was hanging on as if an addict.  Each time I left and came back my body and soul became heavier.

One day I came upon a flower garden with a small pond in the middle and shiny lily pads softly rousing.  A lone old woman was sitting upon worn yellow bench, her grey hairs tucked inside the red wool hat, her wrinkles soft and tucked around her sad eyes, her hands folded upon her lap, a gaze so sullen I dare not touch her space.  It was as if I saw my own reflection.  At that moment I turned and walked out of that town, never to return again.

Two chairs facing each other
Me in one, the other empty
Our favorite song playing
Words chasing in my head

Today I’d say Good-Bye
To my friend, to my love
Can I really do this?
It’s time to, it’s time to

I look at the empty chair
Visualize you sitting there
Our eyes say hello
I want to reach out
 
I hold your picture
I nuzzle your favorite shirt
I imagine your scent
I feel your touch 

I miss you so and linger in yesterday
When I wake and you’re not there
I want to go back to sleep and
Wake up all over, but you’re
Still not there

Who am I without you?
I know, if you were here you’d say
“Come on, you’ve got one minute”.
I feel as if I’m standing on one leg
Wobbling in life,
Swimming against the current

I wonder why you went first
Why not me? You were the strong one.
Damn it, I feel numb, I feel comatose

I wrote you a letter…. 

My Love, 

You were my gem, my sparkle, my firecracker.   Remember the first time we met -- we were both rollerblading on the school grounds.  I was just a beginner, didn’t know the proper technique for stopping and ran right into you.  You caught me, I was embarrassed and we went along our way.  I was smitten that first time but thought you too cute for me.  I kept practicing, you kept your distance upon approaching me but we smiled.  Eventually I was good enough to catch you – and boy did I!!  Or, did you catch me??!!  The happiest day was when we were married and scooted away on our rollerblades and raced into lawn sprinklers, fell to the ground, giggled and hugged each other.  Our vows, written together, are with me everyday, the weathered tawny paper safely tucked away in our treasure box of shells, love notes, and trinkets of our life together.  I miss you dearly, miss waking up before you and gently touching the softness of your face and neck, and seeing the peaceful rhythm of your breathing.  You encouraged me to aim for the top of the mountain when I thought I could only make it to the hikers hut half way.  I admired your spunk, your drive, your clever ways with people, your commitment to us, your playfulness, and your generosity towards others.  You made me feel loved and appreciated.  There are days when I don’t know how to go on without you, I think of you all the time.  When I come home I imagine you’ll be there but you’re not.  I’ve held on to your things, because it’s the only material things I have to help me imagine your presence by my side.  At night I hold your pillow and cry into it.  Hours have turned to days and days have turned to years.  I’m terribly lonely sweetheart.  I try, I try to care, I try to love but then I get scared and run back to the comfort of us.  People try to change me, they don’t understand me – you did.  I know you’d want me not to be lonely and I keep thinking you’ll show me a sign.  But then perhaps you have shown me and I’ve not noticed.  I know I’m a better person because of you.  I’ve taken forward steps since you’ve been gone.  Some say baby steps, to me they are leaps if people really knew what brews inside.  I’ve thought a lot about you lately – how I could honor you.  I know we’ll be together again in death and I shall look forward to that day.  For now, to live now it means to say good-bye to our chapter, to a cherished chapter that will always be with me and to say hello to another chapter, ready to be filled.  Someone once told me that God has a gift waiting for me to be opened.  But first I have to say good-bye to what is no longer now so that I can fully appreciate, take care of and have enough love for the new gift.  This is hard because I want to keep holding on.  Today, I wanted to talk to you, to let you know my plan, to let you know how much I love you and how much you mean to me.  I don’t want to forget us.  No, I won’t forget.  I will smile when I bump into a memory of us, I will remember our special days, always.  I say good-bye to yesterday, and what a ride it was!!  I say hello to today, and I welcome tomorrow.  I will gather my new stories and adventures so I have lots to share with you when we meet again my love.   Forever yours.......

Love note found under pillow
Favorite chocolate in coat pocket
Lingering weekend sleep-ins
Calls to share a sunrise glow
Evening strolls, warm fingers entangled
Chasing each other through virgin meadows
Snuggling watching Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory
Wrestling and giggling in wild abandon
Lipstick note upon bathroom window
Chores all finished – play at hand
Secrets claimed between only two
Tiny flowers a windshield greeting
Welcome hug after long day
Foot massages, oohs and ahhs
Summer picnics in favorite places
Loyalty never questioned
A quiet look that says ”I love you”

Gates open at twelve past ten
Exuberant Children swim through
Sleepy Adults pitter patter

Manta Ray tour guides
Adorned in turtle pajamas
Try out new shell attire 

First stop, Huckleberry Stream
Stripped monkeys splash about
Tabby cats dive deep for tomatoes 

Second stop, Peabody Jungle
Pink polar bears chatter a storm
Skinny lions shine their horns
Blue caterpillars fly above 

Third stop, Artic Mountains
Orange bats growl in droves
Booted gazelles ready to race
Furry elephants play hopscotch 

Final stop, Ms Balory’s Gelato Bistro
Lines long and agitated, flavors plenty
Ginger carrot, blueberry lettuce,
Peach celery, Nutmeg Broccoli 

Bubbles escape flower pedals
Grass blades rush patrons out
One last round to feed the lot
Twelve past four gates mark close.

Wayward eyes
Nectar of passion
Dripping forth
Erotic thoughts
Garden of Eden
One last pause
Trespasses taken
Taste of honey
Devour sin
No turning back
Lies spin
Truths escape
Trust depleted
Tormented love
Was it worth it?
Vile of drink
Wicked remorse
Yesterday, forever gone

Obsession plays like a record stuck in one place, the needle heavily bound not to move out of its moat. An occasional skip sending it on but not for long.  Go back, go back to that place.  I want to stop there and stir for life.  It was good, it was happy, it was contentment, it  was permanent wasn’t it?  The fuel inside festers…..embers swell…but I stay cool outside because that’s what I’m supposed to do.  Be complacent, obedient, nonjudgmental, things will change, I’m wrong, I’m weak. No, no, no – this isn’t right, a tiny voice calls out.  It’s the same play, the same acts, the same actors, the script written in permanent ink.  That’s damning “obsession” playing misery to the hilt.  Pity comes too, they all gather together in a circle yelling out their own narcissist plots.  Then they jump into a pool of “doom” joining as one.  Yeah, they think they have it made, snickering amongst themselves.  They don’t know that “doom” is not permanent.  Its outer shell seems like steel but its rubber in disguise susceptible to punctures and ultimately unworthy.  A jolt busts the corral, kicks down the fence, boots the bad asses good-bye, stares down all that look back and says it’s time to unload the cargo and hit the highway.  They meet hope and faith who show them compassion and kindness.  They say the bad guys will always be nearby, may even fake their way in again but that a higher power always exists – the mind – our thoughts – our reactions. 

The first time I saw you
No fleeting moment caressed me.
Then, time rang on, my heart tickled.
But I held back, you were for someone else

I still smiled inside, my pulse raced
Like a caterpillar, I let it linger
Flow over me, its soft hairs touching
It’s feet caressing and tickling
But I held back, you were for someone else

You, quiet - yet playfully ten
Wit jumped out – my giggles followed
I could hardly contain myself
But I held back, you were for someone else

Your face mysterious, your eyes amber warm
Your generous hands gentle, your smile….
Your smile talking, your delicous lips inviting
But I held back, you were for someone else

Standing near you, I took in your scent
Wanted to nuzzle in the softness of your hair,
Kiss the warmth of your neck, hear your sighs 
Wrap my arms around you, hold you forever
But I held back, you were for someone else

The hour glass emptied, but a memory remained
I was with someone else now, content in my world
Love had bitten and I grabbed hold of the gift
I still smile when I see a caterpillar
For I held back, you were for someone else.   

Sorrow comes to wake
Pricks a heart dry
Days evaporate
Torment blossoms
Memories carousel
Raw desperation
Masked emotions
Bottled cries
Seeping acid
Pity succumbs
Longings ache
Yesterdays held tight
Empty, numb, halted

Knock at the door
Empathy calls
Carries burden
Soul pours out
Mirrored reflections
Pause penetrates
Naked ambivalence
Courage prevails
New beginnings
Memories softened
Faith nibbles
Heart beats
Devotion shared

The news report stated,
“Lettuce aisle in shreds.”
According to insider reports
Security cameras caught it all.

Iceberg was the culprit
Heavy head bursting in
Demanding a premium spot
Afterall, once had been
Popular by demand
Now sits in back row.

Romaine, elegantly oblong
Stout, rosette ruffled edges
Fashionably layered
In front row, flattery induced
Like Macys window dressing
Come, look at me!

Butterhead, supple velvety
Oily thick leaves
Delectably unclothed
Stands guard in neutral territory
Quiet disposition, humbled
Content in its place.

Delicate white floating downward,
Arriving upon skinny tree limb
Tucking into sturdy pine needles,
Others follow suit.
Round ball of snow settles in
Balancing high above the ground.
The flurry ceases, sky unwraps
Sun comes to welcome
Parading its palette of blue.
Warmth teases shadows
Liquid trickles, picture fades.
The cycle commences.

High top leather wrangled boot
Lay upon the rubbish can.
Dirty laces knotted messy
Monkey sock tucked inside.

Who left the boot in solitude,
To fend alone in alleys grip?
Shall rat or mouse find dry shelter
When downpour comes to call?

Café Trano’s backdoor creaks open
Alley chatter comes to hasty halt.
Kitchen helper heaps the haul
Into belly of rank rubbish can.

Wrangled boot sits in silence
Not to worry odd man out.
Across the alley lays a ragged man,
A weathered boot upon his lone leg.

Now I lay my heart to sleep
No more souls to hear it beat.
Chained behind heavy doors
I weep in drowning silence.

Shattered dreams replay
Waking moments endless
The caldron of obsession fires up
Strangled life, slow drip of death.

Haunted images lay beside me
Brushing my skin, touching my lips.
Soft whispers wake me, I call out
Darkness answers back, I cry out.

Hands caress me, scents entice me
The longings deep and fixated.
My own punishment, for I am
I am here, you are there.

The graveyard of grief, gripping
The recall of memories, forever
The belief of hope, living
The birth of courage, freeing

You’re like a puzzle, some pieces missing and I can’t find them.
I’m a puzzle too, my pieces strewn about, some not even whole.
Why is it that humans are afraid to look each other in the eye?
Is the abyss of the pupil so monstrous we hide behind the great wall?

If I tell you my secrets will you run away, will you think less of me?
You can tell me yours, I won’t run from you,I won’t think less.
For brief moments, a wide open book, endless thoughts trickle out.
Masks, fears, hopes, dreams, reaching out, holding onto,
Destiny, tears strolling, memories branded…… 

Floating iceberg, layers huddle together, wander, break free
Let my tired broken body come out of the cocoon at my pace
I don’t want to fall to the ground without a parachute.
Let me hatch slowly, taking one breath at a time.

Clawfoot tub, silky soft bubbles
Lavender scented candle
Enya’s voice mesmerizing
Legs entwining, arms embracing 

Kiss, devoted eyes fuse
Honey lips yearn
Warm breath teases
Moist honey suckle 

Morning beach walk
Our hands embrace
Naked toes unbridled
Quiet ocean waking

Ruffled clouds, silver lining
Brief connection
Musical notes beating
Heart tickles

Calm, warm wool blanket,
In a moment like a flicker of light
Changes into power so full of jabber.
A caldron of spillages and crashes
Run into shore as foamy bubbles
Towing shells, hugging pebbles.
Children squeal and chase about,
Play catch with the chilly liquid,
Build sandcastles, fly rainbow kites.
Perched upon the cliffs man sits,
Solitary in silent hypnotic watch.
Reflections accommodate him?
Crashing waves meet boulder,
Droplets cast upward, stretch out.
Sun begins to beg for rest
Laying down the horizon
Ocean waters settle in
Fishing trolleys, bellies full
Call home back to port.
Ocean turns in for night.

Babble of yogi browns, turtle greens,
Bumble bee yellows, apple reds,
Lay tumbled on the moistened path.
“Where did you come from? 

Spring’s fodder of buds that blooms
Peeking out from far above.
Siblings emerge side by side,
Skin verde, pliable, glossy. 

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
City clad humans clog along,
Sweaty and hot, they seek,
Shelter from rain or sun.  

Summer closes shop, Fall opens,
Mother disencumbers her flock.
Solitary each falls gracefully,
The annual carpet of leaves.

Some gazed at, some rescued
Hidden in pages of books,
Others slowly meld into earth,

Their brief life captured.

1963, Mr Pierre’s Chocolate shop,
Red single speed Schwin bicycle,
Coins jangle in pants pockets.
Cars line up at the 76 gas station,
Lake waters their destination.

Summer heat beads upon my face.
Salt trickles fall, meet dry lips.
Past schoolyard, children at play,
1:00pm fast approaches, wheels speed up,
Around the corner, the “Open” sign in sight.

Fanned breeze greets, skin prickles,
Chocolate scent seizes.
Mr Pierre peeks over the glass counter, grins.
What shall it be Tommy?
“Two Almond Truffels for my daddy.”

Four pennies exchange hands,
Blue gold trimmed box,
Finished with ivory ribbon.
Securely inside baggy pockets,
I race home with Daddy’s delights.

Feet submersed in warmth
Squiggling digits at play
Bubbles hide the scurry below
Red Toes, White Lilies

Hands at work, scraping away
Crusty casing, pelted hide
Lemongrass scent mesmerizes
Red Toes, White Lilies

Dreamy mellow day
Toes loiter then emerge
File presses on, closing act near
Red Toes, White Lilies

Velvety dry cloth dabbles
Liquid color emerges
Last brush stroke unhurried
Red Toes, White Lilies

My smile wraps a saddened heart
The package forever sealed
No one could possibly understand
The pain that toils inside

The clock ticks days, months into years
Each special memory still celebrated
I touch, I feel, I see only you
Promises of “I do” freshly in my mind. 

I’m afraid to love again
It means that I could lose another.
My strokes take me in circles
Still back to you, my cherished love.

Voices chatter and tumble in my head
Armor protection, steel honed at my side.
I wait for a sign, she might be the one
No – that can never be – I’m forever yours.

Borderline pristine water
BMWs cruise the park
Garden of rainbow tulips
Quiet pond sits a bench
Puggles sports a fur sweater
Personality wears his nose.

Mr Crabtree is in the “knows”
County rules Estate waters
Clothed in Sunday sweater
Footsteps taken to the park
A moment spent benched
Sentimental candycane tulips. 

Lone black stripped tulip
Peeks out Puggle’s nose
Scatters under the bench
Licks tepid bowl of water
Bumpkins into “park”
Shivers without a sweater. 

Tomorrow no forgetting the sweater
Colorful and perky as a tulip
Furry cousins visit Pug Park
Greets damped noses.
Races to still water
Mr Crabtree watches from bench
 
Ms Spong rests upon the bench
Needles, yarn and half a sweater
Bottle sits near with fresh Spring water
Yarn book adorned with red tulips
Handkerchief brushes delicate nose
Daily ritual in backyard park 

Miss Gretta arrives at park
Her place reserved on the next bench
Puggles greets Miss Gretta with a moist welcome 
Nuzzles against the dark pumpkin sweater
Ms Sponge just about done with first yarn tulip
Sees that company is in need of water
 
Puggle’s nose nudges into fur sweater
Mr Crabtree silent upon park bench
Ms Sponge knitting tulips, sipping Spring water.

Haikus have 5, 7, 5 syllables

Table Reserved 

Round, three chairs, red cloth
Checkerboard, pad, sharp pencil
Grandma, Grandpa, Wags.

 Passion Fruit 

Anticipation
Tender, soft, moist, musical
First kiss, sweet linger.

 Give It a Tri 

Wetsuit, arms slapping
Wheels, velocity, lightning
Sprint, noodle leg close.

 “Smart Wool” Socks 

Frosty, artic chill
Morning calls, top dresser drawer
Toes snug balmy warm.

Today we sit,
Warm and cozy in the Victorian red parlor,
Circled near the crackling fire,
Ready to offer ourselves.
The clock chimes twice on the hour,
Tick Tock, Tick Tock,
Door creaks open.
Eyes case the room, judgment calls.
Feet scurry about, brush against me,
Push on to find their place.
Talina, soft paws, sleek, fine long golden hair,
Saunters into the parlor,
Guise rather grumpy,
Routine the same,
Pause, takes in my scent, pause.
I am her familiar worn slipper,
she is mine.
Talina leaps up, takes refuge,
The round of her sinking in,
Gentle purr a sentimental hello.
Eyes fall softly, she gives in.
Chatter of voices sway,
Cups and saucers give ring,
Book pages turn,
Discussions ramble on.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
Three chimes on the hour,
Rustle of Talina’s paws,
The stretch of her legs.
Sated in her quiet world,
Our time is over.
A leap downward,
Tail gently sways as she departs,
Her warmth still lingers,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Grandma Mathilda was baking my favorite Apricot Torte when I walked into the kitchen.  Baking utensils, flour, sugar, butter and fresh apricots were scattered about. Earlier that morning, after being awakened by Wilber, the grandfather of all feisty roosters, we sauntered out to the fruit orchard (all of 5 trees!) to gather fresh apricots. We were both early risers and it was our time, grandma and me.  With her calloused warm hand around mine we quietly slipped out. My small steps could hardly keep up with hers but over the years my stride caught up.  Grandma was only 21 when Grandpa Walter died. I did not know him but "I did". Our orchard trips were filled of stories when Grandma and Grandpa were just starting out. They were poor but wealthy in love and thirsty for life. Just 12 when they met they played in the grassy Alp fields, ran through mud puddles, and swam in the quiet cool lakes while frogs hummed their tunes and mosquito's volleyed for time. Their favorite game was marbles. Everywhere they went the marbles came along in their soft weathered brown leather pouch. There was one red marble and it signified their friendship. It was never a part of the game but lain near the circle of marbles watching as if a guardian. Grandma and Grandpa married at 17, not so young then and started their life raising goats and making cheese. Each night they ended the day with a game of marbles, the red marble guarding over them. Once a month they trekked down to the valley from their alpine town to sell the soft-aged cheese. The red marble came along too. It was always with them, a symbol of their unity. When Grandpa fell ill with fever and passed away Grandma cried quietly and her once playful smile lay still. Each night she took out the bag of marbles and played for Grandpa, the red marble in its natural place. Over the years Grandma started a new tradition with the red marble and perched it atop each finished pie or cake she made. Sometimes she'd hide it under my pillow or I'd find it in a pair of socks. It was her way of sharing Grandpa and it made me smile, and her too. When Grandma passed away I was given a small box.  I open it and there was the musty leather bag of marbles. I opened it to find the red marble. I held it snug in my hand, closed my eyes and remembered our early morning walks to the orchard. My heart wept, my eyes watered, a tear traveled my cheek….. I smiled.

Off in the distance was Buffalo Spring,
Worn and weathered.
Alone, inside the talkative forest,
Bent limbs, lost digits,
Shades half drawn, door closed.
Sauntering on the leafy path,
Drawn into oneself, Buffalo Spring.
Once young and vibrant,
Now stands aged and solitary.
Memories sprout of Bella,
the spunky Italian chorus girl.
Like mismatched shoes,
She took haven, in Buffalo Spring.
There she danced and sang,
Relinquishing life far away.
Back into the moment,
Sad trickles fall from Buffalo Spring.
Eyes close, body kneels to earth.
I follow, wrap my innocent arms,
Around his soft shoulders,
Silence is our talk.
This is all I can do,
For my Grandfather.

The sacred, the morbid,
One body, divided souls.
Poppy painted toes,
Wounded soldier,
Dreamy caress,
Silenced throat,
Plush sofa,
Searing strap,
Kaleidoscope,
Lava escaping,
Rose awakening,
Ripped hearts spilling,
Tapestries capturing,
Humans erased,
Galaxies illuminating,
Red Rover fallen knees,
Lover’s igniting.

The old faithful mossy bridge lay ahead.
We jog across quietly drinking the day.
He walks towards us, slowly, empty, heart bled. 
I sense his pain, lonliness and despair so gray.  

Eileen sees too, spills out a “Good Morning”.
After passing I say, “He’s sad”.  “I know”,
she says, “That’s why I said hello”.  Treading
onward, our steps keep pace.  My mind, sorrow

for him.  What pains strike hard that life goes dry?
So young, fragile, inside I weep for him.
Days pass, my thoughts fall to the boy nearby.
My eyes close soft and pray his soul not dim.

A smile, hello, a humble look can be
the act of kindness for one stranger’s silent plea.

My mind swims with thoughts of

a mothers’ winged flight, her last breath.

A daughter’s good-bye, mom’s pain settled, her soul left behind.

I arrive to comfort and support.

She lay there still and calm.

Is she sleeping?

Yes – that must be.

No more mother to call,

her voice a memory, her laughter a ring.

No words can I say,

she’s really gone.

What about my own mother?

The day will come.

I must call her – say “I love you.”

The black car arrives,

two men ring the bell,

a gurney comes forth.

The zippered black bag is opened,

my stomach sinks, I can barely hide the turmoil inside.

They gently pick her up,

tuck her away and then zip the bag.

I want to scream “No, she can’t breathe”

But I hold back for my friend.

The door closes and I am left numb.