What is Love? Good Question

What is love?

It begins and ends within.
Expands like the breath of the universe,
moves with the fabric of time,
and lives within an eternal soul.

Love is…

Just as I AM.

The Homecoming

I was gathering beet greens
when I saw the sleeve of his jacket
reach around my waist.

A tremor filled my heart,
as I had been longing for his kiss
so many lonely days on the bayou
wondering when he might return…

If he might return.

I dropped my elbow full with the harvest
of summer heat… long days yearning
to feel his life force melt into mine,
our muscles churning in cosmic time.

“Looks like we need a new lightbulb for the porch.”
His smile spoke of more than the practical.
He was home! Home with me! Home, still with
the love and wonder of our first cinnamon kiss.

A bucket of strawberries spilled out next to us,
like hearts begging for love’s blessing,
as we dropped to our knees in grace,
with only the distant elk as witness.

At World’s End

Look out there!
For once, just look.

Look!

Isn’t it beautiful?
These lights in the sky,
sparkling,
burning,
moving!

Stop!

Stop for just a moment.
Stop the wars.
Stop the fighting.
Stop the name calling.
Stop the hatred.

Stop fighting for some stupid job
so that you can cheat your way to wealth
without ever trying.

Just stop.
Stop for one moment,
and look.

Look at where we’re going.

We have such great potential,
all of us, together.
One mind.
One life.
One being of many.
Many being one earth,
one planet,
one orbit,
one journey.

So, stop it!
It’s just a job.
Not the end of the world.

Nevermind the Heroic

Heroes of the sixth
sit, like slaves, in a cell
six by six, while they
play business as usual.

Viscous lies, vicious against
heroes of the sixth.
Brave, unpaid soldiers
for the free world.

Snakes in suits
remind themselves with
heroes of the sixth
that… they… rule!

Such little minds
in big clothes!
This world belongs to
heroes of the sixth.

Planetary Observance

At the edge of the earth
is a china sky
lit by golden flowers.

A bouquet of vibrant lilies
tied with ribbons to each corner,
pulled by giant geese through eternity.

The Little Ones

Right there on the chair
Flowers that must have been for me.

An orchid corsage atop a box.
Inside, a white dress – my size.

His jacket draped over the chair
and a seat cushion from an airplane.

I waited by the window,
where was his car?

Where was he?
No text, no call, nothing.

That’s when I saw it,
a thread on the floor.

Long, red, so close to the
cherry of the hardwood

that I would have missed it
were the sun not so bright

through such clean windows.
Clean windows! Such clean windows!

My mind raced… were they clean
the day we signed the lease?

I sat waiting for as long as
I thought reasonable, given, well…

You know… the strangeness of it all.
Then, as the sun left the floor

creeping up onto the wall
the tiny hands appeared.

One by one. Handprints about the size
of one of those tiny monkeys

you see at the zoo. They were all
over the wall. Just the hands.

Then, behind me, footsteps!
Not human footsteps.

No. Not a ghost, like a human ghost,
a dead person or something.

Tiny footsteps running fast,
as if a crowd of them were gathering.

I tried to pick up the flowers and
the dress, which had fallen to the floor,

But they became so heavy,
as if suddenly made of lead,

like gravity had somehow multiplied
by thousands and thousands,

yet I could move effortlessly.
Needless to say, fear took over,

and I ran to the door.
When I turned around,

everything was back as it was…
the dress in the box,

his jacket draped just so,
and the orchids like a bow on top.

The Interview

He met my mind one day while
perusing the dialogue of birds.
A chirp here, a cricket there.
Sometimes a growl.

Yes, a growl from a grumpster.
He almost broke us up!

Yes, almost! The jerk!
But we knew. How? I don’t know.

We knew. We just knew that the time would come
when men in the dragon’s pocket would lose their way.

That was, what, 20 years ago?

About that, yes.

The Ruse

A spearmint wind speaks my name to darkness,
“Let us make her think he wants her, desperately!”

“Lamb impaled upon lettuce?”

“Let us traaaaace it all back,” eyes drool oily spice
as lust inverts its greed, hot to the mind of myth.

“So foolish be Persephone to escape the dead land!”
it snarled, slithering in mephitic stench.

“Murimuria needs a queen.” agreed a mindless mole,
“Lettuce! Stay in the present day.”

“Vegan moth balls in a light chimichurri,” offered an
overdressed snail of kitchen funk, its slime melting
into the verdant pool of sludge.

“If Earth2Joy becomes herself, I cannot consume mankind!”
it rasped, “So, tell me, top one, did she accept?”

“No, oh gloriously fetid one, she declined,” sighed the mole,
“Fortunately, I was unable to convince him to attend either.”

“She cannot approach, she cannot approach!” squawked a one eyed parrot,
hanging upside down from a volcanic arch.

“I know that, Noshbag! Om Namo Shivaya!”

“Once upon a time! Once upon a time! Squaaawk!”

“White chocolate covered crickets in a short moose earwax crème anglais.”

“Shut up! The script is written around the premise of her grief!
The Oracle of Delphi says she will find him. She shall approach him,
thinking he sent her those stupid love songs.”

“And then? And then, oh putrid one?”

“The men in my pocket will take her to ….”

“To the funny farm, where life is happy and all is gay,
hoo hoo, ha ha, hee, hee, ho, ho.”

Credit “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” by Jerry Samuels, 1966

The white ferret shall chase its tail around a black and gold pillar.
As above, so below. So it is, and so it shall be.

“Shut up! SHUT UP! There is no funny farm!” he snarled,
wings ablaze in dragon fire. “There is no farm! Anywhere!”

“Uh, excuuuuuse me, oh great pestilence of earth,” choked the cock
emerging from a broken marble throne, “you wear no pants.”

“So….?” It hissed.

“Therefore, you have no pockets.”

“Altoid, anyone?”

Ribbons in the Dark

It’s not a ladder!
Why climb and jostle just to fall?
Why pull the pant leg of the next above when no one is there?
Competition – the myth outside the sphere of self – obscures one truth:

Life is light!

His Whisper

“This way, beautiful,” he whispered, not there.
Hands imagined intertwined
as pines mist our morning air.

Glories still asleep lead a pleasant dream
into cosmic light – a fire hiding
beyond our sphere unseen.

Kisses! Oh, kisses as we laugh and play
in busy days imagined.
I wish, in my naivete.