RickThePoet

Past Lives

They were haunted by the ghosts of past lovers
Shimmering in the shadows
of their conversation,
Hanging on every word,
ethereal
but real.

Their souls met
in a neverland
populated by images
of themselves;
But, seen through the looking glass
of a fun-house mirror,
distorted by tricks
and funny faces.

How could they ever see with
the clarity of their hearts?
Could they hear the pounding,
and the coursing blood,
rich with the oxygen of life-giving air?

In the end,
he knew that she would see
the purity of his soul
and the ghosts
would disappear
in the cloud
of the past.

They would create
new ghosts
for the future.

Coming Home

He sat on the bus
Chilled and freezing
Watching the tourists
tramp through the mud outside
to give their money to strangers

He wanted to be home with her
to smell her bouquet
to watch the flowers in her eyes
to touch her skin with his
and to join with her forever again.

As he watched the clouds touch the mountains
in the distance
He wondered whether she thought of him
oceans and mountains away
further than the sky

Did she want him to return?

He remembered the bubbling in his stomach
when he had lost her
and the delight
when she found him again.

He didn't want to worry anymore
He promised himself
never to let mountains get in their way again.

New Love

The pine needles floated on the air
slowly descending onto the blue water
of the pool
and the sun
warmed his skin
with a building heat
as he shielded his eyes
from the light
that knew its way to his soul.

They moved with an inevitability
like love that came quickly
but lingered
lasting for a season
full of hope

He wanted to grasp the flowers
that had taken root in the earth
next to the water
but he knew that if he pulled them
they would die.

He loved her
with an ambiguity
born of lost loves past
and with a certainty
that knew that season
followed season.

He had grown
like the flowers
and the pines
Could he love silently
and permanently
like the trees?

First Person, Singular

Sometimes I think that if I write
a poem
in the first person
the truth I must tell
will kill me.

I am alone when I write
except when I write for you.

The singularity of my aloneness
seems more acceptable
when I write to you.

I think that poems wouldn't exist
without beautiful women to write them for.

I remember the first time that I saw you
in person
first person
singular
smiling a perfect smile
and catching my heart in your eyes.
I was uncomfortable
being alone
and you comforted me.
I was stupidly
clumsy
and you helped me.

Did you know
that I loved you
from that moment?

Maybe first person truth
won't kill me after all.        

Deliberation

He wondered whether ecstasy was a lie
a whisper lost in daily lives
filled with responsibility
and debt
Was love an illusion
shimmering over blue water
created by sunlight
filtered through the trees
unrecognizable
like the truth told to strangers
on first dates?

Could absolute truth
salve the wounds of the past
and bind the broken limbs
and broken hearts?

He resolved to move slowly
but his resolve
melted in the milky white skin
of her beauty
and the purity of her soul.

He knew that he would pursue her
with the intensity
of a flame
burning with desire
and longing
secure in the knowledge
of her love.

Knight Errant

He imagined her in a flowing white robe
in a medieval meadow
standing among grasses and flowers
gently moving with the breeze

Even the wind did her bidding

She waved a magic wand
and
frog-like
He jumped into her lake
sure in the knowledge
that the prince within him
would find the sword
and save her kingdom.

He mounted a sturdy horse
Hid behind his armor
prepared for the joust
with raised lance.

Before he entered the fray
He rode to her
Accepted her colors
Tied them to his arm
and gently bowed
to her beauty.

Behind the armor
He hid his vulnerable flesh
He wondered whether the armor
would protect him.
When he thought she had run away
His insecurity certain of her rejection,
He hid his fear
and wore it
like a garland.
He saw his opponent
clad in black armor
lance at the ready
He was
A man-child
learning for the first time
about battles and wars.

When he summoned the courage
to approach again,
He galloped toward the opposing Knight
Confident
Showing no mercy.
His was a passionate quest
For the love of a lady.

When the opposing Knight fell
He rode triumphant to her side
Dismounted
and removed his armor.

He knew he didn't need it anymore.
       

Cancerian Shuffle

She peered out from under the hard shell
Suspicious
Tentative
Eyes sharpened to a point
fixed to the beach

The sand rubbed
her underbelly
as she slid carefully
toward the surf
watching out for scorpions
known to prowl the area.

Gingerly,
she touched a claw
to the lapping water,
chilly from the winter
warming to spring
and she longed for a long
peaceful swim
predator free.

Imagine her surprise
when a scorpion offered her a ride
to the island
of love.
Could a scorpion ever be trusted?

She wanted to go,
but her cautious spirit
said no.

The scorpion,
stung himself
by empty promises,
vowed to ask again
and again,
until the crab
trusted.

After all, he was willing to leave the desert
without knowing how to swim.        

Silence

I sit at the computer screen
The hum of the fan
blowing air through the room
No sound other than
the click of the keys

and
I think only of you.

Already my house is empty
when you aren't in it.

The telephone
has become a silent sentinel
on guard against my loneliness
a watchman
ever vigilant
waiting for you.

You have invaded my life
conquered my soul
and decorated my mind
I am guarded by you.

I make myself busy
with nothing
and everything
Seeking an antidote for the
silence
of your absence
a magic potion
to quell the feverish
desire
that has infected me.

This is the most pleasant
disease
I ever have had.        

Tree

As he climbed to the top of the tree
His hands gripping the bark
with the strength of a wild animal
Clawing his way
to his goal
He stopped to look down
and was afraid.

The forest floor beneath him
seemed far away
the sounds and smells
eluded him
and his senses
blurred
in a symphony
of rarified air
and passing birds
singing
of freedom
won
and lost.

The branches reached out
in many directions
every one
a path to take
or to ignore.

How could he choose?
How could he decide?
How could he not?

He carefully inched out
towards the most beautiful cloud
it seemed to have the most substance
and the branch
while rough,
was sturdy and sinewy.

As he moved ever closer
to the end
he smelled the sweetness of the leaves
and touched the moist bark.
They caressed him
and drew him
to the heavenly cloud
that beckoned
with an outstretched hand.

Did he dare
to look behind
to see what passing stranger
might be behind him?
Did he dare
to wonder
whether the limb
would support his weight?

Did he dare
to love again?

Medieval Fair

He passed through the gates
and was transported in time
She held his hand
with a delicate touch
He was King Richard
to her Guinevere.
She wore a garland in her golden hair,
tilted just so.
Her regal bearing 
belied the passionate soul
of a fellow traveller
into a misty past.

He knew they both sought the Holy Grail.

He wanted to be her knight
wearing his lady's colors
Not fearing the joust
or the crowd.
Her beauty gave him courage.

He would fight dragons for her.