hearts lay down

Lay down by my side, by my side, by my side.
I have the need to hold you, she cried, she cried.
To have you lie against me, by my side, by my side.

I remember how it felt
To hold my tiny sleeping child,
Our bodies safely cradled
From the cold and the wild.

Lay down by my side, by my side, by my side.
To have you lie against me, with a smile, with a smile.

Make a blanket of my arms,
My hips and my chest.
Nestle your heart inside of mine,
Let it rest, let it rest.

Lay down by my side, by my side, by my side.
To have you lie against me, she implied she implied.

We’ll stop my legs from running,
And close my mind from fear,
I’ll hum a little lullaby
For only you to hear.

Lay down by my side, by my side, by my side.
To have you lay against me, she sighed, she sighed.

Or maybe we’ll lie silently,
Thinking only of our breath,
In a bed of our own skin,
Without height or width or depth.

Lay down by my side, by my side, by my side.
To have you lie against me, for a while, for a while.

Restrain my restless feet
In a belt of your own legs,
Let my worried fingers
Trace the ridges of your face.

Lay down by my side, by my side, by my side.
To have you lie against me, in the night, in the night.

Just as the black horizon forms
Against the starless sky,
The contact of your weight on mine
Grounds all my wayward sighs.
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in honor of Valentine's Day, Imolc, and the impending Spring......
for all lovers out there, at risk of giving my poetry to thieves, gratefully given to the one I love
All rights reserved.

Simple Things Challenge

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A simple note

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I will share one simple thing tonight.
One thing that makes my world right,
one thing less
meaningless
than the rest,
which soothes the beast.

When you sit in a car willing motion with tension
as minutes roll creeping along,
driving your feet into the floor
too uptight to be bored,
listen to music, or sing a song.

“Let me hear a ‘concert F’”, the band’s instructor said.
A single note, simple enough, I thought in my head.
First, five tubas ‘boomed’.
The students followed, each in turn,
with separate, and sharp complexity,
each scaling multi-directionally.

I held my breath to capture that sound
unlike any mere words can relay,
in a room full of chairs
up high on the stairs
alone and unseen and astounded.

It’s like standing in a rushing wind
which blocks out all of your senses,
feeling your features
wash off your face,
and leaving you bare with grace.
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Fellow writer at Enchanted Oak has made a challenge, for every post written on Simple Things, and sent to her site, her family will donate 2.00$ to Haiti relief.  Find her HERE and let her know.  This is my contribution.

55 for a "Healthy" Addiction?

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What gets you drunk as a skunk?


Glassy eyed, does the glowing room
become a sheer reflecting pool?

Clenching a dent in your head,
does smiling tetany melt you to muteness?

Does a speechless, slurring, stuttering tongue
stop you, slack open, in pooling saliva?

Do shaking alien appendages,
clapping and toe-tapping, eventually meet the beat?

(It's just a fine,
 live-music
 fix.)

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All rights reserved.
photo: my brother Dan of the Dead on Halloween with his banjo.

Friday 55 Fiction Challenge, write a story or poem in exactly 55 words, let G-Man know HERE

First Rain

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During the night it woke me, drip drip dripping

like a clock, like a tear, a spreading puddle
changing all my plans into soggy sponges.

But during my 9:00 A.M. race through the hills
to the fields of soccer games,

the blinding ochre and straw hills
shot out wet and gleaming
patches of sun in the spaces of sky.

before the earth warmed,
before the air dried.

Tangible breaths of the invisible
rain-soaked air awakened a thirst
I did not know I had:

charged by the smell of the wet ground,
damp dust, and growth
wicking a sip for the first time.
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-All rights reserved

Moon-insomnia 55

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Tonight’s sky
holds a gibbus moon
shining sideways,
a dry addict’s spoon.
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The waxing moon
hangs a winkless scowl
heavily lidded
as an angry vow,
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Snaps a blink
like a blistering whip
against a slave
of a sleepless ship.
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The road ahead:
blood dried black
as a blind dog’s nose on
an old, cold track.
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This is a Flash Fiction 55 word poem.  If you have one, or a story, post it friday and let G-Man know HERE

Beaconing

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Full smoky moon
An omen or a beacon

I look for signs.

Umber, then amber,

Obscurely glowing among oak-twists

Of an earth-black lattice.

Omen

Orange, then saffron,

Ornately cloud-laced, come out!

Beacon

A smile, a face, a glee

Laughingly peeking

Over fingers of mist.

Longingly drawing,
Beckoning a draught

From my lips, but only

An unstoppable

Well-drink

Through sorrowing eyes.

Beacon hold me
Armless, handless, graspless,

I cannot recall wanting so much.
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"Serendipity" was coined on this day, in 1754. It is defined as the phenomenon of finding valuable things not sought for.  Read about it HERE   This blog, and the fellow writers and readers are serendipitous for me.
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All rights reserved.
Photo:  Google Images, mellow sunsets, hunter's moon.

Sleepless

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Pekinese challenge
Orion incessantly.
Hunter wins silence.
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55-running

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Black bird pierces
a steep strip scrawl
lacing through my striding.

Quails weave in
and out,
wob-wobbing,

Tipping chipping quipping
ahead behind above.
A syn-chron-ous city

Hum zum free,
buzz free see,
cricket breezes bees

Yee hee hee,
Harp yelp mark,
Coyotes? Dogs? Pups?

Too far away
Padding, padding
Hard, soft, ticking.

Stillness’s synonyms:
Synchronicity.
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Write a story or poem in 55 words or less, and let G-Man know:

http://g-man-mrknowitall.blogspot.com/

Not Better Off Dead

This is not

any love song,

nor any psalm,

for me.

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A 20-something’s rush

to the office store,

replace the paper

to write a score.

A truck turns,

and broad-sides his legs,

rescuers drag him, footless and burning,

not to sing, not to beg.

Not a love song,

nor a psalm

…..of a poet

not better off dead.

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In a still, lone bed

of a rural ICU

a patient with a lung-implant

gasps a poem

I do not know.

The Rag is passed

and the new ear listens.

Is it a better love song

or psalm

sought after

the author's gone?

-

From a month spent

in coma from a stroke:

springs one man,

with one wife,

a universe-city of students,

twin boys full of life,

to teach, to talk,

to hug, to walk,

to reach:

only one-armed not,

but for a love song,

and a psalm for all.

-

She cuts
on her arm,

not for physical pain,

but release of heart’s balm

on her psychic longing,
 of a new moment dawning,

again…not better off dead.

-

Not

that I cannot

live without you,

today.

But knowing

I can

see you

again

tomorrow,

is a love song

and a psalm for

a better-off day.

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( To: Those in Haiti, for the victims, dead or alive)
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all rights reserved

Another Time

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Bald eagle above

snowy peak. Head and tail turn

raven in the sun
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Too much time

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Anticipation:

30 minutes/coaster ride

For the one kissed.

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all rights reserved,

Thanks Dave King at Pics and Poems for the Haiku

definition.  Photo: Jillian Standish, Pt Buchon, Calif.

No Time

No time to write, so a favorite quote for all of my poetry friends:
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Plato's Phaedrus : "If anyone comes to the gates of poetry and expects to become an adequate poet by acquiring expert knowledge of the subject without the Muses' madness, he will fail, and his self-controlled verses will be eclipsed by the poetry of men who have been driven out of their minds." (245 a)
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fondly
 i digress

Rebirth 1-10-2010

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Incurably sick?

Analgesic!
Rest

Nest.

Incense:

Frankincense

Pure

Myrrh
Recline
Anodyne

Mend

End.

Fire

Pyre.

Char

Mar.

Plunge

Expunge.

Sterilize

Cauterize.

Nascent,

Scarlet

Embryo

Ex vivo.

Muse

Fuse

Phoenix

Matrix.

55 Flash Fiction Friday

What’s in a number?

Guess, if you wonder:

Sleep retrieves
unrealized dreams.

Wear longer sleeves,

looser seams.

Don sunscreens
with firming creams.

Closer friends

form quicker mends,

communing first

for less outbursts.

Quench deeper thirsts.

Eat dessert first.

In 55 hours,

I'm 55 minus five.

If you can read this,

be glad we’re alive.

-

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55 flash fiction (or poetry) Friday Challenge, in exactly 55 words and let G-Man know: http://g-man-mrknowitall.blogspot.com/
photo from Santa Monica, CA, my uncle, Mr. Universe.  My dad photographer.  Guy on left, unknown.

morning rises

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Yoga downward dog

sun rises for full moon sets

breathing to my feet.

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Ha! all rights reserved, I guess...
Thumb rock, Prescott Arizona, 2004