I’LL NEVER FORGET WHAT’S HER NAME…

There was a time in my sorrowful lonely night that we came upon each other,
It was filled with furtive stumbling, word games, then a sudden kiss that
Rose up in the smoky dark like a winged specter to smite us with dreams
Of so much more, then clothing began to fall like autumn leaves upon
A bonfire kindled by that spark of that single kiss leaving us naked,
Wild like crazed creatures in a nocturnal fantasy of an erotic storm;

Later we merged as one life upon the stage of this existence and for a
While traveled together along the pathways of time with a passion, a
Fury held together with laughter, tears, joy, anger, and so much more,
Until we became scattered by the storms of being and began to drift
Toward the rock strewn reefs of the sea of love where destiny tore away
At us and left our hopes shattered as though glass upon an anvil of iron;

And I’ll never forget what’s her name who gave so much to this traveler
Who had not enough to give back and so lost it all to his shame,
From love came the bitterness of failure and the kisses ceased to fall
As twilight swooped down and became a tragic midnight chorus of
An unrequited relationship that was devoid of all but a sardonic smile
In a time of love spent, the used, then torn like a cloud in the moonlight….

MISTY HIGHWAYS…

Autumn roads unraveling through the courses of my memory,
An endless ribbon of places, people, events, long unthought of,
Until this early morning hour when the chill shakes them loose,
They spill out like building blocks from some dusty playset,
Building into emotion filled images that are too vivid to ignore;

A gathering unremembered comes to focus and I see the barricades
Erected on streets when the time for rising unfolded and came to be,
We stood for causes that made the heart soar in their intensity,
As the blood we shed had more value that the transitory pain felt,
Our songs raised above the din of sirens and claxons sounding raw;

There was that love so rare that words can only fail to describe,
A passion born from fugitive wanderings and the accidental meeting
Of two souls seeking each other without knowing they were sought,
Making the emotion ever more incendiary, the contact more powerful
Than even imaginings could have supposed in all of its musings;

Then there was that dilapidated smoky dark coffee house where all
The rebels, artists, dreamers, travelers have gathered to share life,
And poetry was read there that resounded with hopeful dreamings,
Songs played that cut across the inner self with tears, smiles, sharing
All the moments of everyone of our beings as we moved through time;

Highways of autumn unspooling in the misty morning like smoke upon
The eyes of thoughtful reminiscence as the coffee steams fresh and we
Travel across the years…..

WINE OF MELANCHOLY…

Gray windy days torn by streaks of greasy frigid rain descending,
The October country draping itself over feelings, thoughts, dreams,
Creating an envelope that encloses, chokes, strangles hope,
Spilling happiness across the stones like blood from a wound fresh,
And there is nothing to be done but curl into a ball and endure the assault;

Now the weather breaks, Indian Summer makes a brief showing,
Sunshine dapples the red, gold, of hardwoods shedding their coats,
Temperatures warm rather than chill the bones, the flesh, and there is a hope
Emerging on the horizon, if only for a short time, a chance encounter,
Dreams flow like a fresh stream through the autumn countryside;

Soon however that promise will be broken by the reality of seasons
Shifting through the passing days and the sky will be leeched of color,
The air filled with a frosty bite that remains like a stray dog seeking comfort,
Then rain will change into snow and ice as trees become barren, furtive,
As sleep encases the earth in a shroud of long standing desperation;

So now we are in that middle ground awaiting the shifts that will come,
A cycle unstoppable, immutable, as long as time flows its’ patterns,
We can weep the passage, or be joyous, or merely accept what is,
For there is naught that the human touch can do about it but await it,
Summer shall autumn be shall then become the tide of winters breath…..