The Eye

Hi all! I have recently edited a poem that I have posted here already, and it was titled "About Time." I have now changed the title to "The Eye," and am posting the new version here. Enjoy!

Sitting on the shore of a beach,
Angels’ eyes winking at me from a vast blue fabric,
I am thinking of different ways to phrase
the fact that remains the same:
I don't love you anymore.
Overwhelming tides of guilt
Rush the calm ocean of relief
As they burst through the dam that time built.
My internal storm is, indeed,
Belied by my stony façade.
After all, I have been the steady shore in this rocky bout
While your capricious airs
Were busy making waves.
Standing firm, I weathered the storms of
infidelity, betrayal, and manipulation
caused by your colliding cold and warm fronts.
And only a wish for a different setting causes
This seemingly sudden, yet steadfast erosion.
How do I explain to the love of my life so far
that just as he might be ready for love,
it is hiding from me?
But honesty has been my most sacred, most debated demand;
Do I not spew my own geyser of truth here?
Can I release the sediments of
time, passion, and hard work
to settle in new surroundings?

I guess so, because pouring from my still hesitant mouth,
begging for release,
are two words; the very ones dreaded for years.
Good bye.

KNOCK, KNOCK

Love is....."QUOTES"

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.

- Captain Corelli's Mandolin."Love is the beauty of the soul."
--St. Augustine


"A kiss is a lovely trick, designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes superfluous."
--Ingrid Bergmen


"I love you, not only for what you are, But for what I am when I am with you."
--Roy Croft

**ThrowBack #2**

Close yet far

I'm reaching out for a star

Your body calls for me, unintentionally

As if you were meant for me

I'm Climbing mountains, swimming seas

Yet still uou’re the only one for me

If I could, I would

You can’t but you definitely should

How much longer must I wait?

Until the day when we……

Damn boy…..

Oh Baby….

You’re making me high

In A Sentimental Mood

To: Coltrane and Ellington

The emotions
struggle against the confinement
of thoughts before spoken.
Pre-existing words strangle and
dull the sentiment.
Feelings only pure in my head
that put me into a certain frame of mind,
take me to a certain place in time,
inexplicable by the rigidity of any language.
People want to understand how I’m feeling
and all I can tell them is:
“Listen to the song.”

A Quick Point of Clarification

Jena 6.
Megan Williams.
Nooses being hung at college campuses across the nation.
Degrade our children,
Our women,
And even our places at institutions of higher learning?
Is it really expected that
The hate that is passed on from one generation to another
Through late-night meetings and
Crosses set on fire
Will intimidate people who built this country
Foundation and all
On their backs,
With their hands,
With their ravaged bodies and broken spirits,
And still lived to tell the tale?

the hospital room

the feeling of loss hangs in the air,
clings to the sterile, white, walls
and the cheerful and bold window curtains
that fail to distract from the cold frost outside.

my mother is lying on the bed, disheveled,
staring at the curtains,
as though wishing that the life they connote
could replace that just lost within her.

artificial warmth pumps through plastic grey vents
but does not penetrate the cold that has stricken us –
the visitors to this place that has grief pulsating from
the walls
the floor
the ceiling

the chairs are uncomfortable,
but also comforting as the subtly suggest
in their firm, unrelenting way,
that visiting hours must come to an end.
and the relief that that thought brings is immediately
followed by guilt.

as our time does draw to an end,
as was inevitable but still too soon,
my mother sobs at the prospect of being alone.
her fragility frightens me
and when my father stays behind to soothe her ravaged being,
i wonder how many people have uttered the same words
in this room.