From The Shoreline, You Can Hear The Waves.

From the shoreline, you can hear the waves.

They rock, back and forth, a repeated rhythm.

They care not for the fish that linger underneath,

Nay they tarry not for the boats made of wood or metal.

The sun has no affect, for the sun they dare not pause

Oh! But the moon-!

The moon is the most beautiful thing in the water's eyes.

And the waves reach for the moon night after night, day after day.

But what does the moon care? Does it care for the waves in the creak? The river? The lake? The ocean? 

Does it admire how relentlessly the water reaches?

Does it notice how it is loved?

I can not say.

I am not the moon, bright, beautiful and wise. I am not the reflection of the suns light.

I am the wave upon the shore. The relentless driving force for ones I love. 

Do they love me back, you ask.

Does it matter? I answer.

They are the thing most precious to me. I will always chase them. Help them. Love them.

Swoosh-crash!

it's Tuesday again

and you're still gone

we are all clad in black

singing memory eternal

under the eye of St George

at our separate kitchen tables

a candle burns for you

and you are eternal

as our grief

I hope you know

even if you couldn't

slay all your dragons

you were a warrior too

Daylight upon the ’morrow's end,

Where does it take me except for the impossibilities,

Of a perfected world,

A face in a dream come to life,

Of a unique world built for two,

My shadow and me,

A hand who reaches out to mine,

And cannot be moved in it's certainty,

All impossible- for there is no daylight to be had on the ’morrow's end

Collect the pieces of this

Scattered mind, mind the

Marbles under footfalls

Fragile friend mind the

Pavement, I say to myself—

We work together until

We don't, the meat and

The mind are mind over

Matter but my matter never

Minds and so the blue light

Flutters like a swallowtail

In December drinking my

Blood, tiny feet stomping

On the wound of a brain

That doesn't

Quite work

It has become increasingly obvious...

AND I CAN DENY IT NO LONGER....

I am submas trash.

Other poetry

these almost goodbyes

look at us tousled in the wind again unable to hold onto anything of solid security

our loving lips parting to speak of jealousy and wrong assumptions, still wet with days-old passion and exchange

look at this distance and the short time it takes to fall back into its trap of feeling isolated while apart

the mouth of hunger is unfed and aches to be satiated

look at these smooth memories of hellos and long kisses and wonder why we trip upon these almost goodbyes again

look at me and stay with me

we're almost there we're almost home