another old, old story of love – inspired by p. glass

after holding hands in moonlight
after silence so profound
we start to measure love
by counting grains of sand
teaspoons of ocean waters

when love flows over us
filling every pore
like existence desperate to continue
all the way to eternity
in one moment,
how could we not make love?

what else can we do?
keep it in?
let it fester?
hide it?
shame it?

when the last teaspoon
of ocean water
rolls down your breast
when the last star completes
a constellation on your hips,
how could we not make love?

love does not need be made
in that moment,
love is all there is
one touch, one kiss,
two souls flow into one another

like rivers into the sea
embracing the earth
filling every gap
with fervent
osculation

Image: The Lovers Painting – The Lovers by Pal Szinyei Merse

Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW0rxLP6td0

Lovers Rubato

Without words, navigate me home, heart.
Use fingers on ivory and detail the trail
Each pebble, each tree, each flower, each pedal
Some days, words seem so unnecessary
Moments, more so, when forever stays not long enough
With you, finding myself already home.

Meet Again Where the Boardwalk Begins

This moment twists in on itself
A cruel freak show contortionist
Who stares agape, tear-carved
Deltas from his made up eyes.

If only it would twist into a pretzel
With lots of salt
That we’d eat with mustard.
Two kids on a boardwalk,

Gulls stalk,
Their fingers’ taffy sticky
Stuck together,
The sweetness like glue.

“Tell me everything,”
They do not see people
Beside them, counter them,
Bump them, watch them.

The ocean inside their hearts
At once calm, at once stormed.
They find their turtle shell
And build a home inside.

This moment twists
Like a contortionist:
The boardwalk ends,
Taffy shops close,

Kids depart, apart
Long enough to make up
New ocean creatures,
Aloe their sun burns.

Image: Rehoboth Beach Boardwalk, Dolles, painting by Ray Sokolowski
Rehoboth Beach Boardwalk, Dolles, prints in 3 sizes, painting by Ray Sokolowski

Greek Gods and Human Wine

Tonight the sun sets over the bridge tunnel
Leading up river
Leaving behind gentle purple
And kind orange glows as gifts
Like Greek gods finally calmed
Leaving behind their warring heroes
To sit and drink fermented ambrosia.

What they do next,
takes your imagination to swans and other creatures
Humans adore, us fragile-hearted beasts.

They play inside the colors
Just beyond our reach
Until we open our reds, whites, roses and browns
To try and catch them
In our fuzzy mind,
As fleet as our fragility
Allows.

Tomorrow the sun will rise as it did today
The glowing pink down river
Equal in gift
To the night
That passed.

We have but one choice,
One choice:
A step into the colors
That black yielded
Like a bridal vail
Lifts
To kiss life
And live
And love.

Catch a Firefly

Come and catch a firefly with me
Like we are children playing free
Alone in a field designed for us
The grass, the trees, the flowers,
Perfection. What shall we do with it?
Put it in a jar, poked holes in lid,
Watch it become our lantern?
Or watch it languish alone?

Dare we lift the lid, reach inside,
Draw the firefly out to jar’s rim
Then sit together and just watch?
Eyes open, we await the exact moment
When it will choose to take flight,
Trace a swift arc around our field
Recapture enough lost time to then
Light up a whole universe within.

We will each reach out our hands
To catch it again, this light
Passing through our fingers like air.
I close my eyes, like a blind man
Turn my fingers to your skin and trace
The wholeness of a moment I sought
When I became aware of light spilling
Down the back of my soul, needing capture.

Image: Firefly Dance by Marc R. Hanson, 2009
https://marchanson.blogspot.com/2009/07/for-wish.html

To the Swan Who Pointed Home

I didn’t know him, but I wanted him.
All the words that fell through, spoke in a voice
He would not listen to long enough to believe.
A game he played, at war with himself.

One day, the swan rose up from the lake,
Her body like an arrow pointing home.
His heart painted black like doors unopened
As he walked the street, people turning away.

So he sank his boat
Into the puddle he dripped.

I did know him, the man I wanted to be.
All the words that fell through spoke
To the swan who sung along pointing home
As if to say, “Go, enough is enough.”

The war over erased the black exposing
The tender red door only courage could open.
I fell into eyes that knew me as if beginning
Still time to turn away and walk this street.

I raised his boat,
Pointed it home and followed the swan.

My voice:

This week, a poem that explains the new title of this poetry blog written in response to Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova’s beautiful “Falling Slowly” from the Soundtrack to the movie, Once. (and with a nod to the Stones’ classic, Paint it Black).

The song:

The lyrics:

Falling Slowly
Songwriters: Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

I don’t know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can’t react
And games that never amount
To more than they’re meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing along

Falling Slowly lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

Swimming in Pathos

She lays her body down along the sand, interrupting the horizon
With her soft waves that break me to pieces, I want to ride them
To shore
From depths where I drown my body looking for relief
From desire
From want of stillness in the chaos of screams
From greed
From ambition where I drown the meaning of my words
From lusts who aimlessly dance about in the surf
Like Aphrodites threatening me with their births

This one, though, stood naked and formed, heralded by angels
Hovering about the clamshell she rode, herself a mainline
To shore
She invites me to collect my pieces, casting out her fishing net
Like a prophet.
One by one, I stab them with calculated thrusts of my spear
Putting each piece back together in webbing spun from the silk
Of her hair: my mind, my heart, my spirit, my body, my soul.
At first they flop about like temperamental children wanting attention
Until twilight when I lie naked before her asking to be healed.

Art: The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli

A Young Poet Whispers to Her

Crochet me a blanket of soft grey and blues,
Goddess, wrap me in blank paper:
I will follow the second star to the right,
And leap.
I will go to Neverland, you’ll guide me,
And jump.
No time for the future nor timelines to imagine.

This time,
for us …
… spills.

Drink up until intoxication takes us.
I smile into your ear a whisper,
My breath teasing cheek down
One heartbeat, leaps…
“How soft it is to lie naked in your arms.”
One heartbeat, jumps…
“We’ll soar above and silence this storm.”

Peaking Through Chrysalis

The butterfly lives
Just
The right
Length
Of time.

(Don’t we all)

Now we are two butterflies,
Peaking through chrysalis
At a world we once ate
Now we are to pollinate.
Our eyes see God in flowers.
Our flesh carries seeds.
We stick to one another.
We have become:

A world
I cannot imagine
Without you.

Two butterflies
Dancing on air
As was
Certain.

With a nod to Tom Robbins’ Another Roadside Attraction

Angel’s Metamorphosis

image: Michael Parkes
http://www.theworldofmichaelparkes.com/cm/Home.html

the sky, today,
penetrable and deep,
I reach my hand
into its perfect blue
in search of a star
when found, its light
warms my open palm
azure drips off my arm
until a puddle floods
our spot of the earth
where we begin to play
with our new toy
above us an Angel plays.
dancing, metamorphosis.

Now she is a Carmen Miranda teddy bear

Now she is a flying saucer.

Now she is you.

sleeping naked
in my arms
my hand traces
constellations on your
satin skin
stretched, tingling
on the breast I linger
touching the nipple
reaching to the universe
part of the Woman,
loved wholly
dancing with angels
whose gentle purr say
life will renew