If I breathe, I breathe for thee
And every gasp of me doth resonate
With joyful air from ground to grove,
To mackerel sky above and back to me.
I breathe, I breathe for thee -
And atoms that we share agree.
oh
cast me
on the sea of you
like an ocean flower
lapping in the throw of tide
oh how you make me crave
the dive and clasp of pearls
the shifting sands below
from which I might rise
to driftwood breeze
and clips of wave
on sunset skin
triumphant in
the undertow
of you.
oh
throw me
onto ebb and flow
immersed in mysteries
that you alone can show
oh let me sail on motion rolls
that mark your seabound tack
on charts of journeys made -
by flowers lost then found
but never coming back
oh lift me, away…
drag me onto you
then into wonders
that only now
I dare to
know.
I was a black hearted storm,
Giant in the crack of sky.
Telling all to cower and hide
Like sodden lads shivering
Below cracked windowsills
And hidings from drip and drain.
I sent them daggers of rain
From a sudden underworld,
Sliced the air into fragments
Of stilled and hushed awe,
Undoing the buckle and brace
Of comfortable lives.
Then, I scratched the skies.
Gave them electric glint
Connected ground and cloud
To signal my amusement
And spun them like reels
Reaching end of spool !
Above, I laughed on.
Enjoying the drama
Of this pretence
Over these scurried ants
Seeking shelter’s vanity
Below the leaves that blow.
But then, I felt subdued
And muted in intent.
I saw the ground below
In circle of season’s clash,
Sensed the cries of broken corn
And their angled stalks in bow.
Did I feel remorse?
Did my hesitation signal
Limitation of my force?
I stopped, and sniffed
The air and earth below -
All fine with harvest’s scent.
There is nothing,
but this addiction.
This driving force
that forgoes good intent
to stay away, to just ignore
this all-day ache that grows
from worse to worse
and back again.
I don’t want
to speak
to you tonight
of moon or chemistry,
of souls or complex minds,
but I am marooned
by instinct’s pull
to bow again to you -
the reason for these
shuffled words.
There are things
I should be doing,
away from thoughts
of you, with your hold
as strong as honeydew
that gently catches me.
You are everything
and everywhere.
Lost in you, I am
abandoned in sweet hold -
blind and blurred by the
touch and flood
of you that makes me
forget these things
I should be doing
yet still remain
undone.
We kiss like Chinese fish
Like loaded inkbrush strokes -
Circling grain and ancient turn
(The kind you see in father’s books).
Like loaded inkbrush strokes -
We are dipped and saturated
Playful, but disciplined in arc and flow
Swept below the dark-watered lilies of night.
We are dipped and saturated
Circling grain and ancient turn
Swept below the dark-watered lillies of night,
We kiss like Chinese fish.
Dad
once kicked a ball
so high - I swear,
it disappeared
into the clouds
higher than the stunt kites
he taught us how to fly.
That’s how it seemed,
and I remember
the green of the park.
This was the day
when we found a weir
(the one I lost my shoe in)
teeming with flashing trout,
and I was just so proud
when he cast his line
and reeled them in.
Speaking of water,
we sometimes stayed
on his cabin boat.
Named after us kids it was.
We didn’t see him much,
so these were special times
that always ended with
wind-tinkling masts
and exciting next day plans.
He was a captain,
with an adoring crew.
And, he had THAT look too!
His jazz look.
It would embarrass me so -
all beatnik crazy.
Nodding, finger-popping,
shouting “yeah”,
with starey eyes
and big band styled
hep cat smiles.
Ah, If only
I’d realised then.
I’d want to write
a thousand lines,
a million words or more -
about him, about laughter
about amazement - about growing up.
But that’s selfish,
so I won’t.