When You Fall

When you fall,
there are times you won’t believe
you’ll ever stand on your own feet again.
When you’re trapped,
the space can get so tight
you’ll feel you’ll never breathe freely again.
When you’re hurting,
you can forget there’s a difference
between being alive and being in pain.
When you’re recovering,
you’ll feel like you’re moving so slowly
that you’ll be a hundred before you feel normal again.
When you’re yourself again,
you’ll realize, for no particular reason,
that it’s been months since you thought of that pain.

(Photo credit: "Sadness" from Dmitry Kalinin on Flickr)

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Wanderer

How did you get so lost?
You're not a ghost,
but just look how you've left your body
so far behind...
When did you forget to be here,
you wanderer?
Why do you speak to phantoms,
you dreamer,
and forget the sound of human voices?

Come back, you wonder.
Come back to yourself.
Come back to this moment.
Just breathe a while.
You may find you're good company
after all.
You may find you love yourself
after all.
You may find the courage to care.

How did you ever forget?
You treat life like a wound
or a disease to be suffered through.
Don't you know that life has always
been an adventure?
Don't you know a hero's heart
beats in your chest?
Don't you feel the wonder
shining in all things?

(Photo credit: "Wonder Remains" from mario on Flickr)

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Learning to Live

Hold my hand, you whisper-girl,
and remember how it was,
how it might have been,
should have been.
We should have walked by the lake
and weaved daisy-chains
in the shadow of the ash tree,
laughing the summer long.

What wonders this great world could give,
if only we could learn to live...

I wish we'd seen the sun set
into the glossy lake,
and that I'd handed you my coat
when you started to shiver.
I should have known what you wanted,
shouldn't have worried so much...
how was I supposed to know
you were waiting for my kiss?

What wonders this great world could give,
if only we could learn to live...

I should have heard your voice,
all the words you wouldn't say.
I should have guessed the meaning
of your silence.
We should have loved forever,
not thrashed and bruised each other
until we both collapsed
and fell like sudden death.

What wonders this great world could give,
if only we could learn to live...

Why must we hurt each other,
and why is love just a game
of who can hurt the other first?
I couldn't stand to lose your love,
I couldn't stand to miss you,
and couldn't stand to see you go.
I couldn't stand to lose your love,
and so I never loved you.

What wonders this great world could give,
if only we could learn to live...

(Photo credit: "Couple in the Water" from Indi Samarajiva on Flickr)

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Storm

Don't you hate
how we have to play these games?
I know what you want
and you know what I want,
but if you say it
the magic's lost,
like the princess in the story
who couldn't say her name.
So let your eyes do the talking,
the curve of your neck,
or the way you twirl your hair.
Let's just talk about the weather.
You could ask when the rain will start
while you smile over your wineglass.
I could wonder when the storm might break,
and tell you the clouds are full of lightning.
Your breath could be my barometer,
or your heartbeat just the same,
so when the rain comes
I can take you inside
to keep you wet.
Don't you hate
how we have to play these games?
Don't you love
how we get to play these games?

(Photo credit: "COUPLE" from marc falardeau on Flickr)

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What Happens With Time

When I was a boy,
I imagined you walked on mountaintops,
or in the clouds,
somewhere far off from the rest of us.
I know better now,
but those childhood dreams
never quite die.
I still admire you,
with your grace, your charm,
the way you set people at their ease
and keep things running so smoothly.

I'll be for you
what you were for me.
(Everything you were for me...)
You gave me hope in the darkness,
a shining constant light
I could believe in.
If I could make you feel
some tiny piece of what you've meant to me,
I know you wouldn't worry
or fear you'll never be good enough.
No need to worry, love.
None at all.

(Photo credit: "Closing Time" from Kevin Dooley on Flickr)

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Connection

"It's a good book," she said,
"But not what I was expecting."

Miles of black wire wind and enlace,
connecting conversations across continents.
The earth in an earpiece, squashed in a screen,
flat, compressed, and never sleeping.
And now? Remove the wires,
you're still tied up,
no night, no day,
only the vagueness of city time.
Wake before dawn and bed before sundown.
Bound by the clock and electric light,
the screen in every room,
the screen in your pocket.
It traps us,
yet it connects us
across a thousand empty miles.

Funny, when she was here
I would have killed to be more interesting
than the phone she's speaking into.

"There's a lot about farming and politics,"
she explained, "But I don't like politics.
I was reading for the love story."

(Photo credit: "the SMILE" from Prayitno on Flickr)

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Breathe You In

Love, I wish I could breathe you in,
and carry you in my pocket
so you'll always be with me.
I wish I could have all of you,
keep your essence in a flask
where none of you will ever slip away.
Love, you don't know how I want to have you,
every inch of you and more,
and how it kills me
that you're like sand through my fingers.

Love is such an awful pain,
where you run to hold another soul
and burn to touch it with your fingers...
I want to dissolve. Impossible desire,
such delicious agony.
Let it hurt a little more, please,
but annihilate me soon!
And how sweet it will be,
would be, impossible,
when our souls run together as one.

(Photo credit: "Lips" from AJC ajcann.wordpress.com on Flickr)

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What You do to Me

I think you know how you make me feel,

and I think you love the way

I can’t resist you.

Can’t you see I’m trying to to work here?

Please, come on now, quit giving me that look,

you know I can’t resist those eyes,

that smile, that skin,

that scent…

Don’t you see how busy I am?

Come on, let me go now, stay away.

If I touch you, you know I won’t be able to hold back.

So go away. Please?

Maybe just a quick kiss on the…

Maybe if I just feel your…

Maybe if I just unbutton…

I hate how you do this to me.

I love how you do this to me

(Photo credit: "Like a red, red rose" from James Jordan on Flickr)

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Spring

Never give up, you wonder.
The sun shines just as warm today
as yesterday, and life is still wonderful.
Spring is here, and soon the little flowers
will all be in bloom,
the fruit trees blossoming,
and the hillside green with the new season.
You'll feel that sunshine
on your arms and smiling face,
and you'll feel the winter's ice
melt away in the new season's thrill.
Singing birds, rabbits in the lawn,
and that nameless spring-feeling all around.
It lives at the base of the neck,
it fills the muscles with warmth
and makes you want to laugh
and weep for joy
all at once.
Wonderful season,
life returning,
new vigor and a longing to move the world.
Hold close to that sacred spring season,
remember that life is good and pure,
and that the struggle for greatness
is its own reward.
Don't you dare to give up on life.

(Photo credit: "Cherry Blossoms" from Jeff Kubina on Flickr)

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Remember the Birds

Today another yesterday,
she wakes again and pours another cup,
another shining dream that shatters
soon as she wakes up.
This time she dreamed a flying bird
that felt so real,
but still not real enough.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

Another tired traffic light
and a morning drive-thru meal.
Five minutes lost of precious time
the day so loves to steal.
She's slipping round the corners,
turning in to an empty lot
with a soul that wants to feel.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

A little bird with yellow wings
streaks high above the lot.
Our lady's halfway to the door.
She remembers she's forgot
a tiny pack of papers
in the back seat of the car,
and she rushes to the spot.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

She opens up the creaking car
and grabs the waiting stack.
The yellow bird swoops high above
the earth, and circles back.
The woman walks into the door
and sits to punch the clock.
Another day to track...

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

She works another day away
all smilingly, she seems.
A little bird dies in the air
with talons and hawk's screams.
A woman scrapes out shards of life
she's stolen from the hours
and clings to in her dreams.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

(Photo credit: "Stormy Weather Friend" from Jeffrey on Flickr)

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Nighttime Wanderer

She moves like cool water

over the dry land,

and the song of her voice brings a thrill to my spine.

How can I tell you

even the tiniest ache

of the sweet agony she makes me feel?

She is the nighttime wanderer,.

She is the dreaming lovely,

the fire of life,

the breath of the city.

She is the spirit of poetry,

and I am her shadow.

Oh come to me, you evening beauty,

and teach me why the stars shine bright.

Show me why the moon must fade,

and the sun must brighten the happy hills.

I think I knew you, long ago,

and how painful it's been without you!

Now come to me, my heart's desire,

and let me be your life's delight.

Sweetness of sweetness, joy of joys,

let me return a piece of what I owe you.

Let me be for you

a touch of what you've been for me.

Please come to me, my one and only,

and tell me all you long to share.

Tell me all your little fears,

and let me set your mind to rest.

Tell me all your dreams and wishes,

and let me give you all I can.

She moves like the wind,

so cool on a hot day,

blessing the earth with her invisible hand.

How can I tell you

even the tiniest part

of the sweet agony she makes me feel?

(Photo credit: "Flirting With Curtains" from Alyssa L. Miller on Flickr)

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Burning Blood

She's bound without a cage for keeping,
tied without a single rope,
trapped breathless in the open air
between shining suffocating towers
and lights that shine on narrowing roads
that lead her everywhere
but to a way out.

Burning blood that aches for freedom
runs through her veins' constraint,
and all they say is she should smile
and stifle her complaint.

"You look so angry all the time."
"Why can't you be more positive?"
"Nobody likes it when you talk about these things."
"The world's bigger than your feelings."
"You really ought to smile more."
"You really can't change anything."
"Why do you make yourself miserable?"

Burning blood that aches for freedom
runs through her veins' constraint,
and all they say is she should smile
and stifle her complaint.

Rage against this world of glass
while towers pierce the open sky.
Grasping voices on the street
rip away her piece of mind.
The sharp-eyed old cashier
makes a face at her piercing,
and no one wants to let her be...

Burning blood that aches for freedom
runs through her veins' constraint,
and all they say is she should smile
and stifle her complaint.

She reaches home
and waits in a box
for another day to come.
It can't stay like this forever.
A better world is on the way,
she sings in hopeful songs
and finds in pretty dreams...

Burning blood that aches for freedom
runs through her veins' constraint,
and all they says is she should smile
and stifle her complaint.

(Photo credit: "'He Said He Would Come...'" from Guian Bolisay on Flickr)

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Veronica

If words could touch the wonder
of sweet Veronica's eyes,
you'd never forget them.
They'd hold you peacefully, tenderly
as a warm blanket on a cold night,
and even after they'd let you go
you would remember that delicious comfort.
If words could touch like her loving gaze
you'd fall in love at first sight
and never want to go.

Oh Veronica, dear Veronica,
brown-eyed Veronica,
nimble as spring's first songbird,
if only you knew what you do to me.
How you overwhelm me with a laugh,
sweetly slay me with a smile,
and leave me anxious to die at your hands again.
How your voice melts the years
so I run like a first love.
How you make me sing.

Veronica, you hold my heart
like I hold this pen in my hand,
so you're the real author of these lines.
If you hold me while I hold the pen,
what am I but the shadow between
the creator and the creation?
The work, the credit, and the creative power
are all yours,
and I am the little voice
that can't help but sing your praises.

(Photo credit: "IMG_0064-10" from Dionysius Burton on Flickr)

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The Reluctant Patriot

I'm a simple man,
I like flowers and the sunshine,
pretty girls and soothing words.
I've got no head for power politics,
grand causes, or awful struggles.
I wish we could all live in harmony
and never worry what tomorrow might bring.
But I'm afraid for this country.
I'm afraid for America.

I imagine myself in an enormous hall
with two huge camps shouting
insanity on either side.
So many angry voices, so much rage,
fear, resentment, and so much real pain it makes me weep.
So many voices, but none of them speaks for me.
None of them even speaks to me.
Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way.
There must be a way to fix what's gone wrong.
There must be a way to find what's gone wrong.
God help me, I find I really love this country after all!
There must be some sanity left in it.

Help me find it.
If you see what I see, help me find it.
There must be a way to get back to what we should be.
Help me find it,
because I'm afraid.
I'm afraid for America.

(Photo Credit: "Indian Summer in New England" from Werner Kunz on Flickr)

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