Tilt

The tears have dried in the stillness

As if yet the silence might roar

In some distant time

In some instantaneously infamous place

It is I think a good question:

Did she ever read the Italo Calvino

Six Memos for the Millennium I mean

A present that I gave her

Did she pick up her pen & write

As I asked of her. Did I appreciate

The beauty that she introduced me to

Do we unfairly put upon our lovers

Do we overload, with expectations

Our friends, relatives, employers and patrons

These I think are good questions:

Did she share my views, my sensitivities

My desires

My incomprehensible flirtations

Did I empathise, or collaborate

Or listen, or co-operate or in any way

By being useful or helpful

The good questions just keep on coming:

Should I expect you to understand how we were

Does it matter that you did not know us

Neither to understand, how & why we were together

If though I tell you; of boating lakes & outdoor

Moonlit Shakespearean theatre, tell you, of vacations

& soft seashores; nights of passionate lovemaking

Does that that require further good questions

I tell you all of this so that you may work out; why we

Are estranged; why we did not communicate

Also to tell me, if, after eight years apart

Is this an unhealthy obsession, have I missed my

Way on the path of grieving, or is it healthy, and

Reasonable to still pour out these words of love lost

This is the last of the good questions, the rest is up to you

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Doubtful

I wouldn’t take it past the line end

Unless I was certain of my position

Better to be unsure

Better than being mellow

I wouldn’t try to find a rhymed blend

Other than the strength of my indecision

Better to be blue

Better than being yellow

I wouldn’t close or sign the letter off

Without the crisscross of my derision

Better to be lured

Better than being a good fellow

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Transit Stop

Even while doing nothing

One wants to do less

As we worry and bother

We settle for the stress

That first caress, nevertheless

Carries a rare perfume

Unzipping her dress

In a warm, candlelit room

The tune is minimalist

Piano played; key by key

Out across the runway mist

Nothing more, but, I want to be

Redeemed by the deeper kiss

Whose mistress knows no bounds

Her sounds float towards the bliss

Infiniteness, from sky to ground

That we found in his mind, by

A kind meditation, on the curved

Crescent of a station, sensations

Of pasts, absorbed by those present

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Recliners

Her legs move, as would a lovers legs

She begs to stretch out

To the tips of her extremities

There is a small delay

As if the dream

Is warning the stroll of her fingers

She lingers, takes time out

To check her nails; she fails

Entirely to distract my attention

I only mention this

As an old man in an airport

With all the while to cream off

The edges of his youth

Long past searching for truth

He is becoming a fan of erotica

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

R & R

Almost the final patrons

In the university museum cafe

Until two sisters enter

Glasses, worn for indignation

Which may soon be released

If the counter staff do not return

Why would I make it difficult

Keep it sweet, keep it short

Keep it within the limitations

I often make ill defined connections

From this obscurity to that, from

One nowhere circumstance, to another

As in the letters

Where the flow is lost;

One river stops

One river starts

Discontinuing their

Breaks in continuity

Where tired shoes tramp off

Without guidance; their footfalls

Fall where footfalls have always fallen

Stolen, from the lack of a campaign

Without cause enough to believe in

As if to say: Yes, I am treading water

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop