gray

I like the hard gray days
soft inside and no one calling
and stillness

The steely drenched days
wrapping around the hours 

speechless.

About a Pink Moon

It was embarrassing asking if it was the moon out there
and more so, that it had given me a fright
sitting  as it did
low on the sea - pink and full and only just visible

but I wasn't sure -nor sure that I cared  to know
as if  it might come at me
being level - as we were
each at the edge of the sea, or so it seemed

me on my side, she on hers
and she - so much more equipped, round as she was
to tumble over the sea
careening in pink voluptous bounces
dwarfing sails, and children, fast and effortlessly

and putting out the day.

Before the Morning

You could forget this part of the world
before the morning
This part when the coolness even in the dead of summer
 reminds you that you are alone

For now anyway

You could forget, certainly,
that the lights and the height
and the traffic didn't come with the world
That this is it

For now

And you rarely remember that you are still afraid
or that you long for sameness
that you will-away the early hours you had craved
that in spite of your speed...

 you would devour comfort.

Here

If you had asked
certainly I would have said that no
I would never have expected to be here again
with you sneaking in like it was still yesterday -
speaking of the "super moon" or some such thing
I'd have said not a chance

there was that last time
and I remember thinking that was it
that you would never come to me like that again
those days were gone and I had better be prepared to move on so to speak
write a song - paint a picture - or do what I needed to do
and so it was
but with no song  - no painting
I'd have none of that business
for what?

And again, if you had asked
 I would have said that I would be the one running to you
so I'm rewarded
for letting go...

 o.k.
.
I gave up needing to be right a long time ago
I'd just as soon be here
believing I can still touch yesterday.

What you can Live Without

You'd be amazed at the things you can live without
some of them we agree on out loud
you can live with out that extra croissant
or at least that third pat of butter
we can agree on that

that one-day sale coupon which you noticed the day after said sale -
you can live without that too
but still you want to complain to someone

you can live without the lights changing to green faster -
on the one morning that you left two minutes late
you can live without that
though you may find your fist placing a hostile thump on the steering wheel.

you can live without the potions, and illuminators and "product"
to preserve your best self - or create it - if you're not convinced
you've had it yet
 - product  -  an article or substance that is manufactured or refined for sale -
evidently this particular subset of manufactured items is so exemplary as to be the product
never mind items that create light - dull pain - or give pleasure to  multitudes of men, women, and children  -
if your hair is free of waxy build you would have the product to thank
But you can live without these things
though you are not so sure

you can live without the compliments you were accustomed to
five - ten years ago - though you're riled -
and you'll probably get some product that makes you glow - or radiate - or sparkle -
or some other thing that sounds like a red flag for a visit from the local fire department

you can live without having more years ahead of you than behind you now
after all if you"re just going to be descending into some gray, unilluminated entity, with too little French pastry, and barely an admirer left in the crowd
well then - you can live with this

and though you wont believe it
that one thing -  that laugh that lifts the night -
that brightest of lights that makes your soul race at the end of  ordinary days -
shutting out the cravings -
for comforts - and sweetness -
and fire
you will live without that too

Of all Things

The sermon was lovely -
it was -
but  the day was lovelier
and what was just early spring
had burst open with vigor and certainty
and I had taken note, on the long path up - of daffodil
after daffodil
The hot yellow ones and the soft buttery ones -
not to mention the sea of periwinkle something or other
below
and so pushed through the crowd not wanting to miss the point
what was the point?
and looking lost - as so often is the case - but not lost
never to the day
when some words were spoken about a poem - not my poem of course
but some other soul's - lost too in the days - and the poem -
of all things - about daffodils.

Magnolia

The Magnolia buds are plump and furry
like the Pussy Willows we would find in the marsh -
by the stream, off Beechview Lane.

fatter though, and they call you to
stay - because last Spring you didn't
and there was so much to say you know -

and before you knew what had happened
those blossoms, lush and violet, had littered the land
and you stood - finally still -

pretending that was the beautiful part
or beautiful enough -who wouldn't want
the purple carpet rolled out?

yet what you yearned for was the cool
plum canopy, ripe and full before you -
triumphant against the Spring haze - and far too glorious
for stillness