You toss me watercolor daisies,
when my hands would conjure you a garden
of blazing bouquets, if you hint just the least.
For one minute, if you’d care at all.
You sing me listless tunes you’ve worn,
when my fingers would line out such symphonies
of sounds never heard, if you join just the least.
For one minute, if you’d sing along.
You press crumpled paper into my fist,
when my purse bursts seams wide with gold-full,
of riches never seen, if you’d open just the least.
For one minute, if you’d only let go.
Ask me. I dare you.
[But I forgot… ]
I soak color from the walls, brushing it into pictures, twisting it into wool afghans.
All these against leather sofas on wood floors.
Charged with sunlight from unveiled windows.
Smells of home cooked food linger over an old sad body draped in beautiful clothing.
I walk every day, unless I dance wildly to whole-hearted red-blooded music.
Long tub baths go best with sweet-smelling oil.
Meaningful conversations with loved ones emanate laughter, tears and hugs.
A house full of children, music, and dance… where all join in.
[can you hear it?]
And the first one to get there…
Once, upon a stray crust of bread,
I, butter and jam, did spread,
I downed it with glee,
and strong, black coffee,
‘What a glorious morning!’ I said.
My poem here depicts all mankind… not just male men. ‘Small people’ reminds me of a second-rate 70s pop song. ‘Small humans’ make me think of babies and children. ‘Small Women’ sounds like a piece of fiction… so I am left with my ‘small man’. Which means if the shoe fits…
the small man
climbs to small heights
within short reach.
His small mind fills smaller heart
with tiny thrones
over things yet smaller.
thunderous little voice,
fail to disguise small words.
Always leave holes
in empty spaces.
Only a bit farther
please don’t lose my hand
guide me around the corner,
we’ll find ourselves again.
Tell another story
since laughter eases pain
talking around the corner,
we’ll find joy again.
Slow the pace, catch lost breath,
bear up old souls in strong arms
love sits just beyond the corner,
where we’ll find rest again.
Cool dark black
I wander quietly
Alone. Bare feet
Unafraid of any.
I journey out
invade hard ground
Answers back in
coldly burnt soles.
Hearth burning deep in
Radiantly warms, soulfully
Windows bring comfort
singing, and loving
me. Speak to me
who I am.
Chart each unsearchable outpost,
Plumb unfathomable depths of soul
Infinite pixels of mind
On some abyssal plain, desire’s colors glow dark and deep.
No beam penetrates
No eye perceives
No breath permits
Chasms yawn twixt treadmill
and horizon, confined to cage. I
Scan seashore, touch and marvel,
Points, light and hues.
Eternity rests under my fingers.
Bent underneath humanity,
huddled close behind darkened eyes…
palms open, empty.
‘Kyrie! …mercy for sinners.
Beg wholeness, wellness, while
Men take up stones, hurl words
One finger writes conviction into sand,
We go, sin no more.
If Kyrie! … dead men taunt ‘if’
Demand things withheld.
Reject the offering,
Press on insistent answers,
Denying the least of these…
Kyrie! … mend the broken
Hands and voices, lift them as a banner.
Over shame. Against defeat.
Shout all open hearts.
Quickly, before sight dims.
See here, little children, he bids us: