A POEM A DAY

I'm just happy to be here.

Tag: 30for30

28/30: TWO HAIKUS ON SLEEP

Lightning in darkness
The sky is heavy with rain
All morning, we dream.

Abandon alarms.
Silence is the first song heard
Listen deeply now.

27/30: CYCLES OF JOY

Eventually, we laugh
until the oxygen runs out.
The sound of your voice
disrupts the silence
of the afternoon and grows like thunder.
By the time you catch your breath,
you and I are
breathless again.

Laughter is the language
we speak in between
looks across the room.
I read your eyes
between the lines.

Cycles of joy
move through
the atmosphere
and your laughter
repeating like a record
is all I ever want to hear.


25/30: INVITATIONS TO LOVE

Invitations to love come in small packages.
Think of the earned cat nuzzle against the leg
first thing in the morning. Think of the gentle steam
rising off the coffee leaving the palm of the
woman who chose to rise early enough to
make you coffee in the first place. Think of
the sky overflowing with light. Think of the
morning wind bending the trees into
music notes. Think of the day like a jukebox.
Think of the small truths. Think of the
hundreds of roots that live in the soil
of the soul. Think of the thousands
of invitations arriving every day, in small
and simple ways, each with your name,
waiting to be opened.

23/30: A LOVE POEM ON SATURDAY NIGHT

Across the stars and lights of the flamingo pink walls
of Taco Cabana off of 45 South and Wayside
and
under the waves of headlights surrounding us inside
this fast-food parking lot on a Saturday Night,
Adela turns to me from the passenger seat
And proclaims her life-long belief in soul mates
In the idea that two people are meant to be.
Without missing a beat,
she looks right at me and smiles a mile long
and confirms that I am indeed her soul mate.
As her husband, I feel relieved,
So relieved I could sing!
And I do,
all the way home.

22/30: – WHAT THIS EARTH HAS TO OFFER

For my wife, Adela, on Earth Day

On our honeymoon, no matter where we stood,
we stopped to watch the sun crawl back
into the other side of tomorrow.
The migration of light crossed all living things
like a promise for what was to come.
Our love made us a witness
to what this Earth has to offer.

We are in Marfa, Texas,
it is a Texas December
and the cold air carries
itself into our breath
and out with each word.
I watch your neck crane
like a telescope
your eyes marvel
your voice traveled
upwards to the only sky
I’ve ever seen with
enough light to turn
the dark wild desert
into a matrimony of star fire.

In Golden Colorado,
We drive up to Lookout Mountain Road
to witness the Great Conjunction
Where Jupiter and Saturn blur into one
An earthly phenomenon that won’t happen again
for another 80 years
A million miles away,
Two planets align
into a holy reminder
of what happens
when the Universe
makes a promise
and keeps it.

On the outskirts of Alamogordo, New Mexico
White Sands National Park orbits like
another planet
Walking across the sand dunes,
we stomp and stare into an
endless white sea
The mountains surround us
as does the light
A distant wind wanders
across the sand like
a spirit.
The spirit blesses us
with the different colors of the sky
I think of the ground as a canvas
untouched and boundless
When the sun dips behind a strange horizon
I set my eyes on what’s left behind
The purple-pink-blue hues
go outside the lines of time
like spilled paint. When the light
hits your face, I am blessed by
the gravity of our love,
how it tethers us here
to this world
to this Earth.


21/30: FOUND STICKY NOTE POEM

For my wife, Adela

Adela sings Spanish love songs to me
in the passenger seat
on a Saturday night.
She plays the air
with her voice,
lingering
like the shadow of the moon
and I look at her
knowing I cannot translate
the music she makes,
but when I hear her voice,
I wish to sing too.

           

18/30: A SUNDAY TESTIMONY

For Adela

A simple Sunday. Spring cleaning and soft rain. Driving with the windows down. Cool air on the other side of every closed door. Feeding lazy cats. A sound track to stifle the silence. Your hand in mine. The promise of a hot meal. Sundown Moscow mules to fuel the buzz of young love. Your green eyes at dusk. The two of us together. My voice and yours blend into the wind. We change the world around us. At least our love does. Just a simple Sunday when anything is possible and so is nothing. So much to do. But I let go of time. Decided eternity wasn’t impossible. I just choose a moment, any moment, with you, and I refuse to let it end. Ask me for the evidence of my love and use this poem as an exhibit.

Thinking of you feels

More powerful than a dream

You are what you seem

17/30: RIGHT NOW

Try not to panic when you hear the word pandemic
Or at least, try not to think of panic.
The connotation of that word
like an incantation I cannot escape.
How much time has passed since the last
time you were afraid? I watched
the whole world spend a year in fear
and fighting to stay alive.
What will I say of this time?
This morning, I drove south
through a grey sky to take
my wife to her second vaccine
appointment. Listening to NPR,
we hear a story about gospel soul singer
Elizabeth King, who started singing again
after she survived a drunk driving car accident
She sang the songs her mother sang to her
songs left behind before her long journey home
back to God. The music of her voice
harmonized with the sound of morning rain.
Looking ahead, I listen with both
hands on the steering wheel,
the gold wedding band on my finger
shines brighter than the sun.
I’m in love with right now
with nothing left to fear.

15/30: DAYLIGHT AND GOOD NEWS

David Lynch said
Fix your hearts or die.
In a dream of mine,
I am reminded just how human I am
the second I wake up and am no longer
flawless or fearless.
The business of living goes on.  
The sky leaves a legacy of light
painted across day and night.
Sitting on the front porch,
I close my eyes and listen to
the wind in the trees.
Broken isn’t a word I’d use to describe me.
If I break, I’m breaking like daylight
and good news.

14/30: MEMORY & MEANING

Time is measured by experience. Experience is the story we tell until it is stored in our memory. How many stories have we told that remind us just how old we are? Stories are time. We’re running out of stories. I tell a story, and something comes alive. A detail crackles into a spark. Reading is a conjuring. The voice in my head arcs and bends. When I read, I search for meaning because meaning is what summons my memory. In understanding the language of right now, I almost ways turn back to my memories. Who empowered the past to cast such a long shadow? All of us did. Thinking is time-travel to a certain extent. Not quite a spell but how can it not be magic? How many of us have traveled back to the past with nothing more than our words? Neruda wrote: Love is so short, forgetting is long. He wasn’t wrong.