Traveler's Lament

There’s nothing that I really want

As I sit on this bench, awaiting the dawn.

The cold air welcomes my heart

Into a place I’ve easily loved

Yet so longingly dreaded

I have traveled many lively paths

Each one creasing my forehead a little deeper.

I have jumped upon rocks for entertainment,

Each one making my knees a little knobbier.

The gyms I have jungled

Leave my hands a little more weathered,

And my eyes a bit glazed.

My mouth still hangs slightly open

From the plants that have wet my lips.

When he came, wearing that grave suit I had been looking for,

And found me on the doorstep.

He asked me, “If you could travel in time –

Where would you want to go?”

“I travel all the time.

And as far as anywhere to go,

There’s nothing that I really want.”

The Homebody Dreams of Home

She lumbers in the parking lot

Gazing at the space

Entranced by the stars

Engulfed by the vastness

Wondering if she’ll ever get the chance

To be with her beloved

Amidst the Milky Way

He blue skirt and floral blouse

Looking less disheveled than usual

As she staggers back to take in the emptiness

The black velvet wish she’s painted for herself

She remembers her first kiss

Among the heavens

It was thirty years ago,

Yet the vividity of the abduction

Still pulses her imagination

With excitement

Her first and only love

Not even human.

She became enrapt

With light

Being drawn toward the curiosity,

The prospect.

Like a puppy to a lake.

Not sure if they’ll drown,

Only knowing that exploration

Is mandatory.

She remembers, through a haze – a Ketamine-like blur

The view of herself

Above her.

The mysterious charts and graphs

Marking the major parts

Of the terrestrial, extra carefully.

The stars, perfectly dazzling

Formed sequences of once familiar shapes

Orion’s sword, she thought she saw

The Gemini twins, now wielded by her abductor,

Slices her clothes off.

Her eyes full of nothing but wonder

At her lucky circumstance.

The alien does not like this.

She see lights, once again, in the distance;

Though, the colors seem different.

She’s escorted to a car,

Where the men in suits

Tell her she’s diluted,

She’s fantasized this event.

All the while transfixed

On the empty space

Of her future home.

Shehecheyanu

We shuffled into the room,
Mimicking our guides in our head;
As if they couldn't read our faces;
Blindly echoing the disheartened cries
Of our predecessors
Until, at last, we saw the light
Emblazoned with wrath for no crime at all.

We instructed our children to hide
Like turtles forced to become hermits
But, they too were moths being escorted
Into the furnace - that pit of no return.
In this, the dawn and dusk of their time,
Always playing hide and seek,
Never to be found again.

We see the trench - that treacherous wasteland
To which we will unwillingly be united.
We squirm, we screech; a shriek, a screech of shrill voices
We have never since meant as we do now
"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam
Shehecheyanu!"

I Want to Belong to the Winds

When I no longer lie on this Earth

And must welcome death into my heart

I shall be taken to a hilltop,

My ashes spread into the four winds

I shall travel North,

North, to the Northiest part of the world

I will travel East

And West

Around the Earth and back again.

I shall travel South,

South beyond the Southern borders I was limited,

Beyond the fear of leaving I had in life.

I will travel as far as the winds can take me

Around and around,

The world my carousel

One man on a journey to find everything.

Careening, dipping, landing where the winds halt

Resuming when they have finished their business

One soul reminiscing on a life that never was

When my journey is over,

The four winds will return me to that hilltop

When that day comes,

I hope you will join me.

We can sit on that graveyard as long as you like.

Even forever.

The Stockholm Summer

Arms wrapped around me – captured my life.
My heart screamed, screeching through my soul.
We jingled off into the distance,
Clinking with every step.

Our room silent, dimly lit
A parade of torrents, our only music.
My life centered around
Our time together.

We danced with fire all around
As passion blazed, engulfing us.
A mere candle could not compare
To the torch of our encampment.

We succumbed, pressured by jungle forces,
Nothing but beasts prowled with us.
Armed with desire,
We braved our battle.

Our lives intermingled,
We counted our days, numbered until the end.
Forcer apart, bittersweet relief flaked
Across our time, our moments, our parting.

You, Only You

You stood

Creation before you.

You said,

"Let there be"

And there was.

You formed, and shaped.

You planned, and created.

You, only You, could do this.

I stand.

A lifetime before me.

I say,

"Let me be"

And I am.

I think, and grow.

I care, and imagine.

You, only You, can help me.

We bring

Worship before you.

We cry,

"Holy, holy, holy"

And you are.

We pray, and sing.

We teach, and learn.

You, only You, are worthy.

The Cold Within

I didn't write this - but, it's one of my favorite poems... One of the reasons I write poetry... It is such a great story and imagery... This poem is generally published as written by Anonymous (who writes a lot of stuff)... Anyway... Here's the poem...

The Cold Within

Six humans trapped in happenstance

In the dark and bitter cold

Each one possessed a stick of wood

Or so the story's told

Their dying fire in need of logs

The first woman held hers back

For of the faces around the fire

She noticed one was black

The second man, looking across the way

Saw not one of his church

And he just couldn't bring himself

To give the fire his stick of birch

The third man sat in tattered clothes

He gave his coat a hitch

Why should his log be put to use

To warm the idol rich

The rich man just sat back and thought

Of the wealth he had in store

And how to keep what he had earned

From the lazy, shiftless poor

The black man's face bespoke revenge

As the fire died out of sight

For all he saw in his stick of wood

Was a chance to spite the white

The last man in this forlorn group

Did naught except for gain

Giving only to those who gave

Was how he played the game

Six logs gripped tight by death's still hands

Was proof of human sin

They didn't die from the cold without

They died from the cold within