Hollow Gourds

Hollow empty gourds hang

emotionless, empty

with holes cut through to expose 

their dark vacancy

adorning barren trees

devoid of life

shivering in the frigid night air

as their furlong song echos 

down the long chamber of my heart.

~

Because you are not here.

~

I close my eyes and hear your voice singing 

your song through my seasons 

  pronouncing each one 

with clarity and grace.

~

I feel your touch

your caress

your breath on my skin

molding  me,

owning me,

dancing rhythmically through my brain

Until I open my eyes

and you cease to be.

~

I die a little more

and a little more

until I just can't bear it!  

~

The sharp edge of night

draws ever near

shining it's cold hard glare

piercing into my eyes

blinding me from what was

and what could be

until all I can see is the now-

the greedy, hungry now!

O night!  Devour me!

Tear the sun from the sky 

and throw the stars into the sea!

And bury me where you buried my love!

Leave me nothing but dry bones;

barren earth and clay

and the sorrow of hollow gourds

hanging from a dead tree.

The Sack

Behind the door of my mind

I found a sack that time had forgot.

In it were fragments of my childhood;

laughter echoing through cries-

pain shot with forgiveness.

Beside that were bits and pieces of my heart-

some tinged with love,

some with compassion.

Under this was a box 

filled to the brim with memories mostly faded

but some just as vibrant 

and lively as if they had just been put there.

In among all this was the glitter of diamonds-

promises of the future-

of adventures yet to be,

of colors yet to exist,

of fires yet to burn.

I picked up the sack

and under it were the bitter ashes

of anger and hatred,

of prejudice and pain.

This I left.

And like the hobos of  yesteryear

I tied my sack to the stick

that is my conscience.

I closed the door on the past.

And time, my sack and I

now travel the road that has no name-

but the road is long,

it is bright

and it is mine.

You...and I

You~
  penetrating eyes shining, reflecting depths of distant oceans, crashing down in thunderous waves upon the shores of my psyche.

And I~
  stunned and shivering, caught unaware like a new dawn rising, exposed and naked, my first self laid bare under your knowing gaze.

Like lovers entwined in some ancient tango at Aphrodite's feet, we feast on each other.  The hunter and the hunted; the singer and the song; the one only existing solely for the other.

Life Is.

It is neither ugly nor beautiful.  

It is neither good nor bad. 

 Each individual life is what each individual perceives it to be. 

 I often have to remind myself that my fellow travelers are just as human as I am and may not always see their lives as I see mine.  I need to temper my 'attitudes' with mercy and my enthusiasm with consideration for others.  And above all I have to remember that no matter how bad it may have been, how bad it may seem and how bad it may become I was created with purpose and I need to be joyful in that.  

Life...

It just is.

Glass

Why?
You were here.
I was happy.
We were 'us'.


The days were warm
Even in the winter
'Cause you were here.

The sun was bright, shining

Even through the rain

'Cause you were here.

There was sweet, wonderful music

Even in the dead of night

'Cause you were here.

The world made sense
Even while it was falling down
'Cause you were here.



No one ever told me
That blue could turn black;
That summer could be cold;
That silence could be the loudest sound on earth.

No one ever told me

That the night was an ocean

And the world was made of glass...

...Until it shattered.

Angels and devils fought,

Prisms of color danced behind exploding lies,

Fire froze.

And when the ocean stopped swallowing
You were gone.


You were here.
There was an 'us'.
I was happy.

The Walking Dead

The evening grew long as a chill settled in for the night.

My dogs and I ventured out for one last walk as dusk wrapped its

velvet arms around us.

I breathed deep

inhaling the spicy pines

and decaying leaves underfoot.

A hungry wind devoured what leaves were left clinging

helplessly to the trees.

I could hear voices echoing down the years

and whistling softly through naked branches.

The spoke of lives spent

from the ravages of time;

from loss, fear, self-doubt and loathing.

When death claims life it is final;

the pain is gone, the story done.

But for the living who know no comfort from their own loss,

who drown in their own pity

and live only in their memories

death does not come for them.

They are the walking dead

and are as real as the wind

picking his teeth with the tree branches.

They are shadows that cry in the night,

a hunger that can never be satisfied.

My dogs sniff the air as if anticipating

the arrival of some unforeseen entity.

The moon is full and heavy as though in its ninth month.

It hangs behind my house waiting for us to return.

So we do

and I close the door on the shadow world-

its hollow secrets-

and the walking dead.



GOOD MORNING

As the dawn awakens you reach for me.

I burrow down close into you--

Feeling your warmth encompass me--

Breathing your muskiness mingled with mine.

Your flesh is my flesh.

Your heartbeat is my heartbeat.

I become you.

Our bodies are as fluid as one motion.

Arms and legs intertwine into one being.

We dance our dance before the rising sun

Brazen with desire--hungry with need.

Throbbing, pulsating rhythms tear at

Our thighs, our backs, our bellies.

Our bodies convulse as if possessed  by some demon

Shooting hot molten lava through our brains.

And in one long breath you relax as my own body gives way to peace.

We lay there full and at ease with the world as the sun says, "Good Morning."