Good-bye Wasn't Necessary?

                                 She knew she didn't have
                                         to say "good-bye"
                                            She had taught me about
                                                the blue-myrtle quickly spreading
                                                      to cover the ground around it.
                                 I had learned that the tiny
                                           white wind flower would bloom
                                                around the same time every spring.
                                                    I knew the taste of spruce gum
                                                         and where to find trailing arbutus.
                                  I knew that the small pool lay undisturbed
                                             except for the first leaf of fall that lay
                                                   on the top, and that only the shy animals
                                                            are the only ones that come for a cool drink.
                                  Some secrets she kept for herself.  I'll never know
                                               about the "blood on the moon," or who
                                                    was "the crone" who watched her smoke
                                                              the pot alone"

Will it be Daffodils?

                    Why won't they let him be
                                                  What he wants to be?
                      Maybe next time, but
                                                    Will unneeded hate
                       be reincarnated?
                                                     Will his next life be
                       one where love can be love
                                                       unquestioned by anyone?
                        Across the field,  I see
                                                        daffodils growing in
                        profusion where only
                                                        roses are allowed to
                        grow now.

VALENTINE?

                                       
                                       



                                   I wanted to send a Valentine,
                                       to show that I can love.
                                          I'm more than a rose or
                                             just  a candy heart.
                                   I'm still the one you wanted
                                         so many years ago,
                                           the one you found,
                                               seemingly unloved.
                                   The one you made feel loved
                                          back then, so many years
                                             ago.  The one who wonders
                                                 today, What happened
                                    to make you return me to where
                                           I was before I found that
                                              Valentine I thought had
                                                   made my tears vanish forever?

This poem I wrote recently and decided to share:



                    Another
                          chapter
                               a page
                    only  turned,
                           but the book
                                is not
                    finished.
                          Is this
                                 a tragedy,
                    a mystery,
                          a romance,
                                 or
                    just
                          everyday life
                                    trying
                    to exist
                           as it
                                    really is?
                    adding a
                           new chapter
                                    when needed.

                          
                    

His Blue Tower

   I don't believe anything has affected me as much as the loss of Dacano Arno last June 3rd.  I hadn't known much about this young man, but now I know he was loved by many. This poem is to him:



                         I went there
                      for the first time
                         just the other day.
                      There was no traffic,
                         and the river flowed
                       peacefully without
                         beckoning me to join
                       the one it had claimed
                         as summer's warmth
                       was beginning that tragic
                          day.  I wanted so
                       desperately to say,
                          " I hate you," but  as
                       I stood at the blue tower
                          designed to save lives,
                       I could only shed a few
                          tears and say a prayer.

Shells of the Mind

My mind was back on the coast as my body stayed here in DF.


               Trying to appreciate
                the silence
                     was a hopeless task,
                      because my mind was
                full of all the words
                that had
                      once been spoken when
                       they had meant something.
                 But now, like sand-filled shells,
                 they only
                        rattled unheard as they
                        were swept by the rushing
                 tides bringing them to shore
                 only to exist,
                         But remain uncovered
                          until the sea breezes
                 would cover them completely
                 with sand.

Starry Night

I have always felt a bit of magic occurs on a starry night.


                    It was
                             too early
                                          in the day
                    to wish
                             for a
                                          starry night.
                     Dreams seemed
                             impossible when
                                           clouds covered
                     the stars
                              up there.
                      I needed
                               a dream
                      whether it
                                came true
                      or not
                                 didn't matter
                       I needed
                                  to dream.