Finding Home

Isn't it odd? You and me, us Speaking In tongues We don't even Understand We're no Linguists By any chance But speak We do Maybe the Language Isn't What is Important Maybe It's the Conviction That fierce conviction That cannot help But overflow And transform Into words, Words that are Wittingly Conjured up By the brain And transmuted Into the Movements Of the tongues Upper palates Lower palates Upper lips Lower Lips With the Elemental Vibration Of air That comes in And out of our Nostrils And mouths Like sighs of relief From joy or Pain Producing Beautiful Utterances of "Ti amo" or "Je t'aime" Maybe it's the Force that Drives Human beings To go beyond Oddness and Idiosyncrasies Maybe it's The Choosing To focus on the good To feed the love Rather than hate Maybe it's the Knowledge That to say One Universal Seed of Salvati

Nothing Sweeter than Silence romancing My ears Save for Sonatas of Chirping Winged creatures Crisp and clear Proudly perched On orchid trees Wind whispers Achingly gentle Like lips that Come forth Within a mere fraction Of a centimeter From each other As if relishing Every nook and Cranny Of every breath Every shape Shadow, line Curve And shade Inhaling one Exhaling the other Until they Finally meet Like The wind Soothing my Needing skin With such faint, Merciful breeze A healing balm Bringing my Troubled heart To relinquished calm And carrying off my Restless mind To restful sleep...

Anais Nin knew "To write is to taste life twice." All for the glory of being alive But maybe for me To write is simply to love you twice...

(6-8-13) What is it with boats and sunsets that makes me weak in the knees? And sand and salt water that beckons to me? Now I am here. Finally. Feeling every bit of Grain of sand devouring my feet The corals gash my shin The waves kissing the shore The sun romancing my skin Turning it pinkish red And the wind Asking the coconut leaves to dance Delicately swaying Like a dancer in euphoria Like my heart calming Breathing, at last Sighing, Yes this, right here I need Now rain pours singing One sweet song no longer of my sins But a gentle choir Lulling me to Restful sleep...

You asked me, "Do you pray?" I said, "What do you think?" And you replied, "I don't think you do." I laughed, "Incredulous." Thinking about our conversation, last night, I pondered. I thought how it may be true what you said. How I do not pray. Anymore at least. I do whisper every night in my heart to whoever might listen. Whoever. Yes, I erased the names of my saints. Because that's what you do when you are hurt and the people you want to hear you are deaf. You un-name them. Because maybe they will get the point. Hopefully. Because of all the ironies in life, of all the names I have been called, the only retaliation I can throw back is to take away the names of my saints. It's like blaming the universe for the sin of one person. Unfair, I know. It always is. But guess what? I decided last night. I want to believe again. In something. Anything. To just hold one truth or two, any truth in my hand, to hold it against my hea

When Icarus flew over the great vast sky He forgot about himself That his wings were made only of wax and feathers of some other living thing The sun blinded him With its beauty and Commanded him to come forth Which he did And so he soared How he soared He forgot the tenets his father pleaded him never to forget, which he did But he soared, he flew towards that blinding ball of light and tasted sunlight with all its glory and might Until his feathered and waxed wings gave up and melted Into his mortality And he fell deep into the vast ocean And drowned. But at least Before he died He let the sun blind his eyes At least He tasted life... -MAY 26, 2013- Photo Credit: http://www.photo-zen.com/scotland-hebrides-seagulls-photographs.html

Sudden memories Appear out of nowhere Like cocktail servings In minute increments Like unexpectedly meeting An old friend as you turn Left at a blind corner Catching you viciously off guard Like being shown an old Home video That remind your sorry self How at one point you were alive Tasted life down to its Very core Dared to go to the very edge And yet find that, You could not say "More." Instead what you could manage were Soft retorts of, "Maybe in an alternate universe, Maybe another lifetime. " And now I am writing this On an imaginary journal That you handed to me On the drabbest street Praying as I write you feel The strokes, hear me talk To myself, "Life is a word problem, According to them Whoever said calculus Was of no use was right A lot of X's and Y's Variables they call them Damn right they were And me? I'm a "W" And there's no solution To this