I find my thoughts migrate to you..

..even as I read.

The words on the page become your face, your eyes,

the moment before you speak.

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

.. like traveling to a familiar place.

And in that journey – there is no ache, no need,

no feeling of incomplete.

As if in our busy strides we accidentally landed side by side.

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

..and strangely I feel patient and trust the unrevealed steps.

Strangely my heart can flutter while my feet still touch the ground,

walking forward on my path – seeing you on yours.

A lightly woven parallel set of seams

seamlessly strolling into each other.

And where we are headed in some convergence or crisscross pattern –

does not matter. 

Only this chiasm here,

the gift of where our vision meets in the present.

Posted: November 3rd, 2008 under NY Chronicles, my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: none

Spinning round and round until the thoughts spill out.

Lux up, I went alone tonight.  The place was bump’n.

Out at the back fire, up late with smokes and laughs.

Sat and hung with a Lux regular, a friend that’s quite funny,

with his whipped sarcasm - that with a twist of truth serves a slice of belittlement.

Some inward commentary and frequently outloud I observe.

Strange men, some awkward and wordy and other’s a bit drunken

who utter in unintelligible soundbites close to my shoulder.

Circus ladies and loud squakers and a girl, with her pack, turning 21.

This piggy backed on earlier this evening

when charm and intellect took me out to eat Fo

(a reminder of home, nights in San Jo).

And I made an adventure out of a ladle and sticks

with noodles and chicken and broth.

His words like a rope stretched out to me. 

The tone - a soft collaboration of steady beats to rest my head between.

And eyes that were the kindest, most sweetly placed on a slightly bearded face.

We rondavue again ‘not too soon’..

such a refreshing turn from the quick dive into a pair of pants.

First level: to navigate each other’s minds and facial expressions.

What a beautiful dance across Fo, eyes in a tango, at a small table, furtile conversation. 

As the bar lets out and I wait over 45 for a cab,

I am comforted in reflection of this man of towering stature and vast insights.

And a demeanor that says it’s worth it to let things..  just..  simply..  fall… into place.

Posted: October 19th, 2008 under NY Chronicles, Uncategorized, my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: 1

Okay.. exhale. It’s about time for…

..reflections from a single woman, autumn, ott-8!

The pool is full of strange fish. 

Most of them are not sure what direction they are swimming,

some are hardly moving and if there was glass they’d be bumping up against it.

I have swam with the most flashy.. hotties of the bunch,

and being a flashy one myself, I don’t have trouble finding all kinds…

but ONE.  Is it out of season?  A lost breed?

That is the one who will go upstream with me.

Do I need to have “lowered expectations” as that familiar SNL song goes?

Is it time to let go of the idea of being attracted to him?  

Shall I say that good looks and charm.. sex appeal and intellect are overrated?

And hook up a new hard drive built for hard to look-ats, hardly much goin on in there’s,

and who the fuck cares? .. if he’ll stick around,

be my husband and father to my exceedingly bright and charming offspring?

My good friend, ‘Jane’, a woman now in her 40s.. dated the best of ‘em, had a kid,

raised it alone.. and in her 30s met ‘Bob’.. a man 12 yrs older, 

and as far as I can see he’s an old, fat, unattractive and uninteresting man.

But he holds down the fort, and gave her children and stability and she is… happy.

Is there a lesson in that for me?  

Or is it really a high rolling gambling of timing.

When to say when..  enough is enough?

I keep thinking I’d have it easier if I was just a bit more plain or ugly.

I find myself being picked off the shelf like some sight seeing adventure

for deep sea diving to the artist’s sandy floor.

Now shall such a treasure be observed and not taken?

Where is my pirate now?

I find myself on personal postings again.. sifting through the odd and the lonely,

the Joe Shmos, the single dads and the hornies. 

How can this be so tricky?   

My friend asks me - “Are you sure your ready?”

- As if the universe has not yet made a determination in my case.

“Oh yes,” I reply.  

And resume the searching.. to find someone..

who’s searching, like me, for someone like..

I already found, but this time.. for me.

Posted: October 1st, 2008 under NY Chronicles, Uncategorized, my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: none

My friend asked me, “Do you feel fulfilled?”

I thought what an interesting question.

What does that mean - to be fulfilled?

Shall we look to another for that or is it something you already have?

Love is a confusion.

Love is a hurricane.

Love is a shape shifting beast.

Love is everything and is nowhere when you’re looking

and screaming right at you when you’re not paying attention.

How do you know that you don’t just love for..

comfort..  companionship..  security..  habit..  to feel necessary or needed..

to feel entertained.. or not bored.. or to just feel loved?  

How do you know that what you feel is real?

or is it .. a feeling you’ve chosen for unrelated reasons?

What if you love in order to be loved?  

Do you love because you see something of yourself inside another?

Or do you love because you see something that you don’t possess?  

Some missing piece of the puzzle?

Sometimes it’s like a raging fire and burns too bright 

and other times it’s so subtle that you barely know its there.

I doubt the certainty of it all.  I doubt the strong and the soft.

But in the end I submit to the endless searching,

the confusion that I wish to be convinced with all.

Posted: September 7th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: none

Standing on the street that for now is my home.

The sky flashes and the tympanies resound across the night sky.

I listen to the mantra of the crickets and the chorus of raindrops.

The street lamps cast a series of glimpses through the mist - like cinematic pictures on the pavement.

I look up and down the street and smell the air, the wet quiet stillness.

And as the day yielded to night so did my fancies - from one to another, 

where one lets go - a new one takes hold.

For now only mystery, but for unseen possibilities to turn the page

As cyclical as the rain which fell before.  Flames reignite.

And finding a door - closing to open into itself, 

I pause to wonder.  And enjoy the flight of taking chances.

And not to question, only be grateful for the beauty and grace of the fall.

Wherever I stand, give in or give way to - the choice is my own.

And I am always home.

Posted: August 28th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: none