Poems of Love Lost and Found

Poems of Love Lost And Found

Watching Kindness

I saw you kneel
to heal a boy
who dropped a toy
smithereens a laugh
when your blessing
was an invention
of love new to him
who instantly lost
attachments to pretentions
pretending to be brave, but
became heroic
to embrace you as angel

I see
as did he
and this is
why I love you,
will share you
with the world

Grand ecstasy
when you come home
to me alone

I give you my awards
my affection tonight, but
I will gladly

have you leave
in the morning, for
I am proud to be
a friend to the angel who will
wash the world with my happy tears
and I fear not because

you will return to
the humble blessings
of me
—————————————————
We Are Glowing

From the journey of a dream
I awoke happy, enveloped in you
under covers

Enraptured in the blankets
of home
with you
of you

Our embrace is
the brightness
of us
with us

We are
the morning together
together in love

An awakening
is here to be
for real
at home

peaceful passion
satisfaction day

not dreaming
but being

in the lightness
of us
with us

we are warm
being the morning sun,
like banners waving
playfully above
the river of Love

extremely rippling,
our streaming
child to the river

Ripples of the day
we stream
like banners waving
playfully above
a gentle brook
child to the stream

The child’s babble
joyful enough
to be a gurgle
in a float-along morning

We splash along
embraced
by immersion
and the kiss of the day
fantastic
better than a dream
———————————————————
You In Me

I woke up to my
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream

If I dress to seek you
will I know where
passion gallivants

You haunt me with
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion

I am out to find you
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you
————————————————-
Still Rapid

For me I flushed, a
cheeky glow on me, when
I heard her
laughing in my heart
her oxygen in my
hemoglobin sanguine

Tincture of joy upon my skin
I touched her touch like lunch
of peppers and cherry ducks
in a row of charms
easy to cast as
fruit falling ripe
after blossoms bloom

Vitamin delight I made
floating on her river
tanning, burning in her light

We kissed our meal
to drink the day
a splash of love
in rapids
————————————————-
Throbbing In Crevices

Though there’s little food in Sugar Ditch
the rabbit hoped to hop from me
a foolish-stewing-hopeless creature,
who’d let luck go where
fecal creeks don’t drown
perfumed hope

Broken down in Sugar Ditch
waiting for a scholarship
I was wheeling like
lightning struck me down

The documentary camera came
just before a thunder wash,
saw the open sewer
that’s home to family shame

I pulled out my crying rag
time moaning sack of clothes
and the man heard me sing
while driving lightning roads

Honking horns daring me
to dream away from poverty,
I bent my trumpets to heaven’s ears

But no one told me
evil flies to me
every place I go, and
King Sorrow would reign
over sovereign hopes

I reached the skyscrapers
a tourist of bad timing
had to be the highest
place to see heaven
aside from you

After lightning struck this New York
I was lying under debris,
my quilted sorrow bristling
with cast off bricks

Mortar thoughts around me
being so damn mortal, I
could be thundered away
to the heavenly scene

But a steam pipe was hissing
while lifted stones flew away
like missiles whistling
choruses of dusty blues

Jaws of life jacking time
they slid my body out in time
let the building collapse on through

Thought I heard,
old Joplin singin’
more on Earth
will be slapping you
if you
dodge more bullets
from another fool

And when I sang right out
across the clapping crowds,
my best laid blues
went right to you,
New York girl
in a rabbit hat

Oh magical girl,
my new love,
you kissed the breeze
made illusions
fondle my wishes

Now I dream of you deeply:
my salvation laughing everywhere

To whinny, my dream horse gallops, your
giggling jiggling in my cortex,
cerebral fondness hunting for you
in pulsing fibers
embedded in desire
throbbing in crevices
of nerve-cell books,
passions hiding in no man’s nook.

You journey through my mind,
scampering mind dancer,
doing wild animal tangos. I embrace

your beauty in the hunt
to capture your essence;
my dogs sense your scent,
a presence so foxy,
they transcend all knowing
rockin’ and rollin’ in serotonin.

I have traveled into you–
touch me there
where thoughts are real
and lightning tingles fine:
hats off to
everlasting good times

When I awake to you
I am in heaven
——————————————————
Sax Piano Bird

If you will play
I will kiss your tune lips
’cause anything goes when
slinking down your keyboard
tickling doleful note doodles
plinking your chords
caressing pianissimo
bopping forte, top a’ ya board,
chording love accolades
staying for improvisations
when cool mistys get hot. I shall be cool

when you transpose the glory
keys to high toned harmony
that sees me exposed
with whistling kisses blown
all sax-ified, but that’ll
be after a race. Y’ know

it was a mystery that
birds of a feather could
get the winner’s name
from the horse’s
mouthwash, but
I heard them say

she plays with her pet cockatoo
at the piano bar
down by the racetrack
at the end of the race, and
I saw you

The bird said, “Leave a tip”
I said, “Baby Needs Shoes to win,
place, or show me a new tune”

She nagged the feathers off it
to snatch bills
out of patrons’ hands

After she played with her cockatoo
I tipped it into a snifter
hoping she’d play with me
’cause I bet on the nag, then
I said
to the showers

I said
To install the clean
in a froth of warmth
above a soapy love,
join me in the shower stall
by the steamy wall
where flights of fancy
are never scrubbed. If you will,

then I, with fragrant soap,
will wash in tribute
the toe that tested my waters,
cleansing the foot feats that two-stepped
when I was a mere calf
and you were knee high
to a love
like a soap opera. Sing

in the shower from your diaphragm
where no melting soap is barred
while I swoosh below your breasts
with swirling helicopter hands
taking off with haste
as whirlybirds land
on nipple pads. When you say

taxi to the terminal
the refueling hose can dock
and the passengers can be served
hot blessings, but remember
the fifth race is soon,
time to place bets
by the river
on the sailboats, although
we could check out
the entries
swimming in the
racing waters

where in trepidation
you can put a toe
in the water of my soul
as I kiss it as
I would a child’s boo-boo

offering you
a future, a splash
of my essence; I
breathe your perfume
a cherry-flavored love

You undress in my river
and I kiss your thigh
in baptism before lips

Like a mallard
I swim aside,
a breast in hand
and hand in bush

All goes swimmingly,
as I reminisce
first kisses
raising my mast,
sailing our ship, and
now anything goes
even past
the sunset,
in moonlit tunes
splashed across the stars
————————————————————
Backward Train

I’m fond of her biases because
she notices differences
like the eye on the back of my head

She’s the only one who
ever came onboard my train
not thinking it impolite
if I stood with my back to her
while I shoveled coal, and
still watched her front.

She did insist once
to stand in front of the furnace, but
we did take a vote to see if
we’d face to embrace–
it was four eyes to one
the ayes had it — although,
I did turn my gun backward once
shooting a bandit thus
keeping the cuddle just
so moving along
the track and train, but

next time I think
I’ll let her take the gun
in her third hand
——————————————————————
Diane Lobbies

She could not cook
what I brought to the nest,
couldn’t cook
lively recipes,
offerings too gamy

I thought I was
a bald eagle, but
Diane said to me:

“I lobby for
your oneness with me
with filibusters in thought
to block a vote against

Tempting shame once
I wore my red shoes
and unused womb,
bled red desires, those
messy wants nested with
last straws of perseverance
trinket twigs of yours

Come, Eagle, fly back
with wiggling gifts
to give us our child
our daily bed
sprung below
our spring to life, although

You emulate the hawk
watching for moves
but seeing no detail
gallivanting with all the wrong ladies
scattering lust to those
who would pluck your feathers

I have made you soup
when you were sick partying,
ladled out love gently
warm and spicy

Come back when
your peacock feathers are stripped
your hawkish manners grounded, and
land here in my nest forever”

Diane asks if
I am an albatross,
as if I would know
where to find
gooney blue skies

I offer to tickle her with a feather
and she is pleased that
we are not birds
just strollers into paradise
————————————————————–
Legend Baby

With lost soft hugs
lost pressing kisses
bear hugs,
Melissa is lost
has left me to be
haunted by ghosts
of guilt, of soul
I deny:
J’accuse my dear
you fooled me
against my nature

Oh Melissa, you
cried upon a star,
told me and the night sky
I was the father though
you had many lovers

Because the baby girl made
a lollipop microphone
I knew she’d be a star
a legend in her twinkle,
no end to promise

You were a mother
who watched bear legend TV, liked bears,
believed every myth seen
as cuteness lied and misled. Earnestly I

warned against them.
Listening to me in jest
smiling at me instead
you said
the wild child laughs. I kissed
the one who chuckles,
your baby luck
the one you suckled, but
you are at an end to sanity
your daughter lost
to your foolish love of all.

I changed baby’s diaper once,
watched her take a first step,
a father sharing labors.

But I was fine, I thought
’twasn’t mine in the end, and
though your daughter cried
I would not bare faced cry
for didn’t I say with logic base:
do not feed the bears,
not flour
not flowers
not porridge.
Hungry bears eat babies.

Listening to me in jest
smiling at me instead
the baby was left alone. That’s why

you could not stop screaming
clawing the tree
scratching your own face, why you
threw the empty baby carriage into the river,
childless

Fathers don’t let bears eat their children,
not the one read
“Goldilocks and the Bears” to sleep, but

if this is my dead baby
I will cry tomorrow.
If I were to believe
this baby were mine
I’d be as crazy as you, Melissa.

They were beautiful
and the woods are ugly.
Melissa’s baby, her Myth, and
my feelings are dead
to drift in my fog hiding
howling vain creatures
biting and sucking to leach
the guilt I deny, but
creature forgive me;
give me back my blood
my guilt, before death
makes me ghostly
too pale to love Melissa again.
——————————————————————-
Reading Alabama

Jeannie dreamt of cherry blossom times
when falling cherished petals
rode on her shoulders like
dandruff thoughts
of springs past
jumping with him on bikes
pedaling home
to the sitting room
to shared cherries and
dreams of travel assumed
with sitars on their knees
playing hozannas from the West
like gospel cries
by the Alabama mist they’d seen
kissing faux banjos
—————————————————————
New Sleeping

Night had never fallen for me,
fluorescent loneliness
keeping me there
where life is a dream
in unreal meanings,
the false dream awake

Until your soul sun rose
never had I slept where
true dreams fuse souls
along a seam, the wound
of separation. Stitching wills

to melt the edginess
heals scars by love
unstitching the ecstasy. Now,

wow, one smooth smooch
overwhelming yelps, eee-ha
your wily willowy weeping
making me cry with joy
in your shade,
my shadow yours,
rejoice the dream is true
because we are the light,
we, the beginning
——————————————————–
Blubber

The psychic woman
had showed her
rough seas ahead,
said beware the tides
and flowing kisses,
but that seemed like
shallow waters to her

She had a fifth
her thick handkerchief
mopping up her eyes
highly high on her trumpeted mope
slipped on her poor spilled
cocktail of his love kisses
lost crawling
across the stage
where she was to sing beige
before a sea of mahogany tables
over drunks and hecklers
sticky stinky beckoning
bass strings plucking her heart
blubbering
woe tale wagging about him
the bragging whale
who blew his spout
and left her high and dry.

Seeing her collapsing,
I could not bear her despair,
rose to say,
“I have always loved you,”
and we all stood,
hecklers and all,
to beg the last song

She knew me at last–
kissed me, the little one

Turning from beige to blue
caressing the mike,
she rasped in weeping harmonies
“Stand for me
the stood-up one;
harpoon my love and
sail me to the Port,
wine me down mellow,
me, a cello solo
singing this tale of prophecy:
the big ones get away, and
the little ones stay.”
——————————————————-
Foyer

Gently opening the door
spying from the foyer
seeing you caress my letter
stroke my gift charm, I was
so glad I drove you mad
insane to love me
find my foibles cute
while I devoured
the beauty you are
to save me, yet
you thanked me for
being in need of you
taking me as a gift
unwrapping my naked soul

Forgive me my silent admiration:
Angel undress for me as
I stand faithful to us
with more than the tinkle of trinkets
with a greater sound
a silent duet of one
a soap bubble popping
a float in air
drifting to the bedrock top
snow soft and
falling like an avalanche
peeking piqued
————————————————————
Spinach

I don’t grimace at the spinach anymore
since I tried a taste of
what you like
being your tongue
savoring many flavors of you

I’ve lost my kid’s taste
to try with you anew
your trusted leaf
in a book of nuance
where a sour pucker
turns into sweet lips
sounding pitches
thrown high and low
down dancing waves
undulating
with ripple effects
of affection that
taste me too,
clusters of fun with
a little mustard on my hot dog
————————————————————–
Only Crush Me

Crushed I am grapeful, but
mirror me not
lest you ferment troubles
be drunk in sorrow

For me be
high in memories
take my joy
like wings to heaven
though reluctantly
I will open your cage of Earth
and in your wake
I will sing like a
blue canary with trumpets
for feathers
showy wet eyes to the sky
looking past secret loneliness
to give you
freedom in heaven

Only crush me
before you go

In this fear full cup of your elixir,
in the spoon splashes I make
stirring your medicine,
I bleary, blurry-eyed peer into fluid depths
seeing you before all sickness
dragging me onto the merry-go-round
you saying it’s not just for children
just be young forever with me
for I will put that laugh of yours
I love so much in a jar
like a firefly, and
in my precious journal of joy
I press flat my saving leaves
near your butterfly kisses
engraved in the pages, you said,
but I am a charlatan unworthy server
because this sadness spilling can’t save you
my only love

I’d be your drink
if I could squeeze salvation
from the fruit of our love;
let me be a grape
that I’d be crushed
for you to drink me well
———————————————————–
Secret Limerick

A depression to drink to a war
pusillanimous Chamberlain awed
but an Anschluss to ‘eight
‘oslovakia bait
the appeasement a launch for the war

She can try, she can lie, she can cry
for a list, for a tryst, kiss good-bye
a seduction of course
for ‘r freedom enforced
but as spies all the beautiful die

For a form unadorned, my forlorn
undertaken by sorrow at dawn
is to lay under death
for a world unimpressed
only she, if for me, would’ve mourned

For a whisper, she has died
a seduction in a
broken rhyme

Release her soul I pray,
but brave one:
I miss you
———————————————————–
Wait On Me

Future
I have none:
I was to be

Read to me
my love note–
I am cold in snow away

Could
I live ’till summer, please–
I’m afraid of heaven
for Mom ran me
away to a cheaper
place with a note

She
promised to come in summer
and no one loves me

If
she won’t come in time
no one in heaven will love me either

Best
toy with me
I will have, if
a mystery is solved

End
me up
high enough
to reach a kiss

See you
again
will I;
would you
love me like a kiss
from heaven
reaching
————————————————————–
Landing Love

Because you teach me in gentle ways
letting me save face in the midst
of my cherished ignorance,
I hope for you to have
everything but sorrow
even if they say
misery teaches. I am
surprised my darkness
has lifted us both
into the sky. Fly in
this plane

with me in comfort, because
you know my puffy eyes
did make those clouds
from tears you dried

Beautiful though clouds can be
from a window seat,
face me in the aisle
where angels will bring
hors d’oeuvres for thought
and plays about play
novel to us
in first class,
taught
with trays of flowers
grown below from
nourished thoughts
an arrangement of
fragrant joys unpacked
before landing
————————————————————–
After I’m Gone

by “Diane”**
*pseudonym for Douglas Gilbert

Hold my child for me
after I’m gone.
Don’t let his beloved rose
deceive him
peddling petals as love
when lust is merely
red gloss in vain

Hide his love from the orchid
Save him from the black widow spider

Let him be
a cool light
like a firefly
flashy, but
don’t let anyone
keep him in a jar

Let his gentle soul
shine my path,
buzz where
I have been
but better
than bitter
——————————————————————
Wilted Dreams

Hating roses is
a passion fate,
a habit like
throwing out
chocolate without cherries

You were a healer
nursed the saved
rose above the battle
fire for a while,
soothed the singed,
cauterized

I look for the
squiggle code on the chocolate:
it tells me which to save
which pure chocolate must go

For good luck
I gave you a rose
and a promise
for hot chocolate

Roses are red
I’ve heard, but
haven’t seen them
anymore;
hold your ghostly fire

I wrap all red cherries
in chocolate squiggles
never to giggle again,
to love roses wilted
———————————————————-
Paper Splinters

I took your letters
on a cut-rate cruise
on a broken-down freighter,
stowed you away
on an old antique desk
in the engine room
like treasure ashes

A sliver of wood will end me
splinters in my finger
blood drops in a broken draw

I saw you as a letter
gone flat
gone away
torn up

Tons of you are gone from piles
still a desk collapses
when worn down
unsupported
rocked and tossed

I tore you into confetti
threw you out in dry paper rain
into the ocean
written off
forgotten ink

A tiny piece of you
got wedged in a corner

Splinters in my finger
wet the corner scrap in red
just a word that
ends in a comma:
love
—————————————————
Riding

I imagine you drifting
in thoughts on the bus
by the window with
a mystery package

Hear me honk
see me as the bird
that flaps a clap
applauding your reverie

On your way, squealing
with the wheeling of the bus
I am the squeaky brakes
squawking to see you; I am
the roar of the engine

Wake up. Don’t
miss your stop
don’t drop your
precious package

Arrive soon, because
I can’t wait to
open you up
to ride with me
——————————————————————–
The Lip of Music

The romp of love beguiles, a playful horse
my heart a rider gripping spirit’s trip,
a bit of banter falls from saddled lips.
A candor canters, musical in source
a clip-clop hoofing it, my fruit is tossed.
Her lust like cantaloupes so sweetly quipped
yet love’s a cherry deeply red of lip
outspoken rips in bound’ries’ gorgeous loss

I know you love me mole and mountain bluff.
I show my cards, won’t raise to bluff a love.
It’s real this deal of sharing zeal, a bliss.
No gamble oneness riding thought enough
to join two souls, a coup by doves
who fly with coos to play the music’s kiss
————————————————————-
Train Platform

I feel small climbing the stairs
to the elevated track
stepping over broken ketchup packets
french fry wrappers
kids’ litter dropped by
catburglers who
steal scenery. Is my
train coming?

Yet there’s a foolish gal
who built a house nearby
who endures the clickety-clack for me
gives me solace, for
with the sun at my back
my shadow’s on her roof, but then

to let the sun climb with me
the morning clouds do stay away
on many days of huff and puff

In Spring at last
I last until
my shadow’s on her door

Tomorrow I shall be her Sun
who crosses streets to knock
——————————————————-
Of Ink

For you in my pen
my river meanders
into loops who spell me
spell you
flow so fondly

I will float you
if you’ll swim
into my envelope
open my
drawing of you to me

Drink me
read me
come splash me in the delta:
an ocean of love awaits us
—————————————————–
Good Dry Luck

Another day of drought
shallow is the water
soaring vultures wait

Smothered in hot air
my sweat beads

Lost in languid sensation
I rest hot for
a cloud not gloomy

But I must leave
the dregs of my home
my poor shallow lake
where we once swam
a swan and a duck
in love

We thought
in simplicity
love is enough, but

Sinking are dreams
in shallow waters
mud sucked

Before I go I walk
the lake bed
now dry

I find the ring
you lost in swimming

It says,
“you are my serendipity,
meet me at
the oasis of luck”

I have a camel to travel.
The creature and I
spit our good-byes, for
I know, my love
you wait at the oasis
———————————————–
Chalk

I was drawing with chalk on the sidewalk unappreciated
thought I saw you peeking behind the corner,
but a sudden rain washed all away,
too many falling sky erasers lately.

When the Sun comes out,
hide where I can find you
in secret sand-castle places
under my blanketed regrets,
surfing for your love
in seaweed long ago washed —
salty youth.

Give yourself away with a giggle, but
wear an adult smile
naked.

Draw me, and
dance where I can see you.

Never too many peek-a-boo days
for sunny buffing stuff,
birthday suited or not.
————————————————————
Cat Wine

She’s wondering
if there’s been
nearly enough verse in a year
to fill a potion glass with cat wine

If then, perhaps, half a tale more
will be enough this year
to lick happiness
catch the tickle feather
teach puppies to meow and fly,
pussies to howl at the moon,
or play with a ball invitation
where the poetess has
the Cinderella glass
half full enough
to dance with the
Prince without portfolio
who owns a pumpkin farm
where a couple of stars can
twinkle in rhythms like
a rhyme wine glistens
————————————————————
My Poem For Mommy Steno
(Fiction)

Mommy, a Lady’s writing
big hand for me with commas.
Did you write me down, and
everything? Ok. Here goes:
No wait a second. Ok, umm

Mommy don’t let me cry too much.

I didn’t mean to be mean
to Daddy when he yelled

Didn’t want to make you
go to jail

Mommy, I’ll let him
touch my breast again
if they’ll let you out
from jail

Has he gone to Heaven?

Foster people say
you’re trash

Mommy, forgive me.
Didn’t want you to kill Dad.

Mommy, don’t let me cry too much.

My poem. Is it good, Mommy?

Lady don’t cry. Make it good? Ok?
Make it pretty on good paper.
——————————————————————
Dandelion

I am so cold in August
trying to be a puff ball like a Dandelion,
wishing you’d look
at the seed ball as you blow:
each seed on little parachute
to carry onto
lawns of possibility.

Weeds wish to land,
embed and grow. But no,
no one will let the weed speak.

I am hot to plant an idea
even in winter.

Where is your greenhouse —
I am not merely fuzz: look closer
I am a soul on a parachute
hoping to land on a soul mate and
not to snag on a
telephone pole or power line.

Lawns are too pretty plain;
let me be a flower in the lapel of love
deserving a puff piece in the journal of fulfillment.
———————————————————————-
Running On Lemons

You are an inner voice
a trilling tone in my head;
though tart the prelude, a lick,
orchestration’s so sweet
it deeds me strolls
in muscle tone
by forests
by trees,
quadriceps
extending concepts
traversing
calf-fully guided by
a note
a step
a song —
groves revealed
escaping fruit

Unwinding,
getting a leg up on bliss
inner saunters drift
in gait to gates of mind
in wound up dilemmas
citrus revealed
completed lemonade
healing squeezes
stirring tastes
sweet dreams running wild to
walk me on water
float over to you, a
serenade splash
to pucker by
——————————————————
Torn By Love

Meager is the cry
of the baby, but
I have tried
not to tear
your torn tissues,
must ask your permission.

Grandmother,
I search for an amulet
to bring you
to soothe you. My
being is torn.

A girl of charm
not of tradition
is in my life, but
I am torn
by love
by being

Grandmother,
I do not wish
to be a tear of the eye
to streak a bloody torn cloth.

I am torn
by love
by being

Though meager was my cry
when you lost your daughter,
I have tried to be a prayer
for you and
for your daughter

Born of your
cries and screams
I pray

Grandmother,
you are
my precious Mother.
What charm may I bring you?

May I pray
for your daughter?
I wish I
had known her,
not caused
her death
though meager was my cry

I am torn
by love
by being.

Meet me
as I am
with gifts
with meager charms.

Grandmother,
there is a girl
who wishes to be
a woman with me.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

I pray in
many ways
we will all
grow together,
born into love
with your blessings.

Grandmother,
cry me into life
beyond tradition.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

Meet me
and her, your
new born-in-law, for

Loud and thunderous
is the cry of happiness

Join us in the rain,
Grandmother
—————————————————————————–
When Leaves Are Afloat

The chirping of sorrow in the shadows of broken wings
let’s too many birds of loneliness
fall prey to predators
who pounce on despair.

She is uncertain in the forest
if she should
sing or hide

Newly grown camouflage
seems to blossom and branch;
winds on tree tops tear off
a few deciduous victims
still green but detached
before the fall approaching

She has taped plastic sheeting
and cardboard
on her broken window, not letting
green leaves of happiness
fall in through her window,
not letting the fog drift in
that looks out onto the ocean
where his boat struggles
to land on her beach, but
is adrift in the fog, and
his horn seems
to not carry beyond where
she left her
beach blanket long ago.

Melancholy is the cry of the shipwrecked,
not knowing where the treasure lies,
mast lowered. Exquisite is

the flutter of pretty lashes
when he sails onto land
beyond the seagull’s cry
tacking into her breezes.

Guided only by a random leaf,
he sees her broken window
and tears apart the plastic
—————————————————–
In Right Stages

I’ve had sigh mornings
leaving sighs to mourn
the heave on traipse
on feet’s defeat
a hunched up shoulder,
looking for a walk-on day, say

I could have missed a cue
if you’d not staged a
run in radiance

In the running of my soul
you make me bullish
playing on my horns

Stages of my performance
in the footlights
of your delight
gives me this role
in run-ons
carried away with you
stage right into the wings of love
——————————————————
Morning Glory

She let me add
a climbing vine
to her garden

Those trumpets opened,
the blue flowers
in my every morning,
that yet still, today,
cry for sun.

The morning glories were
twisted around the fence —
the blue flowers were
our only compromise, because

I hated the red
crinkly marigolds
or whatever
the easy hardy ones were.
I hated the woody geraniums —
too tough.

I loved the delicate flowers
like her.

I liked the blues, asked
if we could plant a morning glory
as beautiful as her.

Every morning is like her:
beautiful and elegant
blue climbing

But she was too dainty to
climb higher that mortal trellis,
live longer than
a twist of fate.

I should have
grown her with thorns
prickly but strong,
made her an immortal rose, but
I could not.
—————————————————-
Swallow Me

If you could only hum me
when my voice is like a swallow,
I would follow you
in every flight
and even folly

You please me;
you see me, and
we are ecstasy, darling

I swallow daring
to awake, and
take to wing
my praises:

I love you, and hover
on every phrase you sing

I can sing
for every day
I know that you are with me

Kiss me like you miss me
and I know I will always follow

I know you,
you show me, I
can be our song

Swallow me forever, so
I will be your lover

I love you,
forever

Please be
in my song, ’cause

I have always hummed you
even in my every daydream.

I love you,
forever

a rainbow symphony.

— Douglas Gilbert

Poems About Hurricanes

Poems About Hurricanes

Katrina

The Sink

Hey, I’ve known poor Mississippi
years ago (lynchings) run out,
ran to New Orleans
got a gig
played didn’t stay
jammed in Chicago

Hey, I’m hot in France
got millions for my blues
learned me sadness well
been to Italy too

Déjà vu my Venice
Louisiana mud
wakes my horn

I blow wakes
into funeral bowls that
leach blood gumbo

In mud my
Mississippi meandering
lays my delta sorrow out

When water taps were dry
some taps on roofs were heard
some taps in fact
were played in death
an act of attics sealed

Because death lived in levees corrupt
the Saints can’t march in threes
by Convention Center guts
Trudging in Louisiana mud
wakes my delta sorrow
lets my borrowed
Mississippi horn meander

Hey, making me a solo Mardi gras
with a Bourbon in Paris
’cause the spirits are
telling me to celebrate

Hey, I do great tears, but
really, I know, the heroes
will yet be known
yet inspire:
I celebrate my heroes

———————————————————–

Irene

The Goddess of Hurricane Irene

Girl, I put a note in a bottle
for Hurricane Irene to carry away:
don’t know where you’ve gone again

Country girl, I know
you always liked to
climb into the sky on your slinky tree
when you were like a cougar on the prowl,
could move me purrr-fectly well

but if only you hadn’t
always moved away
though playfully
you seemed to know you moved me

but I could never track you up a tree, and
only thought that cougars could fly

Maybe if I’d wrapped you in corn silk
and known the kernel of your heart
you’d have thought me more than husk, but

I’ve put a note in a bottle
for Hurricane Irene.

Bechance, once, I saw you do
a whirl-wind dance on the bridge
your hair like glancing rays, you
crossing with the sun and with your smile
and I thought you’d stay in the city
be giddy with me in the wild dance
in the curl up

Surf’s swirling on the beach so I
put a love note in a bottle.

Oh folksy girl, for you I’ve cared; don’t know why
you’d ever say I’d be a tiger suitor
whose roar would make you
more nervous than
“a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

You’ve covered over the bridge of our relationship
and moved to Vermont where storms never reach
said we’re washed up, but

For impossible things I’ve
put a note in a bottle, started to
“nail jelly to the wall”
way back on the boarded up farm
and I’m looking for a tornado, because

Take note:
you’d always said you’d love me
when pigs fly, and
hurricanes reach Vermont

———————————————————————

When Storms Cry Out, Cry In

To the beach
she was called to bless
the lifeguard shack
anchored in the sand

The lifeguards had laughed, expecting some incense,
hadn’t known her son had drowned, not known
her hope was jettisoned in the ocean, while
she had searched for potions of resurrection

She had begun her vocation with grit,
had tried to summon any spirit of his
when other ghosts came in the wash
and she had never seen him again —
had tumble-down cried out
cried in, for
her son had drowned

As a joke, to the shack
the lifeguards summoned her, a
psychic of some sort, they thought
the night before the storm

But she had cried in
cried out, must have known their guilt

No one would boast
they had seen the ghost,
though charming Irene
was a namesake

She’d stay alone for meditation
and chanting into the waves, only
the eldest shuddering when she said,
“I’ll lock up when I’m done.” He
remembered the one trapped in the shack
in the storm heard only as “THE ONE”

She went up to the roof
to look at the stars
and they departed with their vodka and beer

Irene heard howls from the bathroom
as foam surrounded the shack
a smell of seaweed and of a fisherman’s corpse

A psychic of some sort
she was washed out to sea,
crying out
crying in

Come to the light, Mom
he said, and

now every foamy year
with seaweed and corpses
a shack and a lifeguard are lost

———————————————-

Walking Near the River

This cane ain’t gonna walk me far out
’cause my mortgage is underwater
and so is my house, a drowning house
that’s washed under and over the
splintered bridge in the trees down
around every tangled timber, twisted limb
far from where I was born

Everyone’s been drowning and
wish it were me, ’cause
this old cane can’t carry me home
to West Virginia (just kidding) —
have to sing awhile you know
’cause old cane and me
we’re old stick-in-the-muds
and it can’t carry me home
Sweet Chariot (just kidding maybe)
but I have to sing awhile, ’cause
my home is underwater
like my mortgage and my wife

Seems everyone’s been drowning but me
I sing, ’cause I swing low
like a stick-in-the-mud
up a river of lost bridges and twisted limbs

————————————————————-

Sandy

On Sand and Steps

Without power
dark and hungry
hurricane charms.

None could wash away
Sandy sorrow and surges
when too many steps
needed to be taken urgently.

My thigh hurts from a pull
because I am unreal, ungraceful
in keeping blind rhythm masterfully
unreal for walking in the dark, and
I fell at the bottom of the stairs
flying like a fledgling on nested steps
catching my foot on an invisible edge

She said to
turn off my flashlight
because the looters she knew
would know she left her apartment

She needed to charge her phone
to talk to her real friends
in the real world

Seems that I, being unreal,
can’t see in the dark,
missed a step,
fell, and
we went to
charge her cell phone
near the security booth
where they hide guards
and do nothing, a light light
house like Potemkin’s façade

There’s a generator at the booth
where she can charge her cell phone
talk to her real friends
in the real world

Unreal in the dark
without heat
without hot water
wet faces are not washed
dirty, filthy tides cry, but

the ocean is more beautiful
and magnificent than the mud
of the tidal marauders, and
the seagulls sang more sweetly
than the people on the street
as I wandered through debris
on the beach with flashlight on
watching a Dredge pipe spray
new sand for replenishment
new food for seagulls, and
food for thought that
wiggles like worms and clam bits

A few skillful birds caught
long pieces of food
and each had five
other birds attack it

A few snatched little pieces
that they ate surreptitiously

Some just enough
for air-to-air to beak combat

Many got none and
one stood away from
the main torrent of muddy water
not seeming to care
wading without waiting

I mumbled you’ll never
get anything that way

It barked at me

Why did you bark?
I blurted

If I chirped
would you pay attention?

It knew a good sand bar
so it flew and landed
flew and landed
so I could follow it

I walked across some rocks
onto a sand bar bizarre, and
an unopened bottle of whiskey
freely floated onto the bar to a stop

I poured some rye
into the whiskey’s cap
let the seagull drink
and wink at me as I
drank from the bottle

Foam rose
time to go

Alone with a thought
it seemed more articulate
than a parrot distraught; thus
it bravely rested on my shoulder
and I brought it home

I was so cold but
I lit the oven aglow
and put up some water
to boil, bravissimo

It asked me to open
cans of clams and sardines
which I gladly did, amen
seeing as I needed an ending
to the orphan joke: a man
walked into a bar along with
a barking seagull, a chirping dog
a priest, and the bartender spoke…

I thought I had been quite a good host
but then it asked if I could
charge its cell phone…

That’s when I cooked it.
It tasted like chicken in wine
blessed by a priest and a bartender.

— Douglas Gilbert

i wasted hours trying to fix a photo and now what.the orginal was too dark & now i have colorful ugly or something

I wasted hours trying to fix a photo. Lighter,lighter, lighter, over this section and ooops. Get some more color, oops. change color, ugly, ooops. Maybe just change in one area and… clashes with another…/

So now what? I should do a painting from scratch except I can’t paint or draw which is why I’ve been trying to use photos which I apparently can’t do either… now I have to call back the storm and the dredge company and tell them to come back so I can make a new photo… they’re not returning my calls.. this is the original

nice sun but where’s everything else…

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Poems About Hurricane Sandy: ” On Sand and Steps “


On Sand and Steps

Without power
dark and hungry
hurricane charms.

None could wash away
Sandy sorrow and surges
when too many steps
needed to be taken urgently.

My thigh hurts from a pull
because I am unreal, ungraceful
in keeping blind rhythm masterfully
unreal for walking in the dark, and
I fell at the bottom of the stairs
flying like a fledgling on nested steps
catching my foot on an invisible edge

She said to
turn off my flashlight
because the looters she knew
would know she left her apartment

She needed to charge her phone
to talk to her real friends
in the real world

Seems that I, being unreal,
can’t see in the dark,
missed a step,
fell, and
we went to
charge her cell phone
near the security booth
where they hide guards
and do nothing, a light light
house like Potemkin’s façade

There’s a generator at the booth
where she can charge her cell phone
talk to her real friends
in the real world

Unreal in the dark
without heat
without hot water
wet faces are not washed
dirty, filthy tides cry, but

the ocean is more beautiful
and magnificent than the mud
of the tidal marauders, and
the seagulls sang more sweetly
than the people on the street
as I wandered through debris
on the beach with flashlight on
watching a Dredge pipe spray
new sand for replenishment
new food for seagulls, and
food for thought that
wiggles like worms and clam bits

A few skillful birds caught
long pieces of food
and each had five
other birds attack it

A few snatched little pieces
that they ate surreptitiously

Some just enough
for air-to-air to beak combat

Many got none and
one stood away from
the main torrent of muddy water
not seeming to care
wading without waiting

I mumbled you’ll never
get anything that way

It barked at me

Why did you bark?
I blurted

If I chirped
would you pay attention?

It knew a good sand bar
so it flew and landed
flew and landed
so I could follow it

I walked across some rocks
onto a sand bar bizarre, and
an unopened bottle of whiskey
freely floated onto the bar to a stop

I poured some rye
into the whiskey’s cap
let the seagull drink
and wink at me as I
drank from the bottle

Foam rose
time to go

Alone with a thought
it seemed more articulate
than a parrot distraught; thus
it bravely rested on my shoulder
and I brought it home

I was so cold but
I lit the oven aglow
and put up some water
to boil, bravissimo

It asked me to open
cans of clams and sardines
which I gladly did, amen
seeing as I needed an ending
to the orphan joke: a man
walked into a bar along with
a barking seagull, a chirping dog
a priest, and the bartender spoke…

I thought I had been quite a good host
but then it asked if I could
charge its cell phone…

That’s when I cooked it.
It tasted like chicken in wine
blessed by a priest and a bartender.

— Douglas Gilbert

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On Sand and Steps (Draft 3) [I added a bunch of new stuff at the end. don’t know if i can fix it all together for Draft 22…]

On Sand and Steps (Draft 3)

None could wash away
Sandy sorrow and surges
when too many steps
needed to be taken urgently.

My thigh hurts from a pull
because I am unreal, ungraceful
in keeping blind rhythm masterfully
unreal for walking in the dark, and
I fell at the bottom of the stairs
flying like a fledgling on nested steps
catching my foot on an invisible edge

She said to
turn off my flashlight
because the looters she knew
would know she left her apartment

She needed to charge her phone
to talk to her real friends
in the real world

Seems that I, being unreal,
can’t see in the dark,
missed a step,
fell, and
we went to
charge her cell phone
near the security booth
where they hide guards
and do nothing, a light light
house like Potemkin’s façade

There’s a generator at the booth
where she can charge her cell phone
talk to her real friends
in the real world

Unreal in the dark
without heat
without hot water
wet faces are not washed
dirty, filthy tides cry, but

the ocean is more beautiful
and magnificent than the mud
of the tidal marauders, and
the seagulls sang more sweetly
than the people on the street
as I wandered through debris
on the beach with flashlight on
watching a Dredge pipe spray
new sand for replenishment
new food for seagulls, and
food for thought that
wiggles like worms and clam bits

A few skillful birds caught
long pieces of food
and had five
other birds attack it

A few snatched little pieces
that they ate surreptitiously

Some just enough
for air-to-air to beak combat

Many got none and
one stood away from
the main torrent of muddy water
not seeming to care
wading without waiting

I mumbled you’ll never
get anything that way

It barked at me

Why did you bark?
I blurted

If I chirped
would you pay attention?

It knew a good sand bar
so it flew and landed
flew and landed
so I could follow it

I walked across some rocks
onto a sand bar
and an unopened bottle of whiskey
floated onto the bar

I poured some
into the cap
for it to drink
and I drank from the bottle

It seemed more articulate
than a talking parrot
so I let it rest on my shoulder
and I took it home

I was cold so
I lit the oven
and put up some
water to boil

It asked me to open
cans of clams and sardines
which I gladly did
seeing as I needed an
ending to the joke:
a man walks into a bar
with a barking seagull, a chirping dog
and a priest, and the bartender says…

I thought I had been quite a good host
but then it asked if I could
charge its cell phone…

That’s when I cooked it.
It tasted like chicken in wine
blessed by a priest and a bartender.

— Douglas Gilbert

On Sand and Steps (Draft 2)

On Sand and Steps

None could wash away
Sandy sorrow and surges
when too many steps
needed to be taken urgently.

My thigh hurts from a pull
because I am unreal, ungraceful
in keeping blind rhythm masterfully
unreal for walking in the dark, and
I fell at the bottom of the stairs
flying like a fledgling on nested steps
catching my foot on an invisible edge

She said to
turn off my flashlight
because the looters she knew
would know she left her apartment

She needed to charge her phone
to talk to her real friends
in the real world

Seems that I, being unreal,
can’t see in the dark,
missed a step,
fell, and
we went to
charge her cell phone
near the security booth
where they hide guards
and do nothing, a light light
house like Potemkin’s façade

There’s a generator at the booth
where she can charge her cell phone
talk to her real friends
in the real world

Unreal in the dark
without heat
without hot water
wet faces are not washed
dirty, filthy tides cry, but

the ocean is more beautiful
and magnificent than the mud
of the tidal marauders, and
the seagulls sang more sweetly
than the people on the street
as I wandered through debris
on the beach with flashlight on
watching a Dredge pipe spray
new sand for replenishment
new food for seagulls, and
food for thought that
wiggles like worms and clam bits

— Douglas Gilbert