Afterglow

Open the skies
and let them in;
the weary, unsettled,
aching wanderers.

Let them dance
upon fertile ground,

love without fear
of persecution,
laugh fervently
in colors
to soothe a troubled soul

We could join hands;
soar, wing to wing;

sovereignty, a candle,
an afterglow
in life’s fickle fate.

Pass the torch
and we’ll put out the flame

with sweat, tears
all of those human things
dreams are made of.

A Long Way From London Bridge

Get over the clouds,
and walk on

over oceans of hearts
still and beating
like bumps in the road

giving way
to soft steps.

Tumble, carelessly;
thoughts hung out to dry
like windswept notions
playing havoc
with the day

and when night comes,
playful stars dance
‘ring around the rosy’
with dreams,

posies,
from your pocket

to mine

two, taking shelter
in just how far
love can carry us
from the ashes

before we fall.

~

~NaPoMo day 29 (a poem a day in April)

Oh, Charm City (for Baltimore)

On a cloudless night,
when even constellations hide
behind smoky air

street lights dim;
shiver in a light
that burns gold
in every neighborhood,

from every window,
pain.

We have never met,
but, I love you;
your streets glimmering red,
pale white and blue,

so blue

with all the wrong answers
to questions
swept under proverbial rugs.

Pitter patter of little feet stop;
eyes too innocent to see past the glow;

a lens that brings every flaw into focus;
these imperfections
we cannot seem to cover
with words or glossed over promises
that peel and rust like old dreams.

Only love
can heal wounds too deep to reach
and stitch up a flag of a city;
a country

too spirited
to fall.

~

~

~NaPoMo day 28 (a poem a day in April)

Pretty Pearl

Star gazing on an evening without clouds,
metaphors blowing like halos
around a jealous moon;
you, sleeping on my shoulder.
I could almost see your dreams
manifesting in clandestine language
with fireflies, following light
on a journey of unpaved roads.

Let’s go back to San Josef,
almost like a mirage,
where you found that perfect sand dollar
deep and twisted in deserted beach;
sand glistening like gold in your hair
and I knew then that you loved me.

Remember that cabin in the summer
when the lights went out
and we whispered under the covers
counting reasons why we will never change?
I gave you a middle name, and you changed mine
exchanging verses , seashells, words
that no one else has heard.
When the lights came back on,
you switched them back off and made dinner
by candlelight.

From that mountain, we cried,
promising forever over streams
under Pike’s peak
of sunlight in blurry eyed yesterdays.
You still hold my hand when vacation is over
my baggage on your back; my tears
filling your ocean blues.

You called me your pretty pearl
sang songs until the sun peeked
from heart-shaped pillow clouds
on dew petaled mornings

when only the pink ones were good enough
to pass from your hands to mine.

~NaPoMo (a poem a day for National poetry month)

Seductive Plagiarism

Such pretty lines
you whispered

to help me fall,

In love with poetry,
I soaked in every last drop
hearing rhymes in my sleep
flattered to inspire
such a muse.

I wondered why your words
sounded so familiar,
slightly out of character;

never in sync with mine.

I penned letters
into flower petals,
soft and unbroken;

true,

and you
pulled them like weeds,
tossed them away
your words, stolen;
reverberated,

then discarded,
like my heart.

~

~day 27 NaPoMo (a poem a day in April)

Sacrifice

Expectations, like weights
upon slender shoulders
sink dreams

to the depths of blue-green seas;

shallow thoughts parading
in snug stilettos;

pretense woven in and out

of a cause
too cruel to mention.

~

~NaPoMo day 25 (a poem a day in April)

Blooming Muse

It all starts
with a few little words
scribbled on a napkin
or one of those notepads
with a hotel logo at the top.

You don’t think much of it,
crumble it up,
stash it in the pocket
of your favorite jeans,
or the bottom of your purse,
and go on.

Like seeds, it spreads,
grows wings and blooms;
this petaled thing-
this voice.

Next thing you know,
it is shining, like sun,
glimmering
like those stars
that sing you home.

You wonder
how something so imperfect
could spread rhythm like wildfire,
breathe life into simple chords,

like a split second image
through a lens;

a shower of colors,
on a white canvas,
screaming blue.

~
~(day 24 NaPoMo a poem a day in April)

Painting Roses

A twist of fate
and everything changed.

There I was
penning dreams in a notebook,
that, still, no one can decipher.

Perhaps I do not want them to
speaking in clandestine metaphor
to feed the constellations;

vowels dancing
like I never could

painting roses
like there’s no tomorrow.

It is easy to pick apart
what you don’t understand
and find fault with emotion

when there is so little
in your heart, to spill.

~

~day 23 NaPoMo…a poem a day in April

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End of the Staircase

I cannot make sense
of my own words;
these repetitious ramblings
reverberating
through the tears;

scribbled heartsongs sung
in pretty little words
to dance with
when sadness spins its web

in-between
us.

You analyze my thoughts
one by one,
ripping stanzas apart,
counting adjectives
instead of letting the love seep in
to that cold stare;
an afterthought,

on starless days
when poetry is the only means

to an end.

~NaPoMo (day 22 a poem a day in April)

Curled Up Endings

I sat up waiting
for the night to change
with just a blanket of stars
and an imagination.

Some nights are darkness
that never ends

until morning
sprinkles shards of light
through accidental cracks
and warms ivory skin;

a stranger to Spring

like daffodils too close
to the sun, wilted,
on willow days
when the furthest thing
from my mind

was love,

but still,
I dreamt it, lived it in pages,
brown around the edges,
torn, curled up endings
too good to be true.

Moons were always too far away;
too blue to touch
serenading all those stars.
but, he;

he struck a chord
on a backwards day
and the fourth finger answered
what lips couldn’t
in June

when everything was golden

like those daffodils
way back when.

~

day 21 NaPoMo (a poem a day in April)

Out of the Fog

To leave was only a brief thought
back then, on so many mornings
I would rather not have awakened
putting my pride out with the trash,
as dark clouds followed me inside,
trailed my smile like your eyes did
to make it fade away.Those stars,
those glimmering stars never left. I
wandered, blue-hued, almost hollow;
trapped, I tripped, stumbled, fell, lay
down for a time. Oh, invisible forest,
I lost you in trees, but rose like fog
after rain painting every day of April.

~
~NaPoMo day 20 (a poem a day in April (for National poetry month)