Spring: coats are shed, women and men emerge in their light cotton clothes; the women in their strappy shoes and light spring dresses and the men in their seersucker and linen suits. See how we shoot admiring, side-long glances at each other.
Such fun to watch this dance; how we move and how we shoot sparks at each other like fireflies flashing in the evening.
Not every season is all joy, and i find Spring to be the hardest - many people do - surprisingly. Perhaps because the season itself can be isolating if you are alone and surrounded by the "in-love." All that "Lover's Spit" as one group sings. If you are among the in-love, beat a path down the broad city avenue with your headphones on or the sounds of the city all around you and know that Spring and love are "just like honey." Perhaps most important of all, and i say this at great risk of sounding utterly cliched, fall in love with yourself so that others may love you back. Learn to love that curve of your hip-switch, the fine-step of your ankle as you step off the curb, the sway of you breast as you beat a path down Madison, down West 11th and 6th, whereever you are, but know you Are That One and be It. When you know this, others will know it too.
And so the sap rises,
s.r.p., april-may, 2007
image: 'pure joy, s.r. on pogo stick' copyright, i.d. baker.
a lack
You call me brave.
Brave because I say what must be said.
You do not see that I fear it too -
that awful rejection; it could catch me easily on its spike,
sadi ranson-polizzotti
April 19th | do not look back (dedicated)
Where were you on that day?
What form did her fall take?
A single drop, or a thousand herky-jerky volts.
I can feel you palpable panic. See you then –
Post a Comment
as you watch
God, I am so tired of writing of wanting about you.
It is boring even me.
Did you know, it is tiring the way you stitch in and out of my dreams,
wending your way down the chalked alleyways of Israel, always a step ahead,
always calling my name, some game in which I am to pursue
at paragnon alone
Love, I cannot say that I am impartial.
I am not.
I think only of you and of your sweetened kisses,
Speaking of which, why are you not here to remind me!
Why I’ve forgotten all about taking my morning dose of honey!
because you are that one
I saw you there, like that in the early Spring light as the sun made it’s route, slightly different from yesterday’s, an nth
boysenberries
The branch is smooth. Worn from so many summers of my straddling,
shiny brown bark, thick enough but not uncomfortably so.
This is my apple tree: this is our orchard.
I wrap my legs about the knotted surface, holding myself there.
cadence
It is just a question of time before…
our cadence will meet as we walk fall into sync,
to pentameter, iambic (of course), before we
share the same scented tea from same pot (same kind)
Calculus 101
These lines, you say, they prevent you from acting. You dissimulate, a hidden desire, there at the cross of my
Corner, Goodbye Kiss
Soft, expected, unexpected.
For one half-tick, I thought you had forgotten; really.
That his presence had changed everything.
cumulo nimbus
You slip in and out of dreams. A marble gliding across a grate;
I can almost hear the pleasing clack of it remembered so well from childhood.
The slide of the swirling glass as it slid across the iron and landed where?
My side? And for keeps? For the moment would be fine…
delphic oracle
You:
You answer in riddles.
An oracle, Delphic.
I can see you on your three-legged tripod, Parnassus ,
in a cloud of smoke with your laurel at your side.
did i ever lie to you?
In a dark hour I saw it. You with you red-black eyes and slick black hair the scent of your skin, spiced and heady perfuming the space around us. It was then
does it take a weatherman?
It must be so easy being you..
To not have to worry who is hanging on the line,
who is out to dry, which way the wind blows, rain or snow –
does it take a weatherman? You tell me…
dying traveler | religion relieved - four words
Just me, on the eve of the Ascension.
Such heights, such ecstasies these, could, would be.
This, after so many months of religion unrelieved.
The go-away closer; the volley in play.
Match Point Love.
false idol | of other loves, strange bedfellows
It is just another Spring day and you are gone and while I am sure I should miss you, I have to tell you that I don’t. Or I have but just a little. Not in the ways you would
fiendishly charmed
What in god’s name are they doing anyway!
See how she moves against the crab-apple bark
worn smooth now from so many years of this…
From No to Yes
Always you come at night.
Always soft and bearing roses
but never are they de-thorned.
They are redolent with sweetness,
those long-stemmed lovelies.
gooseturd green | two words
Gooseturd green. Not moss, not leaf,
instead the green left by the pond’s lifting geese
those graceful birds that break the spring settled pond-pollen glassine surface;
idioms ~ french (coward)
croix de bois, croix de fer, si jer meurs je vais en enfer - cross my heart and hope to die
Des clous – not likely
j’ai le fou rire – I have the giggles
If ~ Then
It is an If – Then equation… and you know it.
If we do, then there is the Then.
Necessary consequence of thought and feeling, anyway.