Tag: Poetry

unspoken

I have seen your eyes.
I remember them
when they spoke,
when they answered without words
showing me your happiness.
Now, what do your wrinkles tell me?
What do your tired eyes say?
Wrinkles can tell a story,
but I am not sure what they say anymore.
They are different.
I long for age.
I long for old age.
There is beauty even in worn skin,
in the wrinkles around the eyes
that tell of everything
that words cannot.
But your eyes?
I do not understand their language.
And your wrinkles?
They speak of the arrival
of old age;
not of beauty,
of loneliness.

Budapest in the morning

The last time we saw each other
Was it really back in 2012?
You helped me discover my strength.
Did I ever tell you that?
We walked through Budapest
early in the morning
sharing our stories
and the joyful chaos
that comes with brotherhood
You helped me rebuild my foundation
which had cracked in places
Have I mentioned that before?
We are both balding now
with wrinkles that show everything we have been through
and all that we’ve learned
I wish I had come to see you after my treatment
When I found out I would survive
I should have come to see you
before my back started to stoop
Before I became afraid
before I put others’ happiness
ahead of my own
When did you teach me to speak up?
When did I start to walk
with my shoulders squared
My eyes are looking up
Focused straight ahead?
When did you explain to me
that the pain others carry
Was it not mine to heal?
When did you show me
that my sensitivity
was a gift, but it also made me a target
for people who were hurting or felt weak?
My shoulders are still squared
My eyes are still bright, looking straight ahead, clear and direct
brother
You would be so proud
With just a word
I can turn away
those who come to me because of my sensitivity
to heal them
those wanting me to hold the weight
of their pain
How old will we be
When we meet again?
Will we look younger?
Will our wrinkles reveal more
about the lessons we’ve learned?
will they tell of living
And how did we live?
Will mine tell you about the peace
You helped bring me
The calm you brought to an old man
with squared shoulders
and confident eyes fixed straight ahead?

The sweetness of a lifetime

Now, there is sweetness.
Finally.

This year brings a birthday.
It is wrapped in

peace.

Two years ago
I was encased in a tarp,

in the damp weather,

of

The Faroe Islands
I pleaded for your return.

The sweetness of a lifetime
was held in those two years.

Not everyone who begs for
answers

walks away whole
or healed.

Sweetness

of a lifetime
carried for two years.

great migration

The season has come around again.
At this time of year,
It holds memories
of transformation.
I remember it was
When the hummingbirds left,
when they began their
Great Migration.
The air changed a little each day,
growing just a little cooler,
a little
cooler.
Before the hummingbirds left,
they returned,
Their wings a blur of motion.
“Give us the skins
you’ve shed,
the pasts
with no place here and now!”
they said.
We took off our skins and
layers of ourselves,
all the fragile surfaces
that took our breath,
that hid our eyes.
Then we let a stillness come.
A sense of calm where we could say,
“This is how I will remember you!”

… so very perfect

The clock in the cottage
keeps time in its own way

It gets cold at night
and feels stifling by noon

I hang my shirts up to dry
on the hooks hanging from the ceiling

I’ve been sitting here for a while
with this clock that never tells the truth

just thinking to myself
“my god, this is so very perfect.”

the language

I speak a foreign language.

It feels like there are endless syllables and countless vowels,
And I speak it alone.

All I want is to feel good in my body and connect with someone else.

But I feel tangled
in a language that only I seem to understand.

When I speak, it feels heavy in ways I can’t describe.
It brings out meanings I never meant.

I kept my desire for pleasure and true connection to myself,
afraid of how much
my words might weigh on someone.

Then gentle fingers touched my lips and quieted the sounds.

A mouth met mine and took my words away.

Every syllable and vowel slowly faded.

As each sound lingered,
A voice, speaking my language, said,

I hear you.
I know your intentions.
I understand.
Speak without fear.
Speak honestly and

rest here, open and true

free from worry.

my longing for physical pleasure
and the sense of real connection came back.

With the language we both understand,
the language we share together,
We can show each other who we really are.

We will trace letters with our tongues,
and with soft breaths on our necks, we will write our stories.