When People Do Depart

Years ago,

with a stamp and a leap of faith,

I would begin my wait,

until one sunny afternoon, I would see the delivery,

always hoping you might be there,

to say hello,


So often as the gravel chimed my feet,

I would hear your voice again,

through the words on paper,

a parchment even in your selection

would offer solace,

in knowing there was a care,

for every aspect of your return.


i would then smile,

imagine the next round, our continued love affair,

miles away, yet immediately bound,

by the words we awaited, we lived for, we delighted

in realizing when they returned our thoughts,

the imagery in our mind,

remained strong, and evident, and real,



Today, is it too easy to be swooned,

by the romantic nature of our words,

by our ability to recognize truth,

by our willingness to be vulnerable,

by the sheer virtue that sometimes our words …

are all we are,


left behind,

in the immediacy.

Once in My Life

I would recall a song or certain melody,

mood change, slow recall,

a memory might take me miles away

that time before this past

outcome. An adventure is welcome

when fear is abated sooner

than an insidious need to redefine,

to understand of course,

a recognized outcome similar to having

processed a difficult moment

We have had them occasionally, like

just the other night.

I was recalling when a summer rain

brought me back to a walk

just you and me and city lights, cobblestone

a European fantasy,

even a Christmas time walk along the lights,

far ahead, I watched you stroll,

wondering if I might lose you tonight,

not knowing when, just that sense

we all get when we haven’t a desire to really

face our demons in such pretty


When I think about how much hardship I let

myself go through the next

few blocks, hours of time, years, months before,

I suddenly am thankful,

I decided to spend my life with her.

She’s not someone you know,

We’re both really fine with that knowledge.

Once in my life I did the right thing.

The Want of a Tear

We’d like to believe we will not

yet then it happens,

a simple vision,

a memory,

a lyric reminds me of when …

yet, there are times like these,

a tear seems so far away,

amidst the challenge of staying normal.

How often do we lay out a facade

in the morning,

the right buttons, a proper tie,

perhaps that blouse that covers our shame,

and yet, we do remember,

a time with similar yearning,

our tears did come readily.


I found your old journal when rummaging last night,

the things you’d forgotten about,

I still remember, like yesterday,

I used the words frequently

when in the need of a tear.

Today, though, they remain memory.

Old Neighborhood Stories

I drove past today,

said hello to nature nearby,

years older, more sage,

aware of everything I commonly ignored.

I wondered about their being here,

knowing when then,

I would frequent their energy,

with thoughts of my own,

total disconnect yet within

their stone-reaching range,

always a touch, or easy duck

to avoid interrupting their unwound

shelter ready for our eyes.


I walked inside a graffiti drawn

room, held memory again,

wondered where they all might be,

the voices and faces and scrutiny

bore the same witness

another time,

have they returned ever again,

and wondered the same

as we all do when we

return to our prime to question,

whether our same ideal

can be strong today,

or does it weaken like rhyme

in poorly drawn script.


Today I do see the same,

young people holding hands,

a family together,

watching children grow,

around soccer balls and angst,

a lively parade of instinct and innocence,

the only interruption

being held back,

not knowing whether this day,

might change the scope of an

evening ahead,

a reminder of yesterday,

perhaps a notion,

a look, glance, bump in the side,

reminds me of a different time,

when all of our sublime

aspiration seemed to be

just alright.


I drove on, trying to let go,

of that very time, that same response

to a memory I did cherish,

to fond nostalgia

we all do witness,

did, can, will, want, would


to recognize, need to,


That was our time,

and seems on some sunny morning,

when we least anticipate,

wish to perhaps forget,

we always will somehow return

to where it was,

we first began, not really though,

where we might have thought,

here is where we will land,

yet again,

we once believed to be true,

what today might only remind ourselves,

once we were

what we can ponder,

as having been,

a different time,

yet always the same.

When We Dance

We choose to release,

we walk together, alone

with eyes perhaps our own,

we wish only to dance.


when I stumble it is


I want so badly to learn,

yet in the throes of

letting go,

so often

I find I can

live  another way,

without the restraint

of not settling

for that circus

that society bleeds –


Suggest to me

a new cadence

for then I might,

be on the front


the starting point

rather than always

needing to learn the steps

a little later on.

I would

I could, I would, I should,


decidedly want to




walk inside

a dream

and twirl, as it were,

like her majestic stallion

of prurient nature.

Sweet Aftershock


The blue sky remained outside

immediately afterward,

the crowded room changed faces

immediately afterward.

The reckoning, a personal march

of emotion, that enigma of the true human spirit

that weathers the test of chance remained

immediately afterward.

Without memory we cannot recall

the demon or sprite, faery or ogre,

attached to our limbs, our mind’s image

of a different time, a sweeter time,

an all too familiar reality

we sometime give greater credence

in the spirit of fantasy, a nostalgic trip,

than society might ever allow.

If then, when, while we recognize time,

we pass eyes with fond memory,

perhaps going forward,

our lives do rejoice in the spirit of …



*photo found on placemaking on WordPress

The 24th Hour

She says I listen to corny songs,

I laugh knowing she’s so right

yet I can’t help enjoy nostalgia

leaves me helpless to lovely times


I might be sitting in the meadow

with your head in my lap

a beautiful sun streaming in

and me clueless to your beauty


we talk of beauty being surreal

a sort of imaginative perspective

and only then can we realize

a world is beautiful in the moment


I remember that day just holding

you, while your eyes smiled at me,

we could have sat through a setting

sun and a rising moon, every hour.

Nostalgic Corners

These are the trappings

haunting my everyday,

these are the joys without love

the spiritual basis

drawn by natural consequence.

These are the fears,

that when shadows reappear

a smilar reckoning speaks

to each moment

like yesterday, today,

in the moment of now,

we seek some fortune in wisdom,

yet these are the trappings.

Outside, the Rains


With only a few drops to touch the patio blocks

i can return home again,

to picture window mornings watching the birds

sift through the rain in natural habitat,

I do recall the street became gradually river like,

creating the later streams in culverts

home-made sailboats would venture throughout

the city neighborhoods entertaining

all the children that right now were waiting

patiently, for that sun burst that shouted mom’s

‘Yes, go outside and play now.’


While rains soaked our bodies to such a degree,

we might eventually accept nature’s wrath

sweet and warm like in summer’s romantic fire

while together we strolled watching smiles

knowing we are drenched to the bone alive

anticipating that lentil soup in the afternoon,

the wet paths that squished with each step

would cause an occasional stomp

a fit of laughter and the chase while finding

a new pool to match previous success.


When sitting by the river with my line in water,

as the light mist begins to show

its true mystery along the riverbank’s shadows

I will remember you so precisely,

fishing pole in hand and teaching me your patience

I could stand for a minute while you

always managed to pull a beautiful brown

from a back yard creek small enough

to only imagine a child’s homemade sailboat.


Outside, the rains will cleanse our natural world with steady

rhythms in sound and purpose, while I (we) imagine fond.


* photo found on scienceabc

I Wonder About Time

I mean in years your eyes haven’t changed

oh there’s the brow, the lines of endearment,

but the vision, the deep soul of passion,

that’s what I want to continue to see,

I could go forever without being near you,

yet suddenly in the dash of a moment,

your eyes,

their spiritual ambience, their need to remain real,

their pockets that hold your tears,

why I can’t imagine any reality of the human condition

to be more beautiful,

a quiet innocence that continues to grow

will always provide some vision of delight

when you smile.