Friday, June 27, 2014

Greenhouse Roof

Greenhouse Roof

It was there in the aisle, 
to the right of the Orchids, 
the left of the cacti, and
directly in front of the palms,
that a thought became clear.
As I followed on his heels,
he was pushing the clattering cart
across the concrete floor,
and I watched him look around
with boyish wonder.
There was no specific reason
for such a thought to occur.
I was not contemplating matters.
Surely it had nothing to do
with the heady feeling
of embracing in the parking lot
to share a moment kissing,
so oblivious
to anyone around.
But perhaps it may have been
how my heart leaped a bit
when he stooped to greet a small tree
as though speaking to a pet,
"Well look at YOU," he said,
and I felt the smile in my soul
reflect across my face.
Perhaps it was just the hot sun...
shining down through the greenhouse roof,
changing states of consciousness.
I only know
against that backdrop of peach and plum trees,
ceramic planters,
and so many fragrant flowers...
I realized I could easily
and contentedly
do this
with him
for the remainder of my life...


To Miss You

To Miss You

To miss you
It doesn't begin in days
or even hours...
It begins the moment we part,
watching you walk away,
and wanting to dart up behind you
for just one more squeeze and smile.
To miss you
isn't for reasons you may think,
but for the reasons you don't realize
mean so much;
the way you pick me clear off the floor
when we meet;
how you clear wisps of hair from my temple
and touch me gently while i'm driving
the way you always plant soft kisses
on my forehead;
the way you call me beautiful
even when I'm sure I look my worst;
how you hug me from behind
when i'm doing dishes;
the way you press me to you
when we kiss;
how one hand touches me softly
even when you are busy with something else.
To miss you
is to miss your smile,
that funny way you flip your tongue at me
like a little frog,
how you catch my eyes across a room,
how I melt like warm chocolate
into you.
To miss you
is all the things once read about
in stories and romantic pictures,
but never knew for myself.
It's the joy of being a couple
and knowing we are part of
one another.
It's the anticipation of seeing you
and feeling my heart pound
and my tummy flutter.
To miss you
is love...


A Pondering About Artists

A PONDERING ABOUT ARTISTS... and work, drives toward dreams that can be made reality...verses family and obligations. Much of it is a fine line and can cause discord. Noting for a moment that many careers are time consuming...for instance doctors, and other skilled professions...the years of school, not only class and clinical work, but hours of studying, and then endless hours of double shifts, on-call duties. I do realize that most professions carry an air of certainty, in money-making ability, and society as a whole seems to graciously grant extreme validity to these occupations. What I never understood is why the artistic fields are looked upon as almost silly and just hobbies, but not legitimate entities. Oh I know, they are more reckless in their promise of fact only a few in the arts become rich at what they do. Many sustain themselves well (I know quite a few) and there are some that are your "starving artists" But the fact of the matter is that without these people, you would have no music, no movies, no local entertainment scene, no enjoyable shows and displays and things to see. Its all made possible by artists who find that personal level of prioritizing and dedication, in order to pursue their dreams and bring it to the table for others to enjoy. It takes hard work and dedication.
Some individuals on this 3rd rock from the sun, are meant to pursue art. Some of your greatest painters, musicians, writers, actors, directors, photographers, videographers etc, spent years upon years struggling to succeed in their forte. Not all do...some die fighting for it...but the driven ones succeed in some way. Sometimes it takes trial and error. It definitely takes time and sacrifice, and support from loved ones, without which the road is so rocky many lay down their talent and join the ranks of those willing to accept mediocre rather than pursue whats in their hearts. It is often a jagged pill for others close to an artist, to swallow. But to deny an artist his passion is wrong in my opinion. Yes it is a balance of priorities, sometimes week to week, day by day, even moment by moment. Families, regular paying jobs, things that are needed to live and are also immense parts of our lives. No one can deny the extreme significance of these things...they are so very important. All things must be taken into the equation.
Artists are most often a quirky brand of individuals...some more than others. Any study of the world's greatest and most reknowned will tell you this. Sometimes critisized, often misunderstood...artistic people are the most caring and passionate people to ever exist. Its a personal decision I suppose, or perhaps even just an ability, whether to be part of the support system...

Dedication to Syrus

Dedication to Syrus

Proud allegiant
Blue eyes sparkling
love for master
and friend...
Hugs around neck
sweet scented fur
love last time
the end...
All reduced down
8 corners 6 sides
love in this box
hello friend...
Went away massive
Came home small
Forever loved
never end...


Every Time

Every time I look at you...
Every time I touch you...
Every time I hear your voice,
your laugh,
your heartbeat through your chest under my ear,
I love you more and more...




May 6, 2014 at 5:16am

How appropriate
and utterly absurd;
Two artists meeting,
uncovering truths of soul,
and blowing off the dust
of a million evaporated tears.
In one puff,
happening suddenly...
Like turning your ankle
in a hole you did not see.
Thinking time and again,
Where has this been hiding?
Wondering how possible
or real can it be...
Something akin to a childhood fable,
A fairy tale,
A perfect seashell on an endless beach
of broken dreams.
To glide a chiseled
flawless path:
Ha ha, you knew better!
Every writer understands,
the most supreme script
has that element of darkness.
Always an evil queen
passing a poisoned apple.
And knowing who we are,
and what we are as well,
coming as no surprise.
Like the most intricate detail,
our love like a motion picture...
The one teen girls and young couples
flock to see,
and pay to see again,
and again.
Why would it not be this way,
So perfect?
But it's ridden with wounds

from bloody, broken arrows.
some painful moments
where the happy child falls
holding her bent, bleeding knee
and crying.
Where lover's think again,
Silently fear...
A bath even warm and soothing
can easily drown one.
Cast roughly atop the water
even a fish can die.
Scars can still kill
If we allow them power to strangle...
The hope lies in the storyteller...
It is we who do the writing...
Not fate, or hate,
or her...or him.
Not people or places,
Only two of us.
Pains and past can not write our story.
The epic tale of wounded hearts
cursing all
does not exist.
We are not a slave
To drama saying,
"This is too hard, too weird,
Too painful...I must go onward alone."
In the most wonderfully creative portion
of my brain, heart and soul,
I sit hunched over in the darkness of present,
feverishly penning the rest of our lives.
Because love is worth,
not only the creation of our story,
but the recording and rereading of it.
It means that much to me.
Its not just any story,
or any love...
It's ours.