Your touch breathes life
imparting energy
gathered from the stars
shining in your eyes;
heat from the closest star,
our sun, through you,
warms my heart.
Too long apart
without your touch
my skin grows cold.
Breath tightens its hold.
Life has no meaning nor
great story to be told.
Missing you becomes a safe
where love is kept for dreaming.
I climb inside its darkened space
to calm my desperate yearning.
Filed under POETRY
I am not a freedom fighter
in the usual way.
I am a freedom lover
day after threatening day.
I will not duck and run for cover
when bullies blare the call.
I will not turn away my eyes
from all their dubious lies.
I will not fret and stomp my feet
to match their ugly fascist beat.
I may be small.
I may be weak.
I may be old.
I am not meek.
I am strong to even my surprise.
I grow stronger with every sun-rise.
My strength grows in numbers.
My flower joins the bouquet
my fragrance rousing passion
for my beloved USA.
I cannot let silence stand guard.
I cannot pretend and play
while others fight for freedom
day after day, after day, after day.
My power is a loving blanket
thrown over the fires of hate.
Lovers of freedom, unite.
It is never…never…too late.
I may be old.
But, I am a woman and bold,
as only women know how to be.
I may be sick and weak.
But, I am not meek.
Freedom still smells sweet.
Lift your eyes and feet
and spread love for freedom
along with me.
Let an old hippie show you the way.
I carry the buckets heavy with ash
from the spot where love burned
long in the past.
Charred earth remains.
Charred hopes dashed.
Passion so bright it lit up the night.
Only ash remains in dawn’s cold light.
Ash is good for the soul.
It reminds us what we all know
in the darkest recesses
where we seldom go.
We are dust.
and return to dust we must.
Thus, I carry buckets, yours and mine,
with ashes from a brighter time
where light was stronger,
where we could see better.
When we were stronger,
and we were better.
I remember the sparks
that lit love sublime
as I empty the buckets
and spread a dust so fine.
It covers the garden bed
where our roses now climb.
Each rose is a kiss
recalled from the time
when your touch started a fire
and your lips on mine
offered a taste of the Divine.
And love, warm love,
continues to grow.
Its fire now banked
in a steady, warm glow.
I no longer wait through the night for sun to rise.
Darkness diverts stray thoughts and lets my mind play.
Flowers have taught me to wave away sunny days
whose glare overcomes the true color of all it covers.
Flowers’ colors are brighter on cloudy days
when sun’s harshest, boldest gaze
is tempered by drifting clouds and shade.
The sun arouses, but not always in positive ways.
Passion and love arouse in darkness, under cover,
preparing us to live together on sun-filled days
which can overheat our passion with a challenging gaze,
and guns drawn out in furious blaze.
Night brings safety after those last shots are fired
into the night to hold it at bay, for those who tire
of being alone, hopeless and afraid; whose souls require
less sun to stimulate their hate and more cool nights
to bed down and draw covers over their endless fright.
I welcome the night which offers respite and insight.
I welcome dreams which bring truth and understanding alight.
If only we could recall our dreams in daylight,
perhaps we could create world where justice and mercy prevails
and all are treated right.
On the the hotter, brighter days ahead I fear we may fail,
holding on to what we cannot truly see in such bright daylight.
In such over-heated light true color is lost to our sight
distorting our view of all that is true.
Shoving microphones and spotlights on our frailty
too often distorts our reality
until we no longer can recall the truths learned on darkest days.
I no longer wish the darkness of night away.
I see all more clearly in the muted light of night
than ever I can see in brightest daylight.
I no longer wait through the night for sun to rise.
Darker days are here to no one’s surprise.
They may bring the only way we can survive.
Filed under POETRY
Live long enough
and enough becomes more
then was once imaginable.
It is not resignation
to the seemingly insoluble
problems making the young
passionate and high strung;
nor to youth’s perception
that old people are stuck
in the past, and even the mud.
No, the old are simply elated
that problems which once made them
passionate and high strung
have been overcome.
The old simply have
more hope for
and less fear of
the future the young will live
with greater energy;
a future which the old may not live to see.
Reluctance to become irate,
wave arms and raise voices of dismay,
may simply be the wisdom to see
no problem is without a solution.
It just my not come for a few more days.
Truly, the old and the young
are writing the same story.
They are merely on different pages
in the book of life.
Filed under POETRY
Are the stars truly fixed in the sky?
When you are away the sun
stops in its tracks
and earth’s orbit slows
in heartbeats counted
by years, not seconds.
“Time stands still,” others say.
I say time goes on without me
while there is no us to see.
Without you, the universe stills
along the path of its trajectory.
I wait with bated breath and sigh
for your return while I
watch time march on.
I watch the sky for clues
when the universe would return
you to me and me to you.
Side by side we
can make the sun move.
As we move
among the stars
in ecstasy.
Filed under POETRY, Uncategorized
Passion breaks apart
fired in ovens too hot.
Cool love lasts longer.
Filed under POETRY
FINDING BEAUTY
Beauty too often
lies beneath passion’s control
if we can let go.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 