Miles Apart
Perhaps I’m only dreaming you
from tender letters sent in lieu.
It is your presence I must share
so I can know and love you dear.
September, 1974
Online Writing
Long Ago and Far Away
Long Ago and Far Away
“Regarde, mais ne touche pas” he told himself
whenever she appeared before him
with that bewitching love in her sad eyes.
This wench had powers that made him fear her kiss
more than a bloody seige on his castle,
for already she’d invaded his dreams
and captured his imagination.
Then there were those mysterious awakenings
and yearnings in the night
driving him crazy with desire.
Sometimes he imagined her in his chambers—
imagined her invisible, starry body merged with his.
Worse still, he’d felt the first stirrings of love
for this strange, enchanting woman.
Yes, the magnetic beauty of her comely face
and the subtle seductions of her body’s grace
posed a dangerous threat to all that he had—
his heart, his mind, his family, his possessions…
The dark knight resolved then and there
he must kill her with indifference—
a look quite clear in its intended meaning.
First, a cruel, contemptuous glare,
then a cold and empty stare…
“Regarde, mais ne touche pas!”
November, 1996 revised May, 2004
Our Love
Our Love
Our love is a pyramid of secret mysteries
and cherished other-world treasures…
It’s a hidden cave of ancient scrolls and artifacts
awaiting the wisdom of a peaceful Day.
it’s an underground stream of water rising up
to fountain-kiss the welcoming air;
a rich vein of undiscovered gold beneath
searching prospectors’ feet;
a crystal prism transformed by sunlight
into a magic rainbow wand;
a sunken galleon-chest now wearing jewels
of diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and pearls;
a painting, a poem, a song;
an old and beautiful cathedral; a humble temple
filled with praise and prayer;
a future spaceship with a mission
to explore other worlds beyond…
Our love is an advancing wave
upon a sea of universal love.
February, 1993 revised, April, 2004
Poetry
Poetry
I’m a well-spring of ideas bestowing wealth…
a mirror revealing you to yourself…
I’m a bridge to the future—
a bridge to the past—
a breeze that speaks to the sails at your mast…
I’m a haunting whisper in a mist at sea…
a mother’s cry—a political prisoner’s plea…
I’m your Spirit in a different disguise
seeing Life through Poetry’s passionate eyes.
January, 2002
Flowerpoet 