My Poetry

 

I've written but five poems in my life.

Love Me Little, Love Me Long

Love is not a forest fire that burns intensely,
hotly and out of control for a brief moment until,
its expendable fuel spent,
it sputters,
seeking in vain for something else to consume,
to sustain itself before, finally,
it dies:
cold, black ash the only evidence of its passing.

 

Love is, instead, a campfire:
it provides ample heat and comfort
to the twosome who sit before it,

and although its flames may at times wane,
a well-tended campfire’s embers can be nurtured and fanned
until the flames once again dance brightly and cheerfully,
providing comfort to the couple who care to cherish
the gentle warmth it ministers.

Autumn Love

For my wife, Colleen—my April, my autumn love

 

For April love blossoms

forever hopeful,

to color life’s penultimate season

and warm its denouement.

F-r-a-g-m-e-n-t-e-d

I sought, learned, and grew,
desired, dreamt, and hoped.

 

Although caring, I feared risk,
risking mightily, carelessly, where I ought not to have.

 

Fragmented,
aching and grieving and weeping,
I longed, oh, so longed,
to connect...

 

... with those with whom I shared a room for brief moments:
a father more marine than Dad;
women my desire for their flesh I mistook for love;
people who entered and left, oblivious of my presence.

 

And in dying,
in taking my final breath,
in retrospect and with great regret,
I realized no one would ever again say my name…

 

I would be—

Ode to a Cigar

Hecho a mano;

Honduran-grown Cuban seed leaf unites

Nicaraguan and Honduran tabac.

Extra fuerte—leaf lover’s delight.

Morning bean’s Sancho Panza,

single malt’s midnight denouement.

Strike the cedar,

Erato reveals herself…

Let there be smoke!

Choose to Love

Falling in love risks falling out of love.

 

Love is a choice:

When the hormones simmer;

when life becomes everyday, or trying;

when life’s obstacles appear insuperable;

when the mask drops and we see our partner for who they are—

beyond that first pull of magnetism and desire for their flesh…

the superficial, what they wished us to see…

and we’re tempted to walk away, abandon them—

when we see their faults and deficiencies and inadequacies,

their human frailties,

and choose to not look away…

That’s love.

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