Four Letter Word

. My Poetry . , , , , , , ,

I said the word.
Love. I couldn’t take it back.
Or explain it wasn’t like that.
I think I heard his heart stop beating.
I felt the muscles in his body sink like lead balloons.
I heard his mind close and his heart slam shut.
I forgot love means different things to different people.
Maybe for him love was frozen, heavy as lead,
closed off and shut tight.
It made me sad because
for me, love is illuminating light,
like drinking sunshine.
It doesn’t sink; it lifts.
It is friendship,
caring and affectionate
for no other reason than sharing the heart and soul of who and what we really are: LOVE!

No eyes needed

. My Poetry . , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Juicy sweet spaces in my brain,
too delicious to comprehend.
Beauty and terror in my expansiveness.
Who do you see there?
As the wind blows and the waves crash,
what secrets and shames rot your soul?
In the deepest parts of the ocean
things don’t need eyes, only feeling.
A low rumbling vibration soothes and resonates unseen creatures.
Must you see to believe?

My dear ones…..

. My Poetry . , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Joyful news weighs down my heart.
Another mouth to feed;
this will be four.
My dear ones,
I gaze upon you with a heavy heart ashamed of my deepest secrets.
Must I carry the burden of responsibility for these lives?
I provide clothing, food and shelter.
I look upon them with fondness, too,
but still this resentment nags at my gut
Resentment for a lifetime of caring for others.
Mother, brother, sisters
and now a wife and children.
How can I ever be happy carrying this burden?
Only ever happy at work
earning money to provide
for these mouths to feed.
My dear ones,
graduate and get out of my house.

Drinking Sunshine

. My Poetry . , , , , , , ,

I said the word.
Love.
“Thanks for the love.”
I think I heard
his heart stop beating.
I felt the muscles in his body
sink like lead balloons.
I heard his mind close
and his heart slam shut.
I forgot love means different things to different people.
Maybe for him love was frozen,
heavy as lead,
closed off and shut tight.
It made me sad because
for me, love is illuminating light;
like drinking sunshine.
It doesn’t empty; it fills.
It doesn’t sink; it lifts.
It is friendship,
caring and affectionate
for no other reason than sharing the heart and soul of who and what we really are:
LOVE!

Punch Bowl, part II

. My Poetry . , ,

I lingered in the punch too long.
Submersion is no longer sweet.
Instead a stagnant fermentation
clogs my nose, ears, throat…
A thick, sticky, stifling substance.
I try to clear my throat and can’t.
The residue makes me gag.
I curse myself for getting in the punch.
I said I wouldn’t do it or if I did
I could get out on my own.
Now I don’t know if I can keep myself from drowning.