First Date

Shaking hands
wipe salt beads from his face.

Breathe, just be

The spice lingers,
smells of his father.

Hope she likes it.

Walking slowly,
heart in a ritual drum circle.
Eyes losing focus,
lovers knot in his throat.

Hi, hello.
Um I'm here to pick up your..
Good evening sir, I'm here to..
Please don't kill me.

Her father awaits him,
fingers drumming the coffee table,
knees that won't still.

Knock knock..

In His Shoes

Lonely wanderer
where do you go,
where do you come from,
what made this so?
He passes me by with his head held up high,
heart on his sleeve,
humbly abiding.
Watching intently from behind the glass
at the sight of this man I am filled with compassion.
His dreaded locks made from the dust of the earth,
eyes filled with deep longing,
belonging to a world who discounts him,
no concern for his hurt.
Knapsack on his back,
hands in his pocket,
a locket of timelessness trapped in his mind.
He crosses my path,
his eyes looking yonder.
Despite all his troubles,
his face still holds a wonder.
And I ponder
a day in the shoes of this lonely wanderer.

a place that I love

She is..

She is a midsummer nights dream.
a journey into the unseen.
her loveliness, a mystery.
Her aura,
a bouquet of orange blossom
drifting through peaceful meadows.
Her laughter paints the many colors of wildflowers,
splashing freedom on a once blank canvas.
Hips sway
with the grace of a petal caught in a light breeze.
Her eyes,
vintage wood-paned windows,
like a kaleidoscope view into
the center of her universe.
The intricacy of her entity perplexes me.
Her voice,
is as blue as jazz to a tired soul.
In every breath,
poetry flows pure as crystal waters from an arctic spring.
Memories,
once vibrant in design,
now stained with time,
like archaic photographs.
She is a symphony of artistry,
a collage of complexity.
Clothed in strength and dignity,
she can laugh at the years to come.

Revolution

I wrote this a couple years ago and thought I'd share it...
It was written from a place of "I just don't get it" mixed with a hint of, obvious, sarcastic humor...

The common, simple
Cubans
paper-skin hands holding
ration books

yeah-- ration books
sweating, hours in line-
waiting. A gallon of milk (but only for 7, younger or dying)

A delicious ad in eye-catching colors;
The fresh cut deli-style, dripping, saucy sight....
Layers of savory meat,
nestled perfectly between aged cheese and
July's garden of veggies.
Senses halt to take it in.
"Cuban sandwich.."
Sweltering buds play kick-ball in my mouth.

Huh....Meat?
Most eyes have never seen.
Half a chicken [a week]for FOUR!
Is doled by luck itself.
So I have to ask,
What exactly IS a Cuban sandwich?

Wait--
It must be part of the green movement..

Irony stands proud over eco-friendly wasteland.
Waving red flags of peace-
[15% organic folks!]
While X-mart peddles "transitional cotton" wear
hand-stitched by children,
we sit with suction-cupped eyes to the tube,
in our non-toxic, biodegradable homes,
proud to be American, where at least we know we're free?
And self preservation devours Cuba
licking fingers as if each were--

"Cuban sandwich...."

Now that ladies and gentlemen...
....that is a glimpse of a Revolution.

From Dust to Doves

What do you think when you lie there for hours,
sleepless,
and yesterdays milk sits,
and curdles and sours,
while windowsill cacti birth flower upon flower,
and monochrome visions surrender their power.

Thoughts, dreams, cold whispers
hastily snare,
swift contemplation
leaves the soul bare.
And they shred and they tear
the flesh
which, at best,
is null, void and dead.

Dust in the end.

But His strength engulfs sorrow,
holding steadfast to hope,
through faith, I am hollowed.
And He mends fractured wings,
forming doves out of sparrows,
as He paints new tomorrows.

His golden hands hold the scars,
of the stars.
And I am new once again.

Meet me there

Daddy I'm weak,
Lord, I want to seek
your face.
Why won't my hands reach,
fettered members are
leashed..
Tears refusing,
confusing,
wanting, but not choosing.

He breaks when we don't.
Help me friend,
save me Jesus,
because my heart won't.

Will you catch me
if I fall?
If on my knees I crawl
to the ends of forever,
say you will meet me there.