suitcase

you had a suitcase

packed and ready to go

brown, like the hallway

narrow 

like the minds of those who tried to hold you back

 

there was so much of life to live

so much packed in your brown suitcase

strewn like tight jeans and wrinkled shirts

cracked belts and fractured memories

 

i wished for a promise to give you

a rose and a poem wrapped in pink ribbons

on parched paper

written by hand and erased twice

 

hungry for words and short sentences

i crawled into your life

as easily as i envisioned crawling into your suitcase

it was more narrow than the hallway

and the soiled, dingy walls reminded me of my life

as the lid closed

and the music stopped

 

days gone by 

 

days past,

yesterday

some remembered, others forgotten

 

there were clouds

some dark, others not

and when it rained there was dancing in the streets

 

where have the days gone?

they are now memories

packed in a small brown suitcase

 

time spun backwards

on an antique wall clock

pewter minute hand crossing over

 

never stopping to rest

or remembering the minute before

 

memories

soon to be packed into

yesterday’s suitcase

 

with days and clouds trailing a gentle breeze

 

a lone guitar exudes its song

weeping an autumn idea

as if all moments before yesterday

were packed in that suitcase

 

the lid closed

followed by joy in the streets

and it rained

 

washing away memories

of days past

yesterday

 

i lost you somewhere in the fog

 

i lost you somewhere in the fog

tuesday, the day we shared apple pie and coffee

 

i knew by the way you swallowed your words

and politely wiped the punctuation with your napkin

 

soft music cooled our coffee, black

and when tears welled in your eyes i had no doubt

you would walk away when the final word was spoken

and last glances devoured like dust in the sunlight

 

i never knew then, and don’t know now…

where did you go when you turned left towards fillmore street?

aimless, it seemed and yet with power and

reckless determination like a stallion in an open prairie

 

i see you on occasion and yet not

sometimes it is your eyes worn by another woman

sometimes your smile has been stolen

but never can another woman wear you like you did

 

when i hear the song that played that day

tuesday, when we shared apple pie and coffee

i close my eyes and watch you walk in the door

turning right from fillmore street

 

my eyes are closed, wishing that i was dreaming

waiting until my coffee is stone cold

hoping for a fresh cup with no tears

while watching the server walk away…

 

just as you did

 

six floors up

 

from my window i watched her leave
six floors up, a thousand miles away
walking slowly as if she no longer cared
and quickly as if she couldn’t stay

 

she carried a purse full of memories
tears in her eyes and rain at her feet
empty promises stuffed in her pockets
she was a woman, whole and complete

 

i wanted to call out for her from my window
but the words somehow wouldn’t come
yet when she turned and looked back at me
it all poured out like an autumn rain

 

from my window i watched her leave
six floors up, a thousand miles away
i traced every valley and rising hill of her body
her skin soft like sleek flowing chiffon

 

her steps were measured
careful to avoid the parallel lines
of the hardened cement walkway
and the green of bordering grass

 

beneath one she would be buried
atop the other she would make love
when words of passion whispered passed her
like a gentle breeze from a window six floors up

 

it no longer matters whether her hair was wild
like a free-spirited horse on unmeasured plains
or cropped like a closely trimmed rosebush
when i called from my window, she walked on

 

clutching her purse full of wayward memories
holding back tears in her eyes
while stuffing empty promises in her pockets

and walking to the sedated reflections of rain at her feet

 

crystal

 

she held me captive with her fingers
nails rhythmically tapping on sand-colored corian
like a general marching to war
ready to go but wanting to stay

 

with my eyes i could taste her sumptuous lips
swallowing words was easy
snacking on syllables and punctuation
spilling juices onto her thirsty tongue before a kiss

 

i nearly drowned in her tears
weighted words pulled like an anchor
as she recounted her story
with talking hands and dejected eyes

 

i discovered the birth of tears
when the heart hurts and the mind knows
eyes can no longer endure the pain
and they cleanse the soul with wishes

 

i could have loved her
during days that allowed a gentle breeze
a quicker step, guilt-free innocence
and a season to nurture the blossoms of love

 

now we sit, fingers interlocked
the marching general no longer trudging to war
syllables and punctuation consumed
until tears mingle, wondering if love has escaped

 

why does life unleash prisoners of the heart,
forever trapped in yesterday
in places where seeds are planted
and in the parched heat of the noontime sun
they die?

 

she

 

she walked along the silken shore
crocheting thoughts and even more
morning could not unravel her
men’s lustful eyes freely traveled her

 

she cleaned the windows of my soul

laying together between satin sheets
she took my life and rhymed for me
those lines which had always dangled free
and in her hands i could be
an emperor of my destiny

 

hers was a life so freely lived
she had so much that she could give
a lady of the pauper’s dreams
more suited for the feast of kings

she played the game like none before
…gave her all and still had more

 

she walked amidst the forest light
where her creator marveled at the sight
surely pleased at what he had done
…defining beauty for everyone

while colors wept in a crimson sky

 

it was that time, early dawn
when sailors cast their anchors down
and the grace of morning gained control
as i watched her smile freely unfold

 

and purity revealed her milk-white skin

she enjoyed a life so freely lived
and had so much that she could give
a lady of the pauper’s dreams

more suited for the feast of kings

 

her knight bowed slowly to the floor
while the pawn crept out the waiting door
she played the game like none before
never caring about the final score

 

‘til at last she laid beneath the forest trees
and felt the gentle flowing breeze
her golden hair, a babbling brook
with soothing sounds at each turn it took

 

only rainbow-washed colors could compare

she answered to the distant sound
of a shepherd’s harp placed on the ground
and walked behind the towering clouds
waving goodbye to her admiring crowds

 

when nature brought her to her knees
oh, some crowds you can never please

til at last they laid her body down
and pulled away her tarnished crown
pushed a smile where there was a frown
and placed her with the famous clowns

 

and it rained

 

 

if love was served in a candy store

 

i wanted to fall in love today
again
with you
while remembering a halo of whipped cream
encircling your lips
for only a fleeting second
as you swallowed chocolate
amidst the cloud of steam

 

it was there i devoured you…
a not so distant memory
munching on smiles
licking plump daydreams
conquering visions
of what tomorrow could be
if love was served in a candy store

 

i miss you
the warmth of your smile
the glow in your eyes
the way you say certain words
when an accent is involved
and you tilt your head to one side
when searching for an elusive thought

 

monterey flowed into pacific grove
and both poured into carmel
when time didn’t matter
and laughter went down easier
with ghiradelli chocolate-mint squares
and touches of raspberry

 

now i sit alone
with memories that fade
like fog suffocating the
bay at monterey
and washing to sea like polished driftwood

 

i wonder
where have the sweet tastes of your kisses gone
the innocence of your laughter
when the sea breeze has blown out
from the sands of carmel

 

where is the soft touch of your fingertips
the searching look of your eyes
when they penetrate my heart
and pierce my soul?

 

they
like you
have gone the way of memories
locked in yesterday’s vault
where questions and memories
stand like bookends
guarding stacked and sandwiched words
for a day when i may
once again
feel your smile

 

 

sin is a harsh master

 

i closed my eyes and watched her dance;

hair fanned out like a silk sensu

free and beautiful,

flipping and swirling with such ease

then folding back, brushed

by the silent fingers of the wind.

 

soft lips defined her face;

delicate in their beauty,

seductive in their innocence,

able to command a word to march

or swallow grapes and orange slices.

 

i watched her move;

my eyes only slightly closed

as she danced to the music of a weeping moon

and stepped across stars that never dimmed.

 

the structured opus from a forest orchestra surged

as her hands waved to heaven

weaving through cotton-laced clouds,

hoping someone lived there,

wishing for faith, yet having its fullness

as she began to weep in her emptiness.

 

i dared not open my eyes

rather i watched in awe of beauty

cloaked in the finest silk, tartan and tweed

as she listened to the music within

and watched as her feet translated it

to her heart, and transported it to her soul.

 

her emptiness became my own

and her tears fell onto mine

as in the quiet of a solitary moment

we danced

to no music except that which plays eternal

we danced

we wept

for sin is a harsh master

 

 

bring in the rain

 

her rocking chair was hushed,

the metric creaking ceased

and sprinkles fell gently

like a supple cotton blanket.

 

she no longer smiled.

her feeble hands were folded

while a sweet summer breeze

softly kissed her unyielding lips.

 

persistent raindrops fell

singing a final melody

to the old lady who waited

for the kiss of visiting angels.

 

her journey now complete,

the fragrance of roses

growing in a parched land

beckoned the angels

to bring in the rain.

 

 

circles of tears

 

she sat in her closet wrapped up in a ball
wading through old letters containing darkened secrets
reading wrinkled notes and looking through faded photographs
that were left to be forgotten

she tried to forget the haunting memories

that invaded her sleep
the familiar faces buried in her mind

that never freed her from the feeling of being watched

i look for her now when darkness quiets my heart

wishing i had never come across the note
bearing her name scribbled at the bottom

beside the stain of dry circles of tears

oh, the memories we dreamed to someday have

yet she was finally overcome by the last one

and now i am left holding it
she should not have gone on that cold november day

 

now i clench the memories like a wilted bouquet of dried brown roses

faded like dreams often do

 

i could have said goodbye if only i had known she was leaving

taking with her the bundle of dreams

drowning in her circles of tears

 

salvation army

 

she wore purple because she liked it.

hanging stiffly on the store rack,

yellow goodwill tag with smudged blue ink,

was it a three or five?

she argued for three, willing to pay five she did.

 

her breasts had followed the alphabet

from a to b to c to d

and settled back on c

after some of the air had escaped her life

and left her haggling over purple dresses.

 

somehow salvation was unreachable

and the army refused to go home,

but she had purple swatches to mend the holes

and fingertips that blended too well

with gunnysack purple and bruised memories.

 

she remembered life in yellows and orange

bright colors that worshipped the sun.

but that was when she dreamed while still awake

and wished without a penny.

purple happens to life.  and it did.

 

 

white umbrella

 

she watched from her shaded window

for the man who seldom brought flowers,

though she knew he would, if he could.

 

they wanted precious little

—some called their world make believe—

having only sweet vanilla candles, roses,

and a white umbrella for those infrequent rainy days.

 

she offered exotic chocolates—wrapped—

and he touched red wine to her lips

while time swiftly passed them by.

 

he shared photographs and poetry 

while her fingers danced,

lifting music from her magical keyboard.

 

who can say where the time goes

except that suddenly one day it ceases—

the breath of life is silenced—

and in the rain the white umbrella is opened.

 

 

 

 

*rabboni

 

there was no passion

burning within his empty soul,

 

no whispered secret from the wind

that once cradled warm thoughts

before laying them safely on a page,

throbbing for another word.

 

he chose to stand alone

for a moment, if not more,

gathering blueberries and stained fingers

while waiting to hear his own heart.

 

some folks said go this way, others that,

until all inspiration spilled over

like fresh blood flowing onto a city street,

crimson in the black of night.

 

he wondered

if passion had trickled out

and returned to some hidden place

to quench the parched heart of another.

 

some folks still sipped

from the tarnished silver challis

while he grew thirsty waiting for words

to follow after one another.

 

his were sometimes tears of joy

shed to fashion a meandering trail

leading to a swollen cistern

so children might never thirst again.

__________________________

*The word Rabboni is used only two times in

the New Testament (Mark 10:51 & John 20:16)

It is the higher form of the word Rabbi.