Weathered Wood

 

 

Weathered Wood,  February 20, 2004,  JFA

 

 

How beautiful,

How fragile.

 

What a moment.

 

So supple,

So innocent,

 

Pondering your look,

Your stare,

Your gaze,

 

What do you dare think?

Your mind dreams and my mind pitches.

 

I pitch into the deepest part of your being.

 

Swirl in the air,

Conversation surrounds,

You center my thoughts,

And fix my mind.

 

I am the pleasure prisoner.

 

Captive.

 

In you.

 

Mesmerized.

 

I love, forever.

 

I am drawn to you,

You are my light,

Suffer me death,

But let me rest in you.

 

Life is always filled with uncertainty.

There is danger in the unsure.

But, love with you is constant.

 

I am compelled,

To write my love of you.

 

In you,

I am.

 

I am inspired,

I am created,

I am loved,

I am found, in you.

 

For months I wondered, in our quest.

 

We loved, in every day.

 

We have traveled,

Been lost,

And found,

In love.

 

Upon the cliffs of Superior,

Lost in the sand.

You and me,

With a beer.

You and me,

Hand in hand.

 

Your eyes are;

Constant,

Captivating,

A mystery.

 

Lost in your look,

Found in your arms.

You are everything to me.

 

I am stacked,

I am driftwood.

On the beach,

Your footsteps,

In the sand,

Find me where I lay.

 

You touch my weathered wood,

You wondered where I have been,

And how I have come to you,

Here on the shore,

On the beach.

 

Alone on the beach,

You sit with me,

Your fingers fumble,

On water’s weep,

Your soul touches me.

 

Deep.

 

Your fingers,

Are

In

Me.

 

 

February 20, 2004, Caribou Coffee, Royal Oak, with Teri in mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kelly’s Canoe

 

 

Kelly’s Canoe – February 12, 2001

 

 

Paddle with me in my canoe,

in the glistening sun on this day a new.

 

Pearls of water stream off the tip of the paddle,

birthing a kiss to echo the water and tattle.

 

Ripples whispering on this calm dew morning,

of the waters so deep, so deep with warning,

 

Ominously echoed by the chilled spring air:

“Immerse yourself in the waters if you dare”,

 

“Be as one in the water that flows,

through this treed cathedral majestic in rows”.

 

A midst the trees rises the morning steam, through

It’s spires we slip quiet and unseen.

 

The water laps the rocks, and our senses are bathed,

the sound of gurgling bubbles fill our souls and we are saved.

 

Our souls extend to the riverbed,

in quiet stillness to the shores our spirit is led.

 

Through the narrows we bend and turn,

flowing as one, our love is learned.

 

Hearts and minds gathered at last,

thrilled by life’s river that runs so fast.

 

Now, the water so still, we lay on our backs,

free from all thought, our minds untaxed.

 

Into the cool waters our hands dip deep,

into our minds it’s vastness does seep.

 

The sun kisses my face and I am gone,

rising above the river, I am the new dawn.

 

The sky so blue beyond the hills expanse,

envelopes my mind in awe and entranced.

 

We are complete in these wonders abound,

yoked in the water our soul is found.

 

In the waters we stand naked and true,

committed to all we will live through.

 

Rivers of fire run through joined hands,

deep like roots into the earth we stand.

 

Firmly we hold to all that is here,

embracing our arms to what is most dear.

 

Enveloped by feelings that have come to show,

The more we feel the less we know.

 

Taken by the water, we are born anew,

You and I, in this canoe.

 

 

Life’s Dear Breath

 

Life’s Dear Breath – February 7, 2001 – JFA

 

 

Life is short, and life is sweat,

But amongst the bitters lays the meat.

 

All who travel here are fairly warned,

that you shall not pass without due scorn.

 

For pretty as life may be,

there is no joy for those who pay no fee,

 

I have seen the life of those greater and less;

but no one escapes from life’s daunting mess.

 

So cock your head brightly, and laugh without fear,

For life is for living, not just for tears.

 

Tears may come and tears may go,

But I will reap the love the love that I sow.

 

So to my children I give this charge,

To let your love shine and let it be large.

 

Capture the hearts and set them free,

Come sit for awhile and be with me.

 

For I will love forever, forever until,

We sit by the waters that run so still.

 

And crossing the river as we all must do,

Holding your hand, you loving me and me loving you.

 

Be with me now in this love so grand,

The past and the future right here were we stand.

 

For sinews of life, are sinews of love,

Let your life fly as free as a dove.

 

No earthly bonds upon your feet,

Rise to the sky to your heavenly seat.

 

Realize where you now do stand,

Not on this earth, not on this land.

 

But in the sky so far above,

You will find the nature of our love.

 

To this I hope, that you understand,

That I am more than human, more than a man.

 

And yes, I have seen life’s beauty afar,

But my quest is beyond beauty and a mind in a jar.

 

For love is more powerful, than life’s dear breath,

So there is my statement and there is my rest.

 

 

 

 

Nothing shared, vast vagueness remains

 I wrote this in a bar after work, in Harbor Springs Michigan while drink McEwans and thinking of you.

 

None of the poems matter,

if all of the poems are alone.

Who shall read,

if no one is intended.

 

And without attention,

without focus,

without subject,

only vast vagueness remains.

 

No one to center.

No one to focus.

 

Without you in Paris,

What does it matter?

To walk alone in a waste.

 

What would the cascading lights of Paris be,

But accent to the shadows.

Lonely footsteps echo,

Parked cars stand alone.

 

Having walked this earth,

it is better alone than embittered.

But alone I am,

and still there is no peace,

no full cup.

 

Nothing shared,

is nothing.

 

No meaning is there in empty,

lonely times.

 

Alone in time,

is quiet,

and quite alone.

 

I drink alone.

Still, I think of you.

 

Wishing for the good times,

forgetting the bad.

 

Sober I’ll be tomorrow,

and tomorrow without you,

wishing it could have been different.

 

Romance.

 

How good were the good times?

How sweet it was.

What bitterness,

crawled in?

Critical,

and discontent.

 

If only love could have loosened the ropes,

that bound us to hard childhood hurt.

How they stretched to our present,

and choked the light.

 

What freedom,

would there have been,

if we could have been freed.

 

Sober now,

I think of you.

In vast vagueness,

I remember you.

 

Foggy is the hurt,

clear is the sweet.

Firmly I remember,

I hurt you.

 

 

2008 08 15  jfa

 

 

Still MisUnderstood

 

 

You think it is odd I think of you,

You laugh and say; “Oh Jerry”.

 

Leaving Harbor Springs at 4am,

I wind my way across M58,

Left turn, Right turn,

Fearing that some deer might wake this early.

 

Turning south from Wolverine,

The glint of day break bathes this Independence Day.

 

Traveling South for hours

While all are still asleep,

The road gently turns

And no one crowds me.

 

I am free of the madding crowd,

I am free of all things.

I drive slowly.

How peaceful it is.

 

Hours go by in silence,

I turn on the radio.

Vague remembrance of songs from long ago,

My pallet is wet, but my senses are not painted.

 

I turn to my CDs,

Gina Nanani, Albioni’s Adagio in “G”,

None of these will due,

In debt, I reach for you.

 

Your CD,

Your voice rings clear and true.

Nothing sweeter,

Nothing more true.

 

It is not odd I think of you,

Up in Northern Michigan.

Where I met your soul by the camp fire.

Where you laughed as you held your toast on a stick.

 

Where we sailed on Traverse Bay,

And when we drove around Lake Superior.

On the boat from Mackinaw, I laid my head in your lap at Sundown,

And through the fog, the Sun’s last light warmed the Sea,

The muted bridge in soft distance gray.

You stroked my hair.

 

I sat this morning in your garden of Purple;

Maroon leaves distant to my left,

Crowd the view.

To my right , Purple vines cascade the fence.

 

I swing in your beach swing:

Rusted and true to time and memories.

 

Little violet spires of Russian Sages,

Poke into the cold patio,

And call me to your garden.

 

Oh, how can I think of you?

How can I not?

 

Oh, silly Jerry!

Silly me,

Silly you.

 

 

2008 06 05