alleyways

One brother is spending the week in silence.
One brother is spending the week in Amsterdam.
These are not metaphors.

I am spending my week in an alley amongst the dumpsters and broken glass and who knows what that is on the ground

Somewhere between weeping and not weeping.

This is metaphor

And knowing myself like I do,
Since I have spent a good portion of my time in this alley,
It has been swept clean and the dumpsters have been lined up just so and the whatever that was has been washed away.
And I have probably made friends with a cunning rat or two and helped some homeless dude find lodging.

All this is metaphor.

Grief puts you in unexpected geography,
Locales not usually associated with your life.
And you spend a lot of time there,
Weeping and wishing you would stop weeping then thinking, okay, I have stopped weeping
Just to start all over again.

Some of this is metaphor.

And the alley is someplace.
I mean alleys are always the in between places.
The places that separate there from over here.

And all that may or may not be metaphor.
I’m not sure.

My Love is Like ….or Metaphors, be damned

rosebud

My love is like a red, red nose
That drips in the month of May.
(Well, now that is not attractive.)

My love is like a green garden hose.
(What the heck!)

My love is like a man that hoes
the long, hard row
to Tipperary.
(Good grief, where did that come from?)

My love is like a Reb that rows-
(Well, he is from North Carolina but he hates the water.)

(For Heavens sake!)

My love is like a man that arose
To hoe the garden, row by row,
Cultivating the greenest spring,
To wreath the head of his May Queen
With rose on rose on rose on rose.

**** This bit of nonsense is for Bjorn’s prompt at dVerse MTB. Happy May Day!

A Week of Love Poems

A few love poems for the week of Valentines – I hope you don’t mind this little indulgence – smiles

love birds#5 (3)

Metaphor

Is it too trite
to write
that the river
is a
metaphor
for our love?
And to use the old saying that
you never step into the same river twice?
Because it is
Just
Like
That.

Driving through the dark Ozarks night,
following the hollows along the river,
a young couple in our headlights-
wet, walking hand in hand-
coming up from a midnight swim.
Suddenly, I am transported-
I am that girl-
shy, bold and holding your hand,
feeling your wet skin for the first time,
the rush of the river,
the rush of the new.
Then, I laugh, seeing myself
reflected in your laughing eyes
illuminated by the dashboard lights.
We drive towards home,
splashing in the river.

metaphor

Is it too trite
to write that the river
is a metaphor
for our love?

And to use the old saying that
you never step into the same river twice?
Because it is

Just

Like

That.

Driving through the dark Ozarks night
following the hollows along the river,
a young couple in our headlights-
wet, walking hand in hand-
coming up from a midnight swim.

Suddenly, I am transported-
I am that girl-
shy, bold and holding your hand,
feeling your wet skin for the first time,
the rush of the river,
the rush of the new.

Then, I laugh, seeing myself
reflected in your laughing eyes
illuminated by the dashboard lights.
We drive towards home
splashing in the river.

Metaphor

Is it too trite
To write
That the river
Is a
Metaphor
For our love?
And to use the old saying that
You never step into the same river twice?
Because it is
Just
Like
That.

Driving through the dark Ozarks night,
Following the hollows along the river,
A young couple in our headlights-
Wet, walking hand in hand-
Coming up from a midnight swim.
Suddenly, I am transported-
I am that girl-
Shy, bold and holding your hand,
Feeling your wet skin for the first time,
The rush of the river,
The rush of the newness.
Then, I laugh and see myself
Reflected in your laughing eyes
Illuminated by the dashboard lights.
We drive towards home,
Splashing in the river.