All About You

"They're never about me
that much all can see,"
She says with a frown.
"You're letting me down."

Ah but look here, I say--
Not today, not today.

Today I have found
the cheerful one 'round
Her spirits don't wane
on a day filled with rain.

Has something yet changed?
Her thoughts rearranged?

She's not been her usual
and my feelings are mutual,
a bit down and out
storm clouds were about

But this morning there's hope
and I think I can cope

About her there's light
as her spirits aright
Finally here's a poem,
I'm sure that'll show'em.

Today's poem for certain is all about you
Rainy day that this is, what else can I do?

Forgiving and Falling

On the cusp of forgiveness,
she is teetering now.
For a week she has agonized,
wondered just how
it turned out she was no longer
 the one and only
one he talked to when
dread made him lonely.

For him it seemed to evolve
with the passage of time
from bursts of outrage, then glares that never abated
into silence sublime
Much easier to cope with shouting, being hated

She stopped asking questions,
he'd learned to stop
answering, he just said he was sorry,
and let his head drop,
avoiding hurtful admissions
that caused only pain.
The mere friendship he'd tried to explain
simply would not, could not fit in her brain.  

He'd once admitted that for this friend
he held a place in his heart
From the heart he had given her,
he'd taken a part.
He had vowed to be hers for his lifetime, she thought.
But finding this friend, look what he had wrought.

If in pain he had turned to a friend,
he was wrong,
this friend in his heart
simply did not belong.

How to force him to choose,
once and for all?
Still keeping her balance,
avoiding a fall.

Who Is Al Fresco, And Why Is She Calling Me?

OK, a poem, again...

My Spectacles

Spectacles, I’ve always had them

At least since fifth grade.

They show me more than I’d like.

Spectacles are more than what’s 

seen than what’s used to 

see them, I mean, like tonight’s 

lightning flashing

Against my bedroom wall now

Across the lagoon

Then all around all at once.

Or, like this morning

The Sky a brilliant blue

Sunlight reminding me of....

But today I asked my spectacles

To stop showing what

Ever they want, but only

what I want.  No more of you

your grin, your laughter

all the joy you seem to have

without me.

It’s simple really, just leave

A few odd things out

I don’t need them really nope--

My redesigned spectacles

Don't paint the world anew

They just omit you, mostly.

Saving me from some lovely

Dissonance for now 

But nothing in the long run

Now And Then You Write Something

OK, a poem, again...

My Spectacles

Spectacles, I’ve always had them

At least since fifth grade.

They show me more than I’d like.

Spectacles are more than what’s 

seen than what’s used to 

see them, I mean, like tonight’s 

lightning flashing

Against my bedroom wall now

Across the lagoon

Then all around all at once.

Or, like this morning

The Sky a brilliant blue

Sunlight reminding me of....

But today I asked my spectacles

To stop showing what

Ever they want, but only

what I want.  No more of you

your grin, your laughter

all the joy you seem to have

without me.

It’s simple really, just leave

A few odd things out

I don’t need them really nope--

My redesigned spectacles

Don't paint the world anew

They just omit you, mostly.

Saving me from some lovely

Dissonance for now 

But nothing in the long run

Lost, But How Exactly?

"Where have you been?" they asked.
and "Lost," was your reply.
"Lost?" they repeated, "but how?"

"It's easy to get there," you said,
"If the right person tells you."
Like a penny dropped
on stairs, rolling and bouncing, you thought.

"But where?" they asked,
"Oh, between here and there," you said,
Watching a roving paper napkin flee a windy old beach bar.

"You need not worry about
finding it, either once or again,
Since lost just finds you
when the right person lets you know.

That you should go."  So like a finger
caught in a car door's slam
or a heart sagging into sorrow,
when she utters or just telegraphs,

With eyes lacking expression.
"Why don't you get lost," she says,
"once and for all."
You simply do.

Light, An Inspiration

A golden candle burned for a time 
Its flickering flame cast shadows 
Where it wished, and lit other places 
Continuously, leaving him wondering why 
The word that occurred to him was “de-lighted”

At times it shone so brightly he saw 
Light in places only rarely seen, if ever shared  
Why did this candle light such places  
As no other does or has done in a lifetime?

At times it flickered so that he was almost certain 
It had burned out, never to return. 
Still an ember glowed and the candle flamed anew, 
Each reappearance somehow making it more precious.

Now at last it has expired, at first without explanation 
Leading to hope anew, but then it shone its light 
On something somehow strange and dark, 
Leaving him in darkness as before.

Shell Gift

What is this, she asks, what does it mean

See it from my side, he thought with a smile.
Step away from your own side once in a while,
The gift's hard to make sense of, I already knew.
There's not a thing I can offer, no obvious clue,

That explains why I've given this shell to you,
it's lovely, it's fragile, yet somehow it's strong.
It's old and looks empty, but it will sing for you,
sending forth the magnificent sea's endless song.

The gift's not expensive or especially dear.
You may never see it as I did right here,
seeing you touch it, hold it up to your ear
and listen a moment was truly, my dear,

All I really wanted that shell-gift to do.

I'll Probably Never Catch Up

When you were questioning heaven at six,
I was playing cowboys and indians with sticks.
In your teens, when you were reading New Age,
John D McDonald's fiction was my sage.

When I finally read Kerouac and Alan Watts
You'd lived in Sausalito, and had sat on their yachts.
Now I'm exploring these things in my head,
and you're telling books I should have read.

More often than not, I'll read a murder mystery,
while you're tackling more of philosophy's history.
Still I enjoy it when you share what's on your mind,
Though at times just keeping up leaves me in a bind.

But I sometimes I think that my little pen
can perhaps happen, only now and again
to do something I've always hoped that I might
Cause those wise eyes of yours to blink in delight.