Little Things

The little things remind me of you

A song.

A tree.

The bridge where we walked and I cried.

A color.

A room.

All the sights of places we frequented together.


You ever think of me?

Do you ever wonder about the what ifs?

I do so very often,

More so than I would chose to admit.  Even to myself.


There are so many questions left unanswered.

And I guess, though, that I will always be plagued.

The way your smile and those green eyes plagued me.


I was day and you were night.

It seemed as though that’s how separate

our lives were; never to come together.


I wish I would have been more impulsive

Enough to meet you halfway in our clouded sky

but maybe it was not supposed to be that way.


Just a few words could have

made such a difference

but they were never spoken.


Would anything have been different?

I do know that you would have stirred my Soul

whether I had told you or not.


Sometimes I wish you had

not captivated my heart

and that I had never spoken those first words

But I was given so much.

Could I really have regrets?


I wanted to build a fortress

around you

and hide you from all the pain

that you felt inside.

But my fear of life and you

kept me from reaching out

the very way I wanted to.

I will never forget that mistake.


Instead of protecting you,

I locked myself away

in a tower on a hill

behind the walls

I fortified and all I wanted to hear was you call my name.


11 April 1991



You enter my life

Like the tides on the beach.

You rush in. . .

Erratically, swirling, turning, churning,

With excitement.

Any slide out of vision

Calmly as though you were never there.

All that remains is a few grains

of memories

of the beauty of our meeting.


Lines written before 1991


Should poetry be iambic pentameter?

Verse or prose?

Should each thought end in a couplet?

Does poetry need to rhyme?

Or flow with great ease?

Should it not be how one feels?

Could this not be true?


Some have written of friendships lost.

Others write of wars and death.

Poets of the past have written

Of great tragedy.

Shakespeare wrote of kinds and wood nymphs.

Wordsworth of his loved Lucy

And Frost of the snowy woods.

I write of the feelings that I cannot express.


Life’s struggle is an interior one

but it must be expressed.

Love, death, courage, fear, hope?

Which ever if felt?

Why do I only feel loneliness?


What is poetry then?

Style and words?

Grammar and syntax?

Joy and sorrow?

Collective or subjective?


Lines written before 1991



My Lover

As the candle danced

I looked into his eyes.

I saw warmth and caring there.

We never said a word,

We understood each other’s feelings.


It seemed like a scene

Rehearsed and blocked.

Every step, every touch

was right on cue.


I had never felt that way.

My heart shivered each time

he passed me.

Just to hear this name

Made me glow with delight

And everyone noticed the sparkle

he brought about in my eyes.


Could he see it in my expression?

Did he know how I felt?

I was afraid to speak.

I was afraid that he would

learn the truth.


And when I heard the rain

Upon the window sill,

I realized it had been a dream.

My lover was Imagination

Playing his cruel joke once again.


For BG

Lines Written before 1991



Is This What the World Has Become?

As I lay on the floor in my room

I try to write

but it does not come easily.

I have so many thoughts

Circling through my mind.

None of them are connected

But all of them as important as the

One before and

The one that follows.


While we drove home,

The images seemed so real.

Everything was important. . .

The liter in the gutters.

The inpatient drivers.

The drug rehab signs next to the highway.

The condemned buildings still standing

As solitary figures on State Street.

Is this what the world has become?


The famous and the rich buy

Summer homes only 20 minutes from here,

“The Real World”

As they go to drink and drive through

local beaches and dunes.

Do they not see what I see?

Or is it that society only make me cry?


Sitting at the table, I watched

the people as they listen to the band.

It was so loud, we finally had to sit in silence.

People were obsessed with music and beer.

Is this what people live for?

Is this what is so important?

The reason why we are all born?

Do people listen to life at all?

Is this all that life is?


As I lay on the floor in my rom,

All the images come back to me,

The hurt.

The pain.

The disappointment.

The fear of what is to come.


Lines written before 1991




Untitled #3

I wish you could see

The radiant moon

shining through the clouds

that encircle it.

Through the misty windows,

I look out at the night

I dream of you and me

together on a turbulent night

hidden from the darkness and

danger of the stormy weather.

You and I lay there, in each other’s arms


yet there is the same danger there

between us.

The ultimate threat is not the devastating storm

or the darkness of the night

but our passion igniting the dawn.


Summer 1991


My Love


My love,
the decades have been so
very good to us.
I am amazed in this time
that my love for you
is the constant in my world.

My love,
I am amazed that such a sensitive soul
has learned to be
such a fierce warrior
and has vowed to
fight for those who need protection.

My love,
I wish for you rest from this
crazy battlefield
upon which the enemy
is not always clear.
Time to be at ease
only makes you stronger in this valiant fight.

My love,
I see the reflection of your hands
gently holding my heart
after all this time and it swells with love.
No matter what craziness finds its
way into my world you
love me without judgment.

My love,
I so long to hear your words
whispered in my ear
when I lay down at night.
This distance keeps me from
feeling your embrace though I know it’s there.

My love,
you are my most mighty and enduring love.
Your warrior heart
And gentle way
reminds me in each moment
of why you have my heart.



It’s Somewhere Between

It’s hours before dawn that seem
to bring about the most
profound moments.

Some would say that by dawn’s light
there is clarity but
I have never found that true.

Some would say that by the strike
of midnight magic happens but
there seems to still be too much noise.

But it’s in the hours after
when the world is all at rest
and the energy lays bare that the world is right.



Let Today Be the Day

Let today be the day
that everything turns around.

Let today be the day
that love prevails despite hate.

Let today be the day
that we breathe deeply instead of sigh.

For it starts with today
and goes on un-ending
on the wheel that
has turned forever
in all the realms.

Let today be the day
that we say our strongest words.

Let today be the day
that we fight our toughest battles.

Let today be the day
that, like no other, we love like it’s the end.

For it starts with today
through the spark in our
minds and a hope
for changes to come
for each of us.

Let today be the day
that we hold back no more.

Let today be the day
that we set the world aflame.

Let today be the day
that we mean what we say.

For it starts with today
and hopefully
doesn’t end
believing we can change
all the wrongs that continue into today.




About all I can hear is

the sound of the white birds.

I can hear cars in the far distance

and a couple of giggling children

across the river, but all I really

hear is god.

I hear the sound of the water

being splashed by the water fowl’s wings.

But all I really hear is god.


I sit where we sat only two months before.

The sun shines as brightly

as it did that day and the

winds have come back to greet me,

but now gloves cover my chilled

fingers and now you are not

before me, sharing your warmth and your life!


The sky and the water are about

the same color blue.

And the grass though sprinted with

more fallen leaves, is still as green.

Today is thanksgiving day and I sit

upon the bench we sat on once.


I saw you tan and glowing

much life still circling through you

and I was filled with joy,

even knowing that soon I would sit

on this bench and write a poem or letter

to you that no postman will be able to deliver.


How can one young as I,

have lost so much in such a short time?

And soon,

I may lose my sister?



For:  LPG