bon-

Bonhomie,

for you

and me.

A gentle smile

A tilted hat

Inviting me to stay awhile...

Bon vivant,

for me

and us.

The finer things

of glossy pleasure

Inviting us to spread our wings...

Bon appetit,

For you

and me.

The world is wide-

it beckons us

and cannot not be denied...

five eyes- by Walter de la Mare

*This is a poem that I remember my father reciting to me as a child. It is still one of the most moving memories that I have of beautiful words. Enjoy. *

FIVE EYES

In Hans' old Mill his three black cats

Watch the bins for the thieving rats.
Whisker and claw, they crouch in the night,
Their five eyes smouldering, green and bright:
Squeaks from the flour sacks, squeaks from where
The cold wind stirs on the empty stair,
Squeaking and scampering, everywhere.
Then down they pounce, now in, now out,
At whisking tail, and sniffing snout;
While lean old Hans he snores away
Till peep of light at break of day;
Then up he climbs to his creaking mill,
Out come his cats all grey with meal --
Jekkel, and Jessup, and one-eyed Jill.

kiss the sky-

-written in 2001 & rediscovered in that old box in the garage

Sometimes I just wish I could kiss the sky.

Make it light up with my fingertips & throw the paint of my soul across the horizon.

That would do it.

Yes, that would show the world that I am alive & bring it all in close to me.

I want to feel large & washed over by life

I want to feel the grains of eternity falling through my fingers

I want to breath in & out the timeless rushing sigh of creation

I want to be a baby's first steps,

first laugh,

first waking,

I want to taste salt on my lips from a day wasted away at the beach,

forever.

I want to laugh at the crystals forming on my lovers eyelashes & run fingers through tousled curls.

I want to know that it is eternity that stretches out from yesterday, all under the gaze of the moon.

I just wish I could kiss the sky & its blush washed sunset.

the moon in four phases-

-written 13.11.2001 (ain't nothing like finding a box full of old poems & prose)

Out in the garden the moon laughs softly, telling me it's time to sleep- but that he likes my company anyway.

The moon and I are good friends you see & he misses my companionship when it's cloudy.

He tells me that I'm beautiful, my friend the moon & that he knows all my secrets.

From where he sits he can see way off into the future & he loves me because there is so much that I am yet to do.

He tells me that I will be happy & that no matter what, he will always be there for me- just beyond the sun- to rock me to sleep & to share my dreams with, even when it's raining.

I like him because he doesn't crowd me in my life. He just listens & shares, shedding light on the beautiful things in the evening with his silver fingers- lovingly caressing all that I neglected to notice in the daylight.

He is gentle & soft, patient & kind.

He is a little boy lost who will never grow up.

He is the moon.

My moon, my friend.

My lifetime measure in four phases.

a chance of rain-

The grey bites me.

It’s a lingering veil in my veins

Sapping life and promise out of me.

Tomorrow when the sun shines I might find

my way again.

But for now,

With my soul hungering for summer,

I sit

Transfixed by the grey.

too-hard basket-

Simple;

Uncomplicated;

Whole and unaffected.

That’s what I want.

Complicated request;

Confused answer;

Application rejected.

Undone-

I am frozen stuck. Can’t undo myself. Or you.

I am frozen broken- no more lightening smiles, or tears of crocodiles.

I am broken shaken.

But, I could be mistaken.

Would you loosen patch- me back up again?

Would you wake and shake- me out of reverie?

I am waking breaking- into a new day and sigh of relief.

I am woken breaking- out into the light of promise after night.

I have moved reached- for the next leap.

I am moving reaching.

Gone.