Feelings

What we share
the rain     the air
the way the wind goes dancing through your hair

the doubt     the fear
the feeling when you're near
the sound of heartbeats pounding in your ear

the rainy day
the pain    delayed
the hate that anyone might feel betrayed

the smell of time
the sense of wine
the way it feels to call somebody mine.

(22 Aug 18)

Titania

Let me swim inside your sweetness for a while,
Basking in the glory of your smile,
Chanting little praises in your ear;
In these arms you have no fear.
Let me stroke the softness of your cheek—
A midsummer's dream; I might yet gleek.
You, fairy princess, and I, the ass.
(I know, you'd say I have more class.)
Let us sit in fields of flowers and gaze.
In dew-dripped ground, in golden rays,
These days will seem so long, too short.
That's how it is when spirits court.

Scene on a Set of Stairs

She in her red dress.
She in her black top.
She and she sharing space and
Atoms.

She with her energy.
She with her strength.
She and she in each other and
The world.

She in her insecurity.
She in her apology.
She and she politely living and
In love.

Electric Blue

The electric-blue-haired goddess smiled yellow sunbeams down,
Down on wherever she looked: on
The ruddy-bearded men in cloth hats,
Tirelessly working; on
The fair and dark children in summer dresses and overalls,
Fearlessly laughing; on
The mothers and fathers leaning on tree trunks,
Whispering, knowing; on
The young lovers tripping through the forest paths,
Breathless, gay; on
The grey-headed elders with their canes and candies,
Humming, waiting.
All these, she smiled on, giving blessing to thought and comfort to pain,
Granting wishes and hoping for change,
Singing silently and praying earnestly.
All these she smiled to, she lifted up beyond the heavens,
Where human minds only hope to wander.
All these she lifted up in joy and harmony,
Electric-blue hair, and love.

Star Maps

Counting the stars from my Los Angeles balcony—
Nine, I think, tonight;
Just enough for one constellation or
Two, if you're creative.
There are one or two stars
Only seen if you
Remember where they might be.

There is the off-chance you're hallucinating.

Tonight's constellation is Poodle,
After the canine god of Beverly Hills—
Ferociously pouffy.

Remember planets shouldn't twinkle.
Horizon is misleading—
There are towers upon the unseen mountains.
A tribe in Costa Rica saw a postcard from New York and said
They lined up all the stars in
Neat little rows:
Their understanding of cities.

Remember the moving lights are airplanes.

From where I am those stars of Poodle
Point south toward those hollow hills
Where fame and fortune fashion
Empty lives.
After all,
The poodle without fur is just another dog.

Remember stargazing as a youngster—
Backs upon the dewy lawn;
Cool summer nights,
Carefree and wistful,
In the woods away from cities,
Far from pollution—a purer place;
Imagining why ancients thought that
Dippers looked like bears;
Hoping that the bears would know to stay away,
Excited that they might not;
Hoping that a girl you liked would
Like to stargaze too.

Remember that you're hoping still.

An empty person is just waiting to be filled.


22aug15

Questions

Is love meant to be?
What are we waiting to see?
How does a moment become an eternity?
And who gets to choose?
Is there something to lose?
What is fantasy? What is reality?
Are there ways to escape from insane?
Will the questions give something to gain,
Or will the answers just lead to more rain?

A long vacation

The water is bluer there
Where the air is filled with mango juice.
We dipped our souls in Caribbean sands
Like fountain pens soaking up ink.
I took her hand and we drifted out to sea
Never to be
The same.

vows

What a modern age. We nearly live in a post-marital time, where children born out of wedlock are common and the marriage that does get entered into is broken as easily as fine glassware. What does it mean to be married? It used to be this solemn vow that two people made to never part, that sanctified and solidified a bond between these two people stronger than death. When did our words become so fragile, so changeable?

I suppose we shouldn't generalise; there are plenty of marriages out there that work, where children are born into happy families instead of uncertain times. (Are there any certain times?) And marriage doesn't have to be all about the children. There's another thing—love—that's meant to keep people together.

And love does. Love exists. Love makes us do the crazy stuff that we'd always said we'd never do but, when you put it in the context of being in love, you get a different perspective and suddenly you're taking the leap. Love gives us hope when there shouldn't be any, gives us a reason to get up in the morning. So when that love is challenged, or disrespected, or thought of carelessly, sure, we get a little agitated. It's not the way things were meant to be. This isn't what we signed up for.

One thing is for sure: there can be no selfishness in love. Love itself should be selfless, and marriage, by extension, should be the most selfless thing out there. When we start to act selfishly in marriage, we start to take away the very foundation of our marriages. We start to say that we, our selves, are more important that other's selves, when marriage is meant to guarantee that, while you're looking out for her, she's looking out for you. (Or he, or ze, or it, or however people want to identify in this gender-neutral age.) That's what the contract is. "Love one another."

Pain and sorrow, loss and want
Are storms that we can weather,
As we can with joy and hope
And love; that is, together.

biennial

overwhelmed

i'm overwhelmed
your poetry comes crashing on my shore
i beg for more

i tuck away emotion
but the motion of the sea
untucks me

i'm blinded gladly
your sunlight beams upon my soul
rays of gold

i'm overcome
with joy and love; it's harmony
it's you and me

i kiss your hand
you understand, i am amazed by you
my love is true

caught in your spell
i'm entranced by the words you weave
you are my eve

drawn by your wit
and my chords you resonate
queen to mate


kfs
7oct08
theatre three

oct 2008

this is a poem about a shirt, written for April nearly two years ago.
-----

my gift to you
wrapped in brown corduroy
sorry if it broke in shipping
it's taken time to arrive
there's only so much corduroy can defend
or contain

my gift to you
sometimes just brown corduroy
something soft and warm
to remind you what's inside
a symbol of something we share
its text, a fabric we've weaved
enduring ever on

my gift to you
within its brown corduroy
for which only you, it seems, can sign
only you can open it
and dance around inside

wear my gift, please
my joy is in giving
love me, please
and let's start living