Mother

A heartbeat.

A cradled affection,

a sense of worry is unconditional,

she will always remember that one time.

 

Oh while the years pass,

many judgments, a currency of opportunity,

an aesthetic realization that depends upon her eyes,

she will always remember that one time.

 

We willingly recall,

the time she managed our innocence

with a sweep of her hand, a tender kiss,

she will always remember that one time.

 

I’m on the bus,

her walking nearby she said later,

yours was  a rather contemplative sadness,

she will always remember that one time.

 

There live the fortunes of time,

when we can respond to favored memory,

while, growing we did become showered in smiles,

she will always remember that one time.

 

And I suppose we all will,

that one time,

when in the throes of our own lifetime,

we did look toward the skies and delight in …

 

mother.

In Shadows

images

Where my reality lives, I sometimes never know,

depends upon the breathing,

a slight rasp might mean finding an edge,

a smooth inhale is the sign of reaching an end.

I do know though,

when I glance to my side,

in a sunlit morning, I can see myself,

that part of me no one might ever understand,

yet it contains me,

all of me beyond the physical attributes,

that sometime do define who I am.

 

I like to hide from him,

as much as possible because the possibilities are endless

when I go about thinking all the mistakes he contains,

when the brilliance of my mind let’s loose,

and there is no where to turn except to jump in,

wait it out until sunset, at least then I might disappear.

 

I wish there might be the occasion when in a fleeting moment of forgetfulness,

he could gesture an implied consent,

a suggestive attribute of worthiness,

yet instead,

he lingers, waiting, watching, knowing,

what it is I might be wondering.

 

* photo found on Pinterest

That Life is Good

When waking to the morning sun

new breath to match quiet repose

one might wonder if this hour begun

could would help discover a suppose.

~

When tossing about the day’s activity

can we see far enough ahead to prevent

that sense of lost desire in proclivity

that sort of burrowing down we lament.

~

When we create the identity of our lives

might we also allow for humanity to say

no matter the beauty in mind that thrives

leave assurance to frailty in heart today.

~

We do in the condition of our state of mind

seek truth in constant battle without remind.

Knowing Love

We do wonder

often

whether the moment we glance

in the eyes of another,

if we can know real love.

~

So often the distractions of survival,

allow us to forget about that real

reality,

our lives for the sake of others.

~

We make choices for ourselves,

regardless

of the many valuable lessons,

the honorable few,

those precious moments,

when the eyes speak only love.

~

We want to believe,

we can find that energy with each waking day,

yet,

where does the moment disappear to

when most needed,

when in the throes of despair,

we suddenly need

love.

~

We might know a stronger foundation,

if in that weak sentiment,

we can foresee the future,

and rather than rely upon

impulsivity,

instead, we ask for love,

we know,

we imagine,

genuine love.

Cautious Eloquence

Choose your words with care,

recognize a world lies before us all,

each one as wanton as the next

for that valuable record.

~

I wonder if it is so chosen

that we cross paths

reasons ignite our ideals,

suddenly words reign down,

~

eye contact becomes vague,

our world’s collide,

in the utterance of theory,

the notion of ‘my’ time.

~

who is it suggested one day,

that silence can be a strong

indicator of how powerful

a man –

~

In respect to only words

we are forsaken by impulse,

where some might be clear,

other’s need a vague reciprocity.

~

… and then there are those that simply don’t care.