“Please”

Hold me –
Deep inside your sinewy fortress of unbreakable muscles –
That grow stronger with every breath.
Please don’t let go.

Kiss me –
In a collision of love and desire –
Our lips pressed together holding onto eternity.
Please don’t move.

Pleasure me-
In an unsatiated hell fire of passion –
As our bodies burn and melt into one; tattooed onto each other forever.
Please don’t stop.

Love me –
Be the blood running through my veins-
And the breath in my body burning through my lungs.
Please don’t leave.

“Overcoming”

Conqueror of all.
Scared
but fearless.
I never let them see me sweat.

Wanting more
than I was given
or had a right to ask for,
-according to her.

Wanting more than she
wanted for me.
A bright future.
A way out.

Always different.
Searching for a better life,
determined not to be
-her.

The road less traveled
was traveled well…
just not by anyone,
that I knew.

Constantly reminded
of being unworthy of the best.
Her toxic words,
rang empty in my ears.

For I was a kid with dreams…
ambitious goals and
the will to over come
insurmountable obstacles.

Willing only to see
the brightness of a future,
being denied me
by a legacy of defeat.

Her words never spoken for our ears nor hearts to hear;
“Do better.”
“Be better.”
“You can do anything.”
“Live your dreams.”
“Be what I could not.”

Instead, her love was locked up tight
in a vault of lies and hate,
stripped of nurturing and guidance
for the fruit she bore.

Forbidden to become what she could not.
“You are not good enough.”
Echoed through the halls of my childhood,
trapping me in her misery.

Plotting my escape, ready to leap,
at any chance.
THE chance.
MY CHANCE.

The day of reckoning
was soon upon us;
daughter number two
with feather’s ablaze, leapt.

Fueled by a fire
deep within my belly.
Her toxic words,
were lies.
I AM GOOD ENOUGH!

“Escape”

The black of night is her goal,
To run for her salvation and her soul.

Far from where he will find her,
From her life of fear and terror.

For it is freedom she seeks,
From the Mr. that speaks.

Commanding that she be his,
To be the mother to another’s kids.

He could not be more wrong,
For in the dark of night, she will be gone.

Seeking safety for her own life,
Void of terror and void of strife.

The love he offers has cost too much,
With every fist and every touch.

Living under her lover’s thumb,
He has made her heart numb.

Demanding all she had to give
But his way, she will no longer live.

This life, she will soon escape,
To a different time and a different place.

“Bleeding Blue”

We spend our lifetime, not just a summer or two

But a lifetime – waiting – for the dream to come true.

We wait in the rain and the Wrigley Field stands,

We wait at the Cubby Bear, getting drunk with our friends.

We watch them play ball on WGN,

Hoping to hear the screams, “Cubs win, Cubs win!”

Every Spring we wait with renewed hopes and dreams,

We wait with anticipation, we cheer and scream.

When October is over and the season ends,

We wait for the Spring to celebrate again.

We scrutinize the coaches, analyze the players,

Hold our breath – and say our prayers.

The team did it once, after one hundred and eight years

And 2016 was a year of great cheer!

The wait was over and the dream came true,

For those of us that bleed, Cubbie blue.

“A Gathering Place”

Blankets and pillows, fluffy and soft

made for sleeping and making love.

A refuge from monsters, late in the night

and story time for all, in mid day’s light.

My king size bed, in the middle of the floor

is perfectly made, for my family of four.

“Here for the Poetry”

Creatives gather, pouring out their souls
Orating vulnerabilities while
Appealing to the ears there to hear their spoken truths.
Competing with drink orders
Made in noisy espresso machines and blenders.

“This is a poem about my grandmother.”
Expressing heartfelt truths of love and sadness.
While students in the corner
Giggle and whisper
As if no one is speaking.

“Shhh,” whispers the man
To the bag lady on his left.
Pulling bags from under her layers of clothes,
Organizing them all
Unbound and straight
She ties them up, separately
One by one.

“This one is about my time in Israel.”
Recounting the past of her grandparents
And other holocaust survivors.
Sharing a special bond
While the old man searches for an outlet,
“Excuse me.”
“Excuse me.”
Nazis. Loss. iphones.

“This poem is about private moments after our wedding ceremony.”
Sacred. Special. A time to breathe.
Sharing details as the woman crunches
Her panini and sips her organic, sugar free,
Non-fat, non-flavored tea.
Hot water please.

“This is about my daughter and our relationship.”
The door swings open and an old man struggles inside
Stopping in the doorway to check out the scene.
He hesitates, deciding finally to
Shuffle his old body wrapped around a backpack
To the coffee bar.

“One more poem about my grandmother.”
I see a woman staring at me,
Pointing me out to a gentleman next to her.
I pretend not to notice and hope my own awkwardness
Doesn’t betray me.
She approaches me – bends down and speaks,
“Oh, I thought you were somebody that I knew, but you are not her.”
I smile at her and say,
“I am just here for the poetry.”

 

“Alone”

The woods are eerily still along the winding driveway as my headlights catch glimpses of the hidden secrets of the darkness, careful not to reveal their shadows. The only sound is the gravel crackling and echoing under my wheels as I ease into the garage. The house sits peacefully covered in a layer of dewy silence under the night sky, nestled in the darkness of the woods. The inside remains still and untouched, just as we left it. I am reminded of how long it’s been since I’ve been here, since we’ve been here.

My eyes cannot see through the darkness of the backyard out the bay window; walking the grounds will have to wait until day break. The drive was long, and I am tired. I stir the house awake by lighting a fire and it wastes no time spitting and screaming at me, as the orange glow of the flames sets my skin ablaze. It is the most perfect kind of warmth matched only by being wrapped up in your arms.

Drifting off to sleep and wrapped up in the warmth of the fire, my mind carries me to you like a delicate leaf caught up in the autumn wind and gently places me on the memory of the last time we were together. I cannot stop myself, maybe the morning will be better.

The birds singing their morning song from high atop the waving oak trees has replaced my alarm clock. Upon waking, I am reminded how much I love the sounds of nature. Your side of the bed sits cold and untouched. I dreamed you’d come.

It is cold here today, just like you like it. I loaded the wood burning stove with three large pieces of wood placed in a triangle just as you showed me all those years ago, before heading out back to check the grounds. The pine trees are over twenty feet tall and have filled out nicely. I was able to gather a collection of their discarded pine cones that I will use for holiday decorations this year, maybe. It is beautiful and peaceful up here this time of year with the leaves changing colors and I wish you were here.

While sipping my coffee on the deck today, the tall oaks seemed to cautiously wave at me, careful not to disturb because they know what I know…I’m alone.