Time for a swim

Rose said a woman’s heart

is an ocean of secrets.

And let me tell you,

that little old lady,

with the big diamond,

was as true as eternity.

But something more,

a woman’s heart

is an ocean for a second reason;

the tide comes in and out,

but the motion rarely changes.

That rare day though,

when change is about,

and the passion,

the unknowable depth

you could just sink into-

suddenly changes,

you won't know why.

You never will.

The one thing though,

that you will know.

There is no changing her back,

at least not by your will,

so dive now,

headfirst into those depths

while the pull is in your favor,

for if you hesitate,

all may be lost.

Night

A poem I wrote recently as part of a short story; the formatting is off from the original:

Night

enter the empty ness

it’s quiet here still

there was so much sunshine yesterday

yesterday

something about that

yesterday

music. a melody. a simple, soft, sweet

I had the thought once that such a nice hymn could save me from these depths, should I ever fall down here again. It only makes sense then that the name of it has slipped my mind

yesterday, everything was grand

I still felt the worst part   maybe this it’s not even depression

there is feeling in that. depression. but none of that. stuck in a rut

no. that isn’t even right. what an insult. a rut could be escaped easily. a rut is laziness.

what of this. this quiet. there is a light coming from the hallway, but the silence kills it

i put a record on earlier  something from the twenties my grandma’s favorite

that was at my high so happy I danced around and around like being at one of those World War I deployment dances how grand

I can dance no one knows it men can’t dance well  well we’re not supposed to

aren’t we supposed to be goofs? the butt of the joke? they say misandry isn’t real.

they say a lot of things.

men have cycles too. there is no other way to explain it why I cry every third week

never for any real reason usually a memory does it      the worst part, it’s a happy one

and I think about what I had joy music no life isn’t terrible now

it’s great I think  I don’t know what I could want, would want different life was a constant struggle before the small things that’s gone

it just is now I hate that I need to fight for it

what a death it is to die of emptyness without a fight..no because lack of fight

can I make that my fight ? fighting for a fight? how strange.

I have to do something there is no real empty

can’t forget He is with me always.

Forever.

Looking back

We barely knew each other,

so I am sure I am wrong

in my memory.

Surely, we had something

even if nothing.

I remember your eyes,

they chained up my heart,

and I see the pictures now.

They aren't everything,

but my mind fills in the blanks.

Our paths met so briefly;

a star-crossed love,

you couldn’t even call it that.

It wasn’t love.

But then why?! Why runs my heart

sprinting through these pictures,

but my heart can only speed along

as fast as you upload. It wants more.

Not more pictures.

A heart knows where it belongs.

…

Have you ever been so sure of your life...so sure about where you have been and where you have come? And then one day, one moment, you see a picture, a simple picture, a smiling face from the past, and the sureness you felt a moment before is shattered into a hundred tiny pieces, as if they were the pieces of the mirror of destiny. Did you take a wrong turn somewhere? That can’t be. Not when you feel so sure about everything else. But, it’s funny. This one face which seems out of place, for it is both long gone and as present as ever, seems more important than any other thing you have done. As if this one decision is all there is to fate. Everything is meaningless without this one piece. This one girl.

Tuesday morning rain

Tuesday morning rain.

It may seem depressing,

but listen carefully.

Listen to the song it plays

with many harmonies

on the grass,

the trees,

the rooftops,

the sidewalks.

Listen to the song it plays

and you will hear 

not Tuesday morning rain,

but a symphony.

Tuesday morning rain.

New poem- It's been awhile

All aboard!

Charlie, this is your train, don’t think
or miss it
I know your heart wants here
but as soon as the train departed
the poison of lost dreams would flow
from your heart
you will find that leaving is bitter
it’s own poison
for this world
which there is no antidote for
although the pain can be subdued
through dreams
and failures

either way is an end
but one is change
and you know how it ends here


and maybe the only consolation in leaving
is the fulfillment of curiosity in learning
a different end
a new beginning
unpredictable things

go