Sunday, September 9, 2012

Thunder Showers, Sleepy Heads, Diane Keaton

This was the last day
Of a long, much needed
A Sunday.

I awoke to the sound of
Rumbling thunder—
Zeus’s tummy growling.

Soon after, the rain
Ensued, like day following

Mother Nature could have been
Grieving the death of a
Complete stranger
In the next county,
So hard was this rain.

I turned on the light,
And my phone.
What a smart phone.

I cued up Joan Didion’s
“Slouching Toward Bethlehem”,
Picking up where I had been last

Lightning struck closely,
With the force and volume
Of a gunshot.
It jolted me for the briefest of
Loud noises usually do.

Soon enough, I turned the light off.
And lay my head anew on my purple

I closed my eyes.
My breathing was slow,
Sweet, silent and sure.

I never dozed off.

All the while, the urbane
Voice of Diane Keaton
Echoed softly in my room,
Relating stories of the Golden Land
Of California.

The softness and peace of the moment inside
Was such a perfect counterpoint
To the tumult and thunder outside.

I love moments like that.
When you lose track of time
And maybe of place.

And you melt into the moment,
So sweet and soft
As a cloud of cocoa.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

The first, tentative, uncertain kiss
Between me and you.

Loving the way your lips taste and feel
Against mine.


Again, and again,
Longer and longer, then harder,
Softer and sweeter.

Until the outside world drops away
And only you and me are left.

It is as if the concrete walls
Surrounding my heart have
Crumbled, the way earthquake
Might break down a dam.

And I feel all the love I have
Long, long  suppressed
Comes rushing out to flood my body.

I steal a glance at my hand.
Not sweating at all, though I
Had every reason to think it would.

Instead, the most beautiful gossamer white light
In the universe
Issues from my palms, like floodlights
Shooting into the black October sky.

We are literally lighting our
With the love we are making.

Now we are nude.
Now nothing can come between us.
I am swimming in your cobalt blue eyes
And losing myself in your brunet hair.

Your knowing, loving, incandescent
And the hand you place on my heart
Are a silent, sexy signal.

And so
I ease into you.

Now we are one.
One unit, one being.
One united and holy thing.

I have become the light I have beheld
For all my life.
I want this ecstasy, this satori
To last a million years,
Rather than a few minutes.

You are whispering sweet, chocolate thoughts
Into my ear
In a language only we can understand,
And in a deep, purring voice.

As if a switch goes on,
I let loose.

I scream, and so do you.
Long and loud.
We have become primal beings,
We are stronger, more impassioned, and
Wilder than the real world
Could ever let us be.

And then the screams subside.

We lie there.
Spent, sublime and sated.
The light rises again.

Only now, the sky is bluer,
The grass is greener,
And the sun does not burn,
It caresses.

Again I lose myself
In your captivating,
Magical face
And the words finally come.

“I love you.”

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


Now I see the photo
Even in my sleep.

Her stunning smile,
Her fiery hair,
And the smile that could
Light the path to heaven.

Irradiating goodness,
She points at me,
Telling me what mere words

She knows I
Am the one to watch.

She feels my worth
And wonder.

Her smile comes as easy
As an angel’s.

And I feel her belief
And her pride in me,
No matter how much or
How little we know
Of one another.

I now carry that photograph
In my heart
The way you might carry
George Washington in your

Thursday, August 16, 2012


Cold, tired, wet and naked,
I cast about in the pitch black
For something to hold onto;

Or for a single shaft of light to see
My way through.

No doubt I created
The dark, desperate
State I am in.

And I think, “Show me something.
Show me anything.
And forevermore
I will live in the light.

Then, at my feet,
I feel a rope.

A slim, slender rope.

I pick it up, and hand over hand,
It guides me.
Or I am guided by it.

I walk along,
Keeping the rope in my hand,
Never daring to let go.

And the black, black world
Gradually becomes grayer,
And slowly becomes lighter,

Until finally, after what feels
Like a thousand years,
I emerge into the light.

And the world that I left
Is more beautiful than ever

All the people I forsook
Are waiting with open arms
And forgiving hearts.

I look down at the rope.

That slender, tiny thread
That meant so much to me

The twine tells me
“I’m always here for you.”

Thursday, May 31, 2012

The Trombonist
To Josef…and his Mother

The tall young teenage man
Stood straight and soaring
Among his peers.

Wearing a Black bowtie
And a crisp white shirt
And holding a golden Trombone.

The drumbeat began
And that tall young
Teenage man
To play that trombone.

There were two trumpeters
A tuba
And a French horn

But the trombone filled
The gym
With the warmth and grace
That could only come
From within

That tall, proud, young teenage man.

He was playing the trombone
Not just with his fingers,
And not just with his mouth,

But with his whole soul.

His smile dazzled the building,
As though a star had fallen
Upon the street outside
And he had been
The first to see it

He was no longer
Just another teenager.

He was a star.

His mother craned her neck
To meet my eyes
And said with becoming pride,

“See why I’m so proud
Of my son?”

Saturday, May 19, 2012


I cannot tell you how badly
I want to be absolutely

Cast away all my shame
And all my fear
And become pure
And beautiful.

Becoming the man
I always knew I was.

The clothes that itch
And the shoes that barely fit
No longer serve me
Any purpose.

I want to wander away
Someplace safe and loving.
Into the bosom of nature.

Here I would shed all of my
And all of my

I would be as naked as
The trees
Surrounding me.

I want to be naked.
And I want to scream.

Long, loud, and hoarse.
So I can let go of the anguish
Of the world that I have left behind.

God, just to be naked.
Free of constraints
And prying eyes.

To be whole
And unashamed
And finally, firmly

Sunday, May 13, 2012

open arms

Tenatively, the baby stands on her feet.
She looks around, and wonders who is there
For her to walk to.

Just in front of her, the baby
Finally finds someone—
Her Mother.

She kneels before her proudest achievement,
Clapping her hands and opening her arms.

Baby’s tiny brain, growing every second,
Knows one thing for certain—
Love is waiting.

And so Baby smiles to Mommy
And she takes the first steps.
One foot advances toward the other,
Uncertainly at first,
Then with greater sureness.

Baby instinctively picks up the pace,
And Mommy’s heart swells with pride,
Like a great big balloon.

Baby finally makes it
Into Mommy’s tender embrace.
And her face says it all.
“I did it, Mommy! And I’d do it again.
And again, and always.”

I walked to my Mommy in the exact same way.
And so did my sister.
And now she calls herself Mommy.

And for as long as she lives,
Baby will walk, then run, then stride
Into Mommy’s open arms.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012


I woke up first thing this morning
And I found myself placing great value
On my own breathing.

Lying there.
Drifting in and out of the dream state.
Wiggling my bare toes and
Deliciously uncovered feet.

Valuing and reveling in
Each and every breath I took.
I wondered why I had not mastered
The art (I know there is one)
Of taking longer and deeper ones.

Wishing I could make it all
Last longer.
Enjoying being supine
And supple.

Loving being in my body,
In the moment,
In my glory and in my power.

And then I realized it was
Time to shower
And snap out of it all.

Realizing that soon I shall have to
Leave my cocoon
And join the world
Where you are not supposed to
Feel yourself breathe.

Where you wish time would go
Faster, not slower.
Where you cannot value your breath
As much as you are supposed
To value your clients.

We were not born
So that we could live
Like that.

My breath tastes so much sweeter,
My skin feels so much better
When I have nothing to lose.

Monday, April 16, 2012



Is the breeze

Through the open sliding glass door

Of our hotel in Majorca.


Are my eyes

As they widen

And the sun shines upon them.


Is the volume

On the stereo

As Miles plays

“It Never Entered My Mind”.


Are your sweet,

Lambent lips,

Pressing gently and joyfully

Against mine.


Is your gentle voice

Purring sweetness

In my willing ears.


Is your belly

Against mine

As we make long, languid,

Magical love.


And loose

Is my blood,

I’m so relaxed here.


Is the water

And the waves

Lapping against our skins

As we go float in it.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

the electricity I feel

coursing though me—

my legs, my arms,

places I dare not mention.

the desire to step

out of my skin,

free of my bones

and joints

and become pure,




the magnificence I feel

as I step down well-trod streets.

is this as close

to the divine

as I am likely to come?

am I nearer now

to nirvana?

am I beyond sex?

am I going

to the back of beyond?

how close am I to heaven?

am I already there?

Monday, April 9, 2012

Apollo Works his Magic

It is Easter Sunday.

Me and my dearest friend are

On a beach

Striding slowly towards the

setting Sunday sun.

The water is still too chilly

for our bare ankles.

So we walk where the tide

has tightened the sand.

Just before the sun touches

the horizon, we stop,

admiring the magical

glistening of the light

upon the Gulf of Mexico.

Apollo begins to work

His magic,

casting His orange light

as far as the eye can see.

We watch in outward awe

and inner contentment.

Just before the sun slips under

the water, A boat races past,

as though trying to beat the sun.

And finally, with a wink,

the sun dips below

the horizon,

and Apollo’s show is over

until tomorrow.

I turn to my friend,

someone who has loved me through

the darkest hours and the shiniest

moments in my life,

and we embrace.

I am as nourished and nurtured by her

as a leaf on a tree

is nourished and nurtured

by the now-sleeping orange ball.

And so we walk back,

into the uncertain dusk,

another possibility realized.

I wish for a lifetime

of perfect sunsets

shared with angels.

A perfect way

for a day to end;

hand in hand

with a beautiful friend.

Friday, April 6, 2012

The Water Tribe

For as long as human beings

Have had the means

To do so,

They have told stories.

The Aztecs.

The Bushmen.

The Comanches and the Sioux.

They all told

Their stories

Around a fire.

The rarest such tribes

Are the ones that congregate

Around and inside

Pools of warm water.

They have no formal names.

None are needed.

They come together only

On the nights of the Full Moon,

To soak in the warmth

And share in their glory.

Theirs are stories of similar


And amazing achievements.

It’s not just the water

That binds them.

It’s the love of laughter

And the love of life.

Life flows a little better

In warm water.

The water tribes understand that.

They are the hidden population—

A nation of night and delight.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012


The spring could not wait

To spring this year.

Like the sprinter


Long before the gun goes off,

There was spring,

Springing and flirting with us

The way an impetuous lover

Advances toward the nubile object

Of his desire.

Now the calendar tells us

That spring is finally here.

But it has been for a great while.

Spring has gotten comfortable

In our skins.

It’s not so very warm,

But not so very cold.

It’s just right

To kick your feet up,

Watch the sunset,

Inhale warmth,

And exhale with pleasure.

It feels good

When the birds chirp,

And the sun lingers.

And soon enough

Clothes are shed

Like useless skin.

And our colors come out,

And our wings spread

In comfortable glee.

Spring makes butterflies

Of the people who love it.

And brings all of life

Into full bloom.

Saturday, March 17, 2012


Sometimes, when I am walking

On a street or in a store,

I take a very deep, big breath,

And I hold it as though I were

About to go underwater.

In the moment before I exhale,

My soul remembers

Where it has been.

I know that

I lived under the sea.

I was a mer-man.

I lived in the sea below Santorini,

Many thousands of years ago,

When men were gods

And those that were not

Lived in the deep,

Big blue expanse.

I was powerfully strong.

I could swim 50 miles underwater.

I breathed with gills in my stomach.

I had no sense or need

For time or for place.

My lover was absolutely beautiful.

Her red hair, her hazel eyes

Held me awestruck

And motivated me to greater strength.

Our ecstasy made us glow

Like the gods we aspired to be.

Her beauty reflected my own.

How did I die?

How did I stop swimming?

Is that just what happened?

Did a predator have the better of me

One harrowing day?

I’ve lived many lives since then.

But my soul always remembers

The first one.

I would give so much,

You would not believe

Just how much

To feel that powerful,

That gorgeous,

That magical


I want to go back into the ocean

And feel like I’m home


Monday, March 12, 2012



That’s all they are.


Printed in black on white paper.


Cold, bloodless, joyless.

As clinical as statistics.

I see names

Every hour of every day.

More often than not,

Those names are associated

With complaints.

It was not so long ago

That I could put myself

In the place

Of the people behind those names.

I could step into their shoes,

Imagine their lives

And livelihoods.

Their homes, families, cars.

For three minutes at a time

I could see a name

And try to figure out,

If not understand,

Their hardships.

Now, the names are just names.

Now, they are not so much

Flesh, blood and emotion

As they are facts.

Now, if you asked me

To step into their shoes,

I am not entirely sure

That I could.

You see, they are so much more

Than names

And demands

To me.

They have organs, senses,

Ideas and beliefs.

I want to know more.

Besides their names.

Saturday, March 10, 2012


Pure spirit,

She sits on the green grass

And in her power.

Pure spirit,

Unfettered by creed or color

Uncluttered by politics or religion.

Pure spirit,

Eyes comfortably closed,

Hands open to the golden sun.

Her silent prayer for peace

Leaps across the miles

And lands in my heart.

Her magic strikes me

Whenever I see her picture

Or think of her name.

And I sit, enchanted,

Shifting inside.

My heart opens to the

Mighty power within.

And I, too

Become pure spirit.

Definitely for a moment,

Perhaps for an hour,

One day, for all eternity.

O, to walk on the air,

To dance on the sea

To see

What pure, raw spirit sees.

Thursday, March 8, 2012


I don’t remember the last time

I had a sense of pride.

I don’t remember when I last felt

That I had achieved something.

How long has it been since I could

Pat myself on the shoulder

And feel good about myself?

I really don’t know when.

When I come home at night,

Nothing in the hours that came

Before it could make me proud.

Nothing is better.

No one is stronger or wiser

Nothing good has happened

Because of me.

I haven’t brought joy to the life of another person

By good words or good deeds.


I do nothing that I am proud of.

I serve no greater good.

I am a hamster.

And my only purpose

Is to run endlessly

On a wheel.

Going nowhere in particular.

Doing nothing meaningful.

Having no particular sense

Of accomplishment

Or pride.