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

Words to give, tossed back and forth,

like darts, so fast they roll.

Thoughts to catch and cause a wripple effect,

my brain engaged.. now the game is on!

What would winning look like?  From each vantage point?

Am I that negative – so as to put a silver lining on every dark cloud?

To spin something resembling what I want – out of what is,

even if it’s only a partial synonym or a temporary clause?

Who are you to tell me how to live?  How to make my choices fit?

Indifference.

And yet you get so upset.

What does being a good person have to do with this?

It’s all one choice or another.. every cause has its effect.

Getting hurt is my reward for living my life fully.

But indifference.. that begs a few pointed thoughts.

Indifference is the opposite of love.. it leaves a mark far deeper than any insult or back of the hand can do.

For it is the lack of feelings.. an emptiness that stares you down cold.

It’s nothing at the end of the day.  

It’s a board with pons and plays that still remain in the box.

It’s an excuse for inaction, a hiding place for steps untaken

And ultimately befriends regret, sitting back club in hand,

staring at the open course and not taking a swing.

Where’s the move in bluffing?  Who’s counting the cards?

The deck is stacked and the king of hearts – risen to the top,

only to disappear in sleeves of ambivalency.

It’s hard to move foward when you’re stumbling back into your own retreat.

It’s hard to take it slow when one is not willing to keep moving.

Posted: August 18th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: none

Is it time to take out the trash?

This is the time of night when I’m at capacity

And in order to sleep I have to write.

Almost 3 a.m.  Sometimes I’m up til 4, 5 or 6.

Which can be annoying.. because then the birds start chirping.

And what’s with that?! 

Is it time to feed the walls that surround me or knock them down

before they start tumbling?

This is the time of night when I peel back the paint

And peer into the words I choose, the thoughts that make my heart beat.

Almost tired.  Sometimes I’m unable to crack the codes.

Which can be altogether disappointing.. because then I don’t advance to the next level.

And what’s with that?!!

That is where I’m at.

Tossing and turning, sleep is the most difficult part of my day.

Getting this brain and heart to unwind, to close my eyes and rest.

Trying to ignore the empty space taking up most of the bed!

Designating a pillow to be something of what I had.

I find myself avoiding sleep, avoiding the bed.

“As You Like It” in the park tonight was splendid.

Such words rushed into my head. 

Too many to conjure, but here are the lasting impressions..

Love is the playground, the battlefield, the balancing act.

Love is the ground beneath, the yearning just above arm’s reach.

Love is the reason, the answer, the cause and effect.

Its in the dance, the song inside, each breathe.

Love is right behind you and where you stand,

Its in striving, the relentless attempts, and where you land.

Love is never one thing, nor all things at once.

Its autonomic as the beat of your heart and chosen with action

From the devotion of one’s thoughts.

Posted: July 19th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts, NY Chronicles, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey).
Comments: none

There he is with a glass burn in his chest,  twitching as he bites his nails raw,                                                 half asleep, half dreaming, half not there at all.

He’s such a beautiful boy, his joy is something to behold.                                                                                 Then the monster takes him by the core,                                                                                                           spins around the pain he’s managed to ignore.

Now I leave him pacing on his shore, smiling through his disappointment,                                                     wounded and mighty – plugging back into the curse that feeds him.

(written: 8/1/2007)

Posted: June 18th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: none