yes, the answer is yes

If I met you today,
for the first time
again,
would that first spark
be the same
as that long ago feeling
in a bar
in the foothills of Colorado?

Would I be as bold,
and you as cool
in the midst of another rowdy crowd?

Would our kiss
be that kiss
when the room held its breath
in awe of the lightning
crackling along the ceiling,
sending sparks cascading
into our white hair.

the angel of long marriages and star crossed lovers

Victorian Angels

Better with every telling , the story of the night we met,
our creation mythology, filled with revelry and beer.
My gemini to your cancer- constellations sharing stars
aligned just so with the conjunction of planets
perfectly formed in the cataclysm of desire.

Our saga continued with heroic deeds and herculean tasks,
all spilling across pages of years. Tattooed on our faces,
deeds fair and foul, most forgotten and some forgiven,
all returning to that original sin. Our garden created
and cultivated with four hands, labored,
and on occasion, nurtured by an angel or two.

Willingly we return to that first moment, revisiting
the past lore, embellished golden with retelling.
The myth of our own making, epic, comic, tragic-
the end will be as the beginning, a story better
for the telling and perfectly formed in the stars.

*** Twelve Days of Angels, Day Seven

Sunday Morning Rain

July Rain

Grumbling,
the morning thunder tosses and turns
across the landscape of our lavender sheets.

The white noise
of steady morning rain,
shushing against heavy green leaves,
lulls us into deeper slumber,
even as the wrensong breaks
with the dawn.

The windows are open to the morning rain.
Cool air seeps into our bed
as we curl like children under the patchwork
of our long marriage.

one, two three…..

love birds#5 (3)

We’ve lost our capacity to count.
Our years together number thirty something-
(how long have we been married?)
Too many kisses to enumerate –
(except for that singular kiss. You know the one,
when the room held its breath
for the count
of ten
or twenty
or infinity)
And that ice age when I stopped counting on you
(but you never subtracted,
only multiplied your love)
No, we’ve lost our capacity to count-
higher math and the calculations of our applied physics
have overwhelmed the
one
two
three
of us
But numbers aren’t everything.

*** Brian and Claudia are jousting it out today at the Dverse Pub Tournament of Champions. Our prompt is to take a line from one of their poems and create one of our own. I chose the line ‘we’ve lost our capacity to count‘ from Brian Miller’s poem-‘if I stay-

Hangover

Hangover (or The Day After Valentine’s Day)

Too much chocolate and intimacy,
our emotions crowd
this small room.

The overwrought day of love and hearts
founders with the consumption.
Thank God these feasts are few and far between
and the dull days
that drift from indifference
to profundity
even in the thinnest context
lie ahead
for us to rest our heads upon.

Love will again become happily perfunctory
and satisfying
without the need for overloaded emotions
and recriminations
drying on our faces.

Too much is too much
and I willingly give back
all those candy hearts and paper doilies.

Give me the day to day
workmanship of your love,
the confection melted away
to the unsweetened morsel of us.

A Week of Love Poems – Valentine’s Day!

love birds#5 (3)
The Kitchen Song

She loves him sweet and tender
She loves him with pies and cake
She loves him with buttery little biscuits
The kind she likes to bake.

She loves him good and hearty
She loves him with beef stew
She loves him with ribs and goulash
And rich bowls of thick burgoo.

She loves him hot and spicy
She loves him with red cayenne
She loves him with jalapeno peppers
And secret recipes from the Yucatan.

She loves him dark and steamy
She loves him with coffee and cream
She loves him with Earl Grey and Oolong
And toddies spiked with Jim Beam.

She loves him in so many ways
She loves him the best she can
She loves him sweet and good and hot,
Her sweet talkin’ everlovin’ man.

— This is an old poem written for Bob as a Valentine one year. Still one of my silliest and one of our favorites.