Dear Lover – Original Poem

Dear Lover,

Our first kiss took away my innocence
Raw and untouched, now forever basking in your scent

Like a candle on the sill during a stormy night, my light of curiosity extinguished
I can taste your soul on my lips
Wet and warm

On this cross I wait for a truth to awaken me
I am no saint; nor a savior
Just a mortal
Surviving on each breath
A thought, an action, a dream

Our time here in this place is borrowed from the hands of a great unknown
But this is my time; my place; my destiny to be made

You are my guiding force
A seed planted at birth
Now sprouting into my vision

With the sun in your eyes
The hymns of the prophets flowing from those sinfully soft lips
The feel of an angels wings in your fingertips

A life of meaning found
Hidden in a treasure chest for so long
Your footsteps the key
Unlocked
You are released into my arms

I have discovered this
A million instantaneous moments colliding right in the blink of an eye

You are my eternal tranquility
At peace with this embrace

Kiss me my lover
In time, this body will wear
This skin will age

Inside I will feel the love that entered my being on that fateful day
The day you brought me down from the cross and kissed these undiscovered lips

Truly, Madly, Deeply – Original Poem

What if?
What if?
What if we were meant to be together, hand in hand in a circular dance to last for all time?

In a world deeply yearning for Romeo and Juliet and happily ever after, we are victims of a love more powerful than life
In this celestial body we are immortal

A love that has ripped us away from reality slid us down a rainbow to the ocean blue and welcomed us with open arms
Destiny sprinkles magic on two souls
A glimmer; a touch

A lifetime is only a minor sacrifice to wait for a love like yours

Truly, madly, deeply
I will wait for you

In a prayer captivated by a promise and delivered with a kiss I am penetrated
Through the words delivered in a whisper from high above my humble grounds, I am moved to tears of joy

I fall fast
I fall deep
In a free fall I can only rely on faith that you will be there

To crash and shatter would be my justice

In a miraculous fusion, my broken body will melt together through the spirit of my soul
My conviction to you and the home you have created will heal me

Truly, madly, deeply I am yours forever

Barbed Wire Playground – Original Poem

Billboards of Jennifer Lawrence surrounded by the art of the streets
Garbage cascading in piles at the edge of the streets
The sounds of laughing children playing alongside cars racing without regard
Remnants of rain populating at the edge of a dirty street are the only pool they will see

Stop, Listen, Stare

There is beauty in poverty

Families find faith in hope
A better world to come
Slums infested north of the tracks
Without roofs, without electricity
Squatters find refuge and rebuild
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Communities rise from the ruins to avoid another night on the streets

Stop, Listen, Stare

A child with limited oral skills cries “Money, Poor, Help” in Spanish while his family sleeps on a sidewalk shared with rats
He doesn’t know much, but he knows survival is all he will ever know
Holding out a hand cut and grimed; praying for a peso or two to translate to a meal
A day measured only in nutrition and water
No crying; too weak

Stop, Listen, Stare
It follows at every step. We turn our heads, close our eyes and pretend
We cannot pretend any longer

Stop, Listen, Stare

Good Morning Son – Original Poem

Good morning son
Someday, we will sit down and talk about this day
The day that changed my life forever

Through the years, you will see rain and thunder
Feel pain and hurt
Reflect on a time when you crawled into my arms for safety
Tears were playful and had no consequences

You will struggle through the maze of life,  getting cuts and bruises along the way.
In unexpected moments, you will be amazed by the love you find along the way
Your mind will fuel uncertainty and you will compromise

I will be there along the way
Advice, hugs and maybe a little laughter

Good morning son

The world is in front of you now
No memories to hold onto; no regrets to look back upon
Soon you will know the experiences you have lived will impact you

For now, you are my little miracle

Good morning son
Good morning son

Today, let’s play

Masquerade – Original Poem

Life is a masquerade
Each year, new layers added, hiding the gross skin of imagination and fearlessness
Once filled with love; swallowed by the concrete shell of maturity

The ball is endless at birth
A soiree of gowns and suits dancing below the glow of the chandelier
Weary and tired, the crowd grows sparse
Faces no longer recognizable

Endless moments of infinite flux colliding in a million explosions
No pain seen through the darkness of the mask
A masquerade; enchanted and wrought with elegant mystery

Blackness shades the pupils
No tears to wipe away the layers of makeup covering the Lord’s sculpture
Penetrable no more
Zombies now

We answer to no one and everyone
We fear a voice
We listen for our call

The music dims with the light
A masquerade once now a funeral of lost spirits

To seize the moment when dreams are an extension of reality
To ride this wave of perfection when fear is power and risk becomes legend

It once was a time when hopes and spiritual enlightenment was all we knew
Paints, words, pictures were the canvas of our hearts

Now a masquerade
Disguised from a world we once knew

Behind this mask, the truth is revealed
A body that houses love
A face that shines

Zen – Original Poem

It’s like fire in my veins when I look at you looking back at me
The subtle stare; the gentle breeze of emotional stimulation caressing my skin

Zen

I will not take these moments for granted
Like flowers in between my toes; I embrace the gifts of nature and time
I am defined by the tattoos I leave behind in the sand
Permanent reminders of a life led well

A moment of zen
A life of happiness
The accomplishments of this life find refuge in the life we have created
The laughter and smiles our reward

In your eyes, I see tomorrow
Bright sunlight
Extraordinary scenery
Beautiful wonder

Floating on the ocean ceiling
Arms spread
Legs open
Ocean a blanket
Earth’s holy water fills my pores

Zen

In a singular unprecedented blink of an eye, the sky lights up with seven unique bodies of color arching from the heavens to bless us
Rain colliding on our faces
The water of eternity and the bath of now are one crashing in our souls

The rainbow speaks
In reds and blues and yellows
From the clouds, a slide of utopia

The perfect moment
All shared through your eyes
Looking at you, looking at me

It’s Zen

Now
Absolute

Observations from a Porch of an Aging Southern Farmer

“Aging is a process of understanding. It is the collective journey of all emotion fed by a thirst for knowledge, enlightenment and meaning.”

It was a hot Southern morning in the heart of August in the Carolinas.  Humidity was already taking a toll on old Mason.  Sweat dripping from his leathery forehead and the sun up in the sky high enough to cover half the front porch.  His wife, who affectionately has called “ma” for the last 67 years was bringing a steaming cup of coffee; black just like he always drank it.

Mason nodded and continued his stair at the trees covering the sun just enough to make these summer days bearable.

“I reckon the farm hands be coming by soon.  Strange seein’ them whites and coloreds walking the path together.  Sure seen some changes round these parts.”

Mason turned to ma, resting comfortably in her rocking chair continuing to deepen the groove in the wood base below.

“This some good coffee ma.”

He struggles with his sentences now.  Some shortness of breath forces a slowing in his speech.  The deep southern drawl very pronounced.  For this old farmer, now retired, the porch is passing the time reflecting on a hard life until his inevitable demise.  The years are documented by the wrinkles under his eyes.  The blue sparkle now faded.

The creaking noise is soothing.  It is one of the few sounds still audible to Mason.  Familiar and constant.

“The cotton crop ain’t what it used to be.  Nothing but Yankees, colored and fancy cars.  It’s hard to be proud ma.”

“You are an old bitter man Mason Chapman.  Old and bitter.” She exclaimed.

Once, an affluent cotton farmer, Mason is the only remaining child of Emma and William Chapman.  The youngest of seven children, his heart beats last.

“What will we leave behind ma when they find our crippled old bones?”

“What are you talkin’ about, we?”

With all the muscle strength in his face, a smile reared itself.

“I gave you a good home didn’t I ma?”

“You did.  From the time you carved our names in that oak tree 68 years ago, my heart belonged to you.  You give me a good home and a good bed to rest.”

“I’d like to see Will today.  Reckon we can see Will?”

“Yes, love, yes.”

Mason tried to life his body with his thin boney hands.

“Now you stop you hear.  You will break in two.”

Ma got up from her rocking chair and lifted her 110 pound Mason upright.  Arm in arm they walked slowly down the three steps and walked to the side of the house.  Surrounded by layers of autumn colored leaves and pine cones stood a small unassuming tombstone.

They stood two feet from the stone and stared down.

“Oh Will boy, we miss ya.  You dun us proud.  We really miss ya being around.  He was a good boy, ma.  A good boy.”

“He was.  Polite, hard workin’ and a true Southern gentleman.”

“He was, ma.  He was.  I may be ready to see him soon.”

“You hush up Mason.”

“I’m tired.  I see folks walk by, young and full of hope.  I had my hope.  Now I’m ready to rest.  Let’s go back to the porch.  It’s safe there.  I’ll tell ya about the great crop of ’52.”

“I’d like that.  I’d like to hear that story a lot.”

Together, hands intertwined like a million other times, Mason and Ma walked around the house and sat on the porch.

The chairs rocked, and Mason told story after story until the warmth of the sun lulled him to sleep.

Ma smiled.