History vs. Novelty

The ghosts of our forgotten intentions

are hard to resurrect.

When the light of dawn breaks,

we are called to move forward.


When it's history versus novelty

there is a choice to stay or go,

but newness washes over us

erasing our memories in the sand.


The ghosts of forgotten intentions

come swiftly in the night

sprinkling our dreams with emotions

awakening us to what was.


The tide drags in a conch shell to our past,

and the cycle of sunsets

remind us we are always who we were.

Lily Pad Love

He cast the line

hooking a gill

to struggle would be hopeless.

This is how one becomes a fish out of water.

The lesser of two evils

both painful

I surrender

rising to the surface

like through a pool of molasses.

Breaking the tension

gasping for air

I am bated and open

like a lily pad

flowering in the rain.

On Returning from Burma

She felt a deep connection

that threatened her reliance on structure

old fables rushed through her

providing some much needed wisdom.

You can lead a horse to water

but it's a choice to take the plunge.

And the tepid and shallow sands

gave way to dark immeasurable fathoms.

With the stars and a sailors compass,

she left her life raft by the shore

and followed the constellation

of her awakened desire.

Nerves

"Out of the arms of one love and into the arms of another."

Like motor memory on replay,

the pathways ignite,

sending the usual signals.

The tension of lusts life force

hanging on a crescendo of awakening.

Maybe this time I'll learn something

and move beyond the fleeting confines of my body

trusting once in a connection

that's more than just visceral

The New

Can't sleep and work at 8 a.m.

This year takes off with a piece of my composure.

My joints ache. I am writhing.

Wringing out the contents of my mind,

and watering the floor with my sorrows.

Heartstrings like roots give way to garden weeds,

the product of my own disinterest,

the ghost of plentiful times.