Will you walk with me?

Not far.

Just to the end
of the conversation.

I want to live where there are horses.

To wake with the smell of hay and shit
and walk out into a damp morning
before the air becomes heavy
with the noise and business of life.

The sounds of horses comfort me
neighs and whinnies
stomp of a foot in moist earth.

Tangerine

Small and delicate yet
how easily it sheds
its pungent garment
to expose the naked
scarce protected flesh
and yield its ripened juices
to fingers
lips and tongue.

Autobiographical?

Someone asked if my writing was autobiographical. The answer to that is both no and yes.

Each of these pieces is written impromptu, as I sit at the keyboard. There is no preplanning or thought process that goes into it. I just write what comes, then edit a little so it feels more poetic. As such, I draw a lot from the people I've known and events that have happened in my life.

In these pieces, three or four women have emerged. None is a real person, but each is a composite of women I have known in my life. Scenes described here are mostly fictitious, but with bits of reality woven in. If not, they couldnt feel true.

If these poems work, it's because they convey a reality that we all have known. They touch something in the reader that resonates. That's what I'm after. Tell me if it's working.

At the time she was
thirty years old but her hair
pulled back
in that Indian braid
she looked very much
like the girl I had followed
so closely all those
years ago.

Dark eyes looked
straight into me.

In that moment
I realized that I
hadnt left following
and that
a part of me probably
never would. 

Swamp Cooler

Bulky and loud it blew
cool moist air into
the room and made the house
comfortable on those
dusty hot summer  days.

The mouth of it was big
so we could look
inside to watch
the massive fan turn
churning away
the heat of Oklahoma. 

No more moon poems for now...

Okay, I see that I have become fixed on the moon, so nothing about the moon for a while. There's just so much fodder for thought with the moon. Dont you think? It creates shadows where things can hide but it also casts wonderful light that makes things soooo beautiful. I especially like the ocean in moonlight, but dont get to see it from Denver.

In any case, I'll be coaxing my muse to a different theme for a while. Thanks for reading.

In the dim light she seemed
less than real
as though her skin and hair
were intangible
or vaporous.

Her cheek was warm and smooth
in my hand
as I turned her head
to better see
her wakening eyes.

A few tattered clouds stood
splayed out and lavender
against the pale grey
of a morning sky.

Touching her face
a western breeze brought
thoughts of someone
she had loved.

In that moment
she turned her gaze
to the lovely pale glow
of a daylight moon.

A line thin curved
in pale green sky
as the edge of a coin
or an elegant breast
the hundred degree moon
wafted silently above
glowing streets
of a city asleep.

In places the line
is invisible that
divides this country
from that.

A broad
empty
space is there
and many die
crossing.

Transluscent
perriwinkle
with stripes of white
and lilac were
the curtains in
her bedroom.

An easy breeze
would move them
gracefully
billowing to fall
silent against
a blue painted sill.

Evenings
were ours but not
to hurry
or to miss
the pleasance of
her warm skin smooth
against my own.