The Week Before Christmas

Your hands are full of diamonds, they drip between your fingers like ice water washing the ashes off your dusty wedding ring. And the water pours like Niagara, wishing the falls will drown us all....

Sand Feeling Gritty BetweenOur Fingers

Cold fresh water rolling over sand, salt sliding over my thirsty tongue. If you can't understand me it doesn't really matter, I'll squeeze your hand no matter what.

Christmas Eve Is Real Close!

Emily is sitting cross legged on my bed with Skunk in her lap, she's wearing red jeans and sweatshirt, her boots are under the edge of the bed. She loves to wear red around Christmas, she says it makes her feel more Christmasy. And Skunk loves to sit in her lap, he has good taste!

Earlier we walked on the Promenade, the December night wind blowing her pony tail, my arm around her shoulder. We met a couple visiting from Paris, and I discovered that Emily speaks fluent French. I don't, but I could follow most of their conversation. I'm always learning new things about her, even after five years. I so totally love that about her!

When we came home, with some Baskin Robbins Double Chocolate Chip (I've never known anyone who likes ice cream as much as she does!), we watched Frosty The Snowman and Frosty Returns on tv. Can't believe Christmas Eve is two weeks from tomorrow night! We sat on the bed and ate from the same bowl with two spoons, but dang, she can eat twice as fast as I can! Guess when you're dead you can't get the brain freeze. She always gets more ice cream than I do!

But now she's starting to nod out, Skunk purring against her tummy while she breathes slow and deep. The hell with sex, I just want to hold her close to me tonight. We'll be together forever soon enough.

First Cold Night Double Haiku

Slow dancing with you
In the warm December fog,
Splashing in the rain.

The rain turns to snow,
Your boots slip on icy slush,
My hand catches you.

December Haiku

Days growing shorter,
The winter sky's pearly grey.
I light a candle.

Sitting In A Rowboat In The Middle Of The Desert

My mouth is full of salt and my eyes are full of sand, my hands shake so bad I can't write, there's gravel on my tongue and there's dust in my hair, and it's just another Saturday night.

Calendar

November is dead, it's beyond all repair, December is coming, with snow in its heart. Then it's January, all over again....why would I want to live through this another time?

It's Just November, Don't Mean Nothing

The hospital died and the corridors were dark, the blood, it all collected in the pit below its heart. The undertaker came and he pumped out all the blood, and he poured it in the river and the bricks were warm and dry. And the autumn sun shown down on the concrete and the bones, and the people who were left had excuses of their own, and they watched the sun setting, then they all gouged out their eyes, 'cos they couldn't stand the darkness and they thought they could survive with an arrow through their hearts and a bullet through their heads, and a Bible in their hands, and the sunset's turning red. They were SO wrong!

Haiku For The Week Before Thanksgiving

I'll be leaving soon,
But you are welcome to stay
And wait for Christmas

Saint Joan, Again

I took a walk with Joan Of Arc tonight, she shows up at my door on autumn nights and asks me to hold her hand, and show her the world she never got to know.

Tonight we walked on the Promenade, her hand squeezing mine as she looked out at the harbor and all the lights, the wind from the fifteenth century blowing her short blonde hair. She was wearing skinny jeans and ugg boots, and a sweatshirt with a French tricolor flag. She looked so tiny, so petite, so pure, that I wished I could have traveled back six centuries and saved her innocent life.

Later on we lay on my bed, the only light in the house a single candle in a blue glass cup, it cast moonshadows on the walls and ceiling while I pulled the covers up over us and pulled her so close to me. And I kissed her lips, and I could taste the burning straw you cowardly bastards put at her feet, and I could taste the oil you smeared on her white robe to make her burn faster, and I hope to hell you're all burning now.

And I hope the devil is giving you every last damn thing you deserve....

Haiku For Three Thousand Ghosts

They are filling in
The pit with concrete and tears,
Sand pours from your eyes....

November Can Be Warm Sometimes

I was walking on the Promenade tonight with my favorite checkout girl from the supermarket when she asked me, "Jim, why do you like me so much?"

And I told her, "It's the way you smile when you see me come in. I can tell you're really happy to see me."

And she said, "I'm always happy to see you Hon! If you can't see that by now you must be blind in one eye and can't see out of the other!" I didn't say anything, I just kissed her closed eyelids, over her warm brown eyes.

And later on I lay on the bed and watched her putting her clothes back on, and I dialed a car service to take her home. And I kissed her goodnight, and I told her I love her....bacause I do.

"A" Haiku

You know my real name,
And you love me anyway.
I'm a lucky man.

November Haiku

The Sun walks away,
The dark comes earlier now.
It's so cold at night.

The Sky Is So Much Closer In The Desert

The night is so big,
So cold and so dark,
Where can I hide
Where the sky cannot see me?

The moonlight's so cold,
The shadows so sharp,
Starlight and night wind
Blowing through my open hands.

October Rain

Cold water floating dead brown leaves,
Just a few inches deep.
Leaves floating toward the ocean,
Toward Salvation,
In this tiny river in the street.

October Was Made For Remembering

It's a chilly night in New York City, and there's a cold foggy moon throwing blue-white shadows on the concrete and the fences, on the wrought iron and the stone. The streets are blowing with dead brown leaves, dry black dust, and all the memories that October carries in the pockets of her apron. Down on the beach the waves are breaking on sand that's already forgotten what human footprints feel like, and the humans are busy looking at the cold white stars, wondering which ones spell out their names....

October Haiku

The Sun is blazing,
The water shallow and cool,
Sand cold underfoot.

East River Waves

It's even sadder than Prospect Park in the rain, the waves washing over the October sand. Cold sand, tired of the bare summer footprints, cold water, five stories deep, praying that you'll realize the fault was your own. The sand and the cold salty water behaved the way God built them to, if you have a problem, take it up with Her....

Just Another Saturday Night

This rain makes me want to slit my own throat with a blade made of frozen lightning, and the very last thing I'll see is my blood pouring into the river,
turning the green waves purple.

The First Night Of Autumn

I just sent you home on this rainy first night of autumn, and I was already missing you even while I closed the car door. Squeezing your hand through the open window, leaning in to kiss your cheek goodnight, then climbing the stoop, with the memory of your heart, beating between my shaking hands.

Your long black skirt glittering with rainy diamonds, when I picked you up and twirled you in the circling gloom. Kissing your soft and rainy mouth, and so much later, in the candle light, the soft white skin above the tops of your stockings....

And now you're on your way back home again, Dang, I miss you!

Haiku For My Sleepy Friend

If you wake in the

night, alone and scared, feel my

hand on your shoulder.

Autumn Again

It's a cold October night, and the bone white light of the full moon is shining on the chilly sand. Under the Steeplechase pier lies what's left of an old carpet, beautiful hand woven Arabesques, stick figures of desert animals, its hems unravelling and blending with the all forgiving sand and shells.

And you're sitting on the carpet, wishing the world would explode tonight, wishing the sand would leak in between the threads, wishing that taste in your mouth were something other than sand, and cum, and old beer. Wishing you could just fly off into the heavens, and forget all this bullshit.

You can....and I'll be happy to hold your hand.

The Best Business Phone Call I've Ever Had

Got my new Visa card in the mail today, the old one is expiring shortly, so tonight I called to activate the new one. Went through the usual entering of numbers and so on, and then talked to a representative. She asked me how the weather was in Brooklyn and I told her it was a beautiful early fall night. I asked where she was and she said, at a call center in Idaho, but she told me she used to live in Queens. I asked where, and she said, in Howard Beach, near the big Waldbaum's on Cross Bay Boulevard. I cracked up laughing and told her, back in the seventies I dated a girl (my ex Suzanne) whose sister worked in that Waldbaums! New York really is a small town.

She told me she was teaching school in Far Rockaway in the nineties, and that she was here on September 11th. We traded stories about the day. She told me that after that day she had to move back to Idaho, to be near her family, her daughter, her four grandchildren. I told her to call them when she got off duty and tell them she loves them, 'cos you never know when it will be the last chance you have to say it. Think about it, on the morning of 9/11 almost three thousand people left their homes expecting to return that evening.... She told me that she was going off duty and I'd been her last call of the evening, and we thanked each other for such a pleasant twenty-odd minutes. Totally made my evening!

September 11, 2011

Lit a candle on the Promenade tonight, and set it by the flag pole at the foot of Montague Street, while the helicopters and fighter jets buzzed overhead and the bagpipes played and people sang "Amazing Grace" in the humid September darkness. I've done this every year for ten years now. My dog Casey accompanied me through 2008, he passed the following year and since then I've gone alone.

Casey was the perfect companion to have on that heartbreaking night each year. I was walking him at the north end of the Promenade on the morning of September 11, 2001; together we saw the first plane slam into the north tower. I swear that on some level he understood the horrible evil that had taken place, because each year on the anniversary he would lick the hands of anyone who petted him, lick the faces of small children, lie on the feet of anyone who treated him kindly, roll over and ask them to skritch his belly.... Jenny was so right when she called him the Perfect Buddha Dog!

But he's crossed the Rainbow Bridge now, and I was alone tonight by the harbor, alone with ten thousand candle flames, alone with three thousand burning ghosts, alone while I poured holy water on their blistering skins as they slipped over the horizon, hoping for a word of wisdom from me....I'm so very very sorry, but I don't have one to give you

All I can tell you is, turn to the people you love, and tell them you love them....You never know when it will be your last chance.

Ten Years Ago....

Ten years ago tonight I met Garrison Keillor. He was doing a book signing at Barnes & Noble on Union Square, on a rainy Monday night. He did a reading from the book, Lake Wobegon Summer 1956, and a monologue, and a singalong with the audience, for two hours, as only he can do. The whole time thunderstorms were raging outside, and through the windows behind the stage in the top floor auditorium we could see lightning bolts striking the World Trade Center, about a mile south of us.

Then he started signing books, there were at least 500 people there, and most had more than one book for him to sign, but he was kind and gracious and chatted with every person. When my turn came, he asked me if I was from Minnesota, he said my accent sounded midwestern. I laughed and told him I was born and raised in Brooklyn. He asked me where, and I said, born in Bed Stuy but I live in Brooklyn Heights now. He said, well, you must be doing something right! I laughed again and said, Mr. Keillor, it was really just a series of happy accidents. He laughed at that and said, Jim, my entire career is a series of happy accidents! He signed my copy of his book, "To a true Brooklyn!" We shook hands and I started down the escalators to the ground floor, paid for the book and stashed it in my backpack, and walked out into the late Monday night street.

The rain had just about stopped, the sky was clearing, the Twin Towers were bathed in flourescent white light just like every night. They were such a constant you barely saw them, like the stars and the tides. I walked to the subway with a few people I'd met that night and headed for home.

When I came in the door I took the book out of my backpack and set it on the table in my living room, then I took my dog Casey for his last walk of the night. When we stepped out on the front stoop we could see the tops of the Towers shining, the aircraft beacons blinking red and white. We barely saw them, they were such a part of the scenery. It never occurred to me that we were seeing them lit up for the last time.

The next morning I was walking Casey at the corner of Middagh Street and Columbia Heights when the first plane slammed into the north tower at 8:46 a.m....The book sat in its shopping bag for about three weeks on the corner of my table. When I opened it and read the inscription I realized it was no longer just a book, it was a time capsule from a world that no longer existed. It was like finding a best seller from Atlantis, and you just knew the world would never be the same again. I miss that other world....

I'm Burning Away To Nothing, Leave Me Buried In The Pit

It's the last minute of our lives, making love while the buildings turn to dust and the sky turns to fire. And we're slipping beneath the Hudson's green waves, cool smooth water whispering in my ear while I tear your white blouse open, push your skirt up to your waist, stuff your panties in your mouth, already soaked with river water, because it's what you begged me to do....and I want so badly to make you happy.

Rainy Ghosts

Did my best to stay indoors tonight, the rain is coming biblically down. But I had to go out and toss my trash and recycling, anything that makes this dump even a little cleaner is worth the effort. Threw it all in the cans as fast as I could, then stood in the doorway to watch the deluge....

Ghosts are floating in the rain tonight, ghosts awakened because the Anniversary is coming this Sunday. But they aren't the only ones....I swear I just saw Walt Whitman's ghost swagger by, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, following a young sailor lad on his way home from the docks. And across the street I just saw the ghost of a fourteen year old girl who died from polio in 1950, when I was just one year old. She was wearing pedal pushers and smiled at me as she stubbed out her cigarette on the sole of her Keds sneakers. Up at the corner of Hicks Street I saw the ghost of a man who died in France, in the Argonne Forest, in 1917. He believed the company line that the War To End All Wars would be over by Christmas and he'd be home to marry his already pregnant sweetheart...

But the oldest ghost I saw was the soul of a man who died about the time that Shakespeare was born, in 1564. And he told me not to worry, and he told me not to salute, and not to believe, until I saw a man who seemed real to me.

Well, I'm still waiting for that man....

Richard Brautigan Takes The Ferry For The Last Time

Tonight I'm feeling so frickin' crazy that I make Richard Brautigan look almost sane. And he was the greatest poet of the twentieth century, so you know he was out of his mind. Right after his fiftieth birthday he went out to his barn under a Montana sunset, put his rifle barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger with his toe....there are days when I kinda wish I'd done the same. But I missed the date by twelve years, and to do it now would seem like just a bid for attention. Past a certain age, suicide becomes an act of vanity.

So I'll pray that the winter comes soon, and that it doesn't bring too much ice and snow. And I'll pray that this storm ends soon, before the solstice comes, and the sun turns north, and we start all over again. I could use some quiet.

From The Other Side Of The Mirror

This river is made of sand and gravel, sun warmed stones, chips of broken tiles, heat blasted pottery from the days of black and white TV. And it runs in a smooth metal channel between two shores made of water, where people float on beach blankets under the August sun.

One beautiful girl gets up off her blanket and walks across the water to the refreshment stand, sun glinting off the droplets on her soft tan skin. She buys a glass of crushed stone, drinks it down and dives into the river, loving the feel of the sand sliding over her body.

She swims under the river as long as she can, then surfaces, her mouth full with clay and stone that she spits into the air to make the world's dryest rainbow.

Suicide Haiku

Is there anyway

I can end it all and not

hurt the ones I love?

Monsoon Haiku

Don't talk, don't whisper,

Don't even think too loud, it's

Raining on the moon.

Allie's Haiku

I've never met you
But you are one of my two
Best friends in the world.

You're twenty five forever, and I love you!

Emily looks like Summer tonight, long white skirt, down to her ankles, white tank top, hair in a pony tail with a sprig of baby's breath over her left ear. Her tortoise shell glasses make her look so studious and serious, but deep inside she's a dryad, a forest spirit. She knows that life and death are two sides of the same coin. And she knows that when the veil between us rips, we will be married. And damn, I can't wait for that day!

I Can't Write Your Name

Who owns your face? Who owns that gypsydevil smile on your soft red lips? When I kiss you, is it you I'm kissing? Or is it just the blood pulsing in the ghost of the girl of who you want to be, while you fill in your college schedule on the hill over the river? Just twenty one, and your hand so tight in mine....

Emily Tells Me Not To Take Myself So Seriously

"Dear,

The sand means nothing, the water means nothing, the wind means nothing, the sun means nothing. The garden means nothing, the snow means nothing, the cold means nothing, November means nothing.

All that matters is your hand in mine...."

Rainy Saturday Night Haiku

Broken worlds sailing

unlit through empty skies, the

sun hurts so damn much

Emily Looks At August

It's August already, the sun is walking away. It's had enough of light on green leaves and hot white sand. And I'm missing you while you're still standing in front of me, because I know I'll never live through the winter that's coming. I'll never live to see you in jeans and a sweatshirt, shivering in the cold autumn wind.

But I know your precious breath will sustain me, it's not that far off, your warm sweet tongue, your body pressing mine. Come October, we'll be together.

Last Saturday Of July Haiku

Drinking beer in the

garden with new friends, it was

a really good day

Boo's Haiku

Tiny girl, eyes wide,

Licking my hand while I swing

Your Tiger Toy, fetch!

Emily Dipped My Hand In The Sea Tonight

Want to swim out past the breakers, out to where the bottom is just a distant memory. Out to where the people who live there don't believe in dry land anymore. They float all day long on scraps of canvas and memories of days when the sun burned through the salt spray and made jagged rainbows floating over the cool grey rocks.

And at night they light their camp fires, the logs burning in the hulls of model ships they built from seaweed and starlight, and they kiss so warm and soft and deep, while the sun slips under the waves with a guilty smile on her bee-stung orange lips.

And I know you'll be waiting for me, when the stars come out and the water turns black....and we'll laugh like two blessed idiots when my hand surfaces wet and shiny and your fingers twine round me like the blessings of a very understanding saint.

November In The Garden

The snow started falling a little bit past noon, now it's four o'clock and the sun is falling behind the cold dry hills. I push my fingers into the sand between the flinty boulders, rub the chilly tan grit between my palms, and look up at the Northern Lights.

There are Christmas Cactus growing here, and dry pale stalks of hungry flowers fated to die in the cold, just because they'd been born too late. There are green worlds waiting for the sun, but it can't possibly come in time.

At night the prayer flags get stiff and brittle, when the November rain freezes and the north wind blows. Thanksgiving can't come soon enough.

As The Miller Told His Tale

Winter night in 1967, the streetlamps reflecting cold and blue off the snow drifts on Norwood Avenue, but here in this warm basement the party is going strong. The room is dimly lit with red light bulbs, and candles in red glasses, and if you sit near one of the windows y0u can savor the difference between inside and outside.

I'm playing the drums, my friend Joe T. is on the keyboards, two guys we just met tonight are on guitar and bass. The crowd is liking us. We're taking turns doing lead vocals, a few minutes ago I ripped up "Maggie's Farm." But now we're playing slow and soft, and there's a couple in front of the bandstand, barely swaying, arms around each other, feet not moving. They're so lost in each others' eyes that they almost don't notice when we take our break and the party host puts a stack of 45's on the turntable.

We're all around 18 years old, it's just the beginning of our lives. I take a beer out of the zinc tub full of ice and light a cigarette, sit down on the corner of the stage. I take a deep drag and thank God for the life She's giving me.

Then someone casts a shadow over me and I look up, into Ann Marie's cool blue eyes, into the gentle taste of her soft pink lips on mine. I stand up and twirl her around me, my hand feeling the sweat in the small of her back as we circle round each other.

The record plays on, as we twirl each other in the hot darkness, red candles, blue snowlight, cigarette smoke rising like incense....Ann Marie pressed against me in blue denim mini and white t shirt, my best friend's girl...."Her face at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale."

And now it's forty four years later again, and I can't hold on to those memories, and I almost don't even care....yeah, right.

Central Park Reservoir, Fourth Of July 2011

The cold fresh waves are lapping over cobblestones,
the water's rising, the stones are sparkling.
The hearts are floating, or else they're sinking to the bottom,
to sleep among the rocks that never see the sun.

The Mathematics Of Love

I don't figure in this equation,

I'm just the guy holding the chalk.

The Night Before Independence Day

My mouth is full of sand and salt,
My eyes are full of light.
My soul is looking out to see
Who wins the war tonight.

We ride both on the side of flesh,
And on the side of love,
Our pockets full of love notes,
Our secrets tightly wove.

Haiku For My Buddy

The rain sent you home

Early today, and I laughed,

Watching you have fun.

Summer Haiku

Almost the end of

June, the sky's burning up,and

I'm holding your hand.

Goodnight Em, See You Real Soon

It's beautiful here
In this dry sandy river,
In the hot blue light
Of the pale sweating moon.

The stars are all hanging
On bent silver paper clips,
The sun will be rising
But I'll be long gone.

I'm So Glad I Know You'll Be There At The End

There's nothing here but hot white sand
and broken glass.
How many miles away
is the ocean?

'Cos I'm tired of crawling
on my hands and my knees,
I can't remember what
standing up feels like.

But when I get there
I'm gonna dive right in,
Cold salt water
On my grateful skin.

I'll take a stick
And write your name in the sand,
Then I'll watch while the waves
Obliterate it....

One Of My Two Best Friends

Wish I could collect
Every tear you've ever shed
In a silver plate engraved
With a picture of Tara.

I'd leave it in the sun,
Watch the water drying up,
Then I'd wash the salt away
In a cool and flowing river.

It could go home to the sea,
Leave your eyes all grey and fresh,
Leave your soul unbruised
And open to the light.

I Know I Promised I'd Never Use Your Name

If I leave the party now,
I think I could leave without regrets.
I think I could hear the door latch closed behind me,
And walk down your cold grey stone steps
In the rain,
To the empty dark street with a smile on my face,
And your smooth and sandy, hot dark taste
On my tongue.

A Side Of Emily You Haven't Seen

I know my heart's broken
in seventeen places,
I know I've got scars
that will never heal.

But the blood is dripping
and staining my t shirt,
Your lips kiss the wounds,
your teeth scrape my soul.

Yet Another Stinking PBS Fundraiser Aimed At Old Farts Like Me

I was ten when these songs were popular,
"You Belong To Me," "Silhouettes On The Shade."
What a colossal load of antedeluvian bullshit!
I can't imagine living with a woman
who would let herself be treated like this.
I'd rather die alone
in the sandy cold and windy desert.
I'm so glad Emily knows
how much I love her battered broken
all forgiving soul.

A Summer Memory

This rain at 2:30 am reminds me
of a night on Greylock Mountain
in 1970, when Jill and I awoke in
the middle of the night to raindrops
in our eyes, huddled in my sleeping bag
under the northern lights.
The city below us was eaten
by cold blue green fire
while I fumbled with the buttons
on her blue denim shirt

Listening To Old Time Rock And Roll On A Late Night PBS Fundraiser

Old time rock n roll playing soft
in the tingling silver air
on this hot dusty summer night....

And I'm sitting in the schoolyard
with my friends in 1960,
just home from my first rock concert,
And I knew I'd never get enough....

And I'm sitting in a bar in Queens
in 1967 on the night I graduated high school,
drinking with my friends, a cheerleader
sitting in my lap....

And I'm sitting on a cliff over Seneca Lake
in 1971, my arm around Jill's shoulder.
The sun is going down,
and we hated to put our clothes back on....

And I'm walking through Central Park
on the morning after Halloween in 1975,
holding hands with Victoria,
all our questions answered the night before....

And I'm on Suzanne's back porch
on a cold night in 1980,
her hand so small in mine,
her eyes so happy....

And I'm sleeping on my sofa with Joyce in 1988,
a week before her 21st birthday,
her long black hair cascading
over my chest.

And I'm walking through Fort Tryon Park
with sweet Emily in 2006, long before
I knew she would be
the last true love of my life....

God bless old time rock n roll....

Haiku For The Third Of June

Hands empty, you watch

it fall through the damp air to

the hungry river.

Haiku For June

The days are longer,

The engines hum louder now,

Sun burns your closed eyes.

The End Of May

The wind blows cool as a spider's web

through the pilings under the boardwalk,

waking ghosts in poodle skirts,

ghosts in pedal pushers,

ghosts wearing their first two piece,

each with a transistor radio

glued to her pink sunburned ear.

Sixty Two

Emily brought me a birthday cake tonight....well, actually two slices of cake from the deli in Gristede's, with chocolate ice cream on top. Hey, without ice cream she just wouldn't be Emily. It was really good!

We walked off the cake with a stroll on the Promenade while the sun went down in a multicolored coda for the day. The air was bright and steamy, the harbor was silver and blue. And my favorite tree in the world, at the foot of Remsen Street, cast a soft green shadow for us to hide in.

We walked up Montague Street as the stars came out and the air cooled down, Emily looking like the picture of Spring in a white denim mini and white tank top, a sprig of baby's breath plaited in her hair. And me looking like the luckiest damn fool on the planet, my arm around her shoulder, hers around my waist.

And now she's lying on the bed sleeping peacefully, wearing my Playing For Change t-shirt for a night gown. Skunk is curled up against her breasts, purring so loudly I can hear him here at my desk, five feet away. I'm gonna lie down and join them....If I have to live to be this old, this is the way to do it!

I Met You In The Summer

I used to be an echo.

I used to be a longing.

I used to be in servitude

to the beauty of a dancer.

I used to be a sailor

with a girl in New York Town.

I used to be a poet

with a trusting brown eyed lover.

I used to live in a tower.

I used to live in Canada.

I used to live near a waterfall.

I used to live in the desert.

I've forgotten all those other lives,

they're cobwebs and ink that's faded.

Ever since you've loved me,

I finally feel like I might be real.

Sunday Night Haiku

Diving into your

Cold blue ocean heart, the waves

Break over my head

Another Prayer

I want to write my prayers on the sky
where the sun can warm them
and the rain can make them soft.

And I want to wrap them around your shoulders
so they can keep you safe.

I want to write my prayers in the sand
where the wind can read them
as it blows the ground smooth.

And I want to put them in your hands
where they can make you happy.

I want to write my prayers
on the waves in the ocean
so they leave no trace behind.

And I want the waves to kiss your eyes
so you always know you are loved.

My Friend's Haiku

The nights that I see

you are the only ones that

make my heart speed up.

End Of April Haiku

The sand warms up in

the morning sun and the days

grow long and brighter

April's Almost Gone

The Tuesday night rain is rolling down my window, sliding down the smooth glass, soaking into the thirsty sidewalks, streaming over the smooth black asphalt gutters. The Tuesday night rain has no memory, it lives only in this wet splashing instant. When the sun dries it up, it will be as if it had never lived at all.


The memories are my problem....

Titanic Night Plus One

I can still see you standing before me, on a beach made of sapphires and ice and soft yellow sand, your long red hair wet and tangled, but so much hope in your eyes. And the rain glitters 0n your shoulders, and the sun gleams in your blue eyes. And the ice and the screams and the cold dark water are all fading memories. And I take your hand, and your fingers are warm and soft, and you squeeze my hand so tight. Did we make it through last night together? Or is it only a dream I'm seeing? Please kiss me, and let me know.... O God, yes!

Another Rainy Night

I'd rather listen to the rain

than hear anything you have to say.

Another Moonlight Sonata

There's snow falling under the ocean tonight, drifting down soft and white on the railroad tracks where secret locomotives roar past sand dunes and shipwrecks. And the moonlight filters down from the air world, blue and silver through the green salty gloom.

And I want to take you to see it, there's so many things I want to show you.

There's a night wind singing in the old riverbed, notes falling soft and healing on the cold dry sand. And the moonlight's reflecting off gravel and cactus til the sand's blue as water and the memories fade.

And I want you to take me to see it, so I can love you even more.

There's rain misting soft on the city tonight, the lamplight's reflecting in the shiny black streets. And the moonlight moves to the music, dancing in time to the cool hissing rain.

And I want to take you to see it, don't matter how many times, it always feels new.

Saturday Night With Emily

Brown eyed girl, rest your head on my shoulder and I'll kiss your sunburned cheek. And we'll sit so still and watch the sun glide on down to kiss the earth at the end of the day. It's the first warm evening of the year, here on this park bench looking out over the harbor where the skyline swims in soft green dreams. And we'll walk holding hands while the light fades and the stars open their sleepy eyes. And you look like a dryad in your long white skirt, with the flowers plaited in your hair. And we'll turn up the street into the fluorescent lit night market, where the lovers cling and claw, and wish they had a scrap of what we feel. And I'll buy you your favorite ice cream, yay!

The Night After Saint Patrick's Day

Wish this night wouldn't last so long.

Wish you could be here with me,

I could use the company.

I like the way you laugh

when I get too serious.

Almost Springtime

I know how it feels to live in the light now,

since I know you.

I know what complete love feels like,

since I know you.

And my best friend feels so good

when my hand is on her shoulder,

I smoothe her hair over the pillow

and I kiss her goodnight.

Your Name Isn't Joan Anymore, Is It?

We met a thousand years ago, somewhere in the north of France under an August sun. And when skin touched skin the sparks flew all the way to heaven, all the way to Rouen. And we both thanked God, for the joy we felt.

And I was there when the dirty cowards burned you, almost five hundred years later. When it was over I pulled my dagger and killed the weasel faced priest who lit your pyre. Your burning is over, his is still going on....

And now you're back in my life again, same bright eyes, same page boy haircut. It's almost six hundred years later now, do you think we can get it right this time? I hope so, but if not I'll still hold your hand and pour cool water on your skin.

Emily, At The End Of February

Emily is sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed with Skunk sleeping in her lap. She's wearing a faded blue denim skirt, red sweatshirt and knee sox and she looks totally adorable as always. Skunk is purring so loudly I can hear him five feet away, sitting here at the keyboard. She's gently petting him between his ears, his favorite skritch spot.

"Jim?" she whispers. "What is it, hon?" "Tell Jenny she's doing a good thing, and the Universe has taken notice, and it will be remembered. Please tell her that for me?" "Sounds like it's really important that she know this, hon. But before I tell her, are you sure?" "As sure as I am that I love you, silly!" Well, that's sure enough for me!

Emily is taking off her glasses and putting them in the drawer of my desk, alongside my own. She's undressing and putting on one of my t shirts for a night gown, it goes down to her knees. The hell with sex tonight, I just want to hold her so close to me and dream about our future. Our future that comes closer every day. I've never felt this loved before!

Valentine Haiku

Sounds grow louder, and

I reach for your hand in the

warm humming darkness

January River

Cold black water pouring through the window,

Cold black water rolling down the street.

Cold black water full of dirt and souls,

Full of coins and wishes,

Full of breath and heartbeats,

Full of loss and full of hope,

Can my boat and I hitch a ride?

Is It Still January?

Walking on the salt stained concrete,

thinking of warmer days.

Walking barefoot in the grass

and on the hot white sand,

stepping into lake water so cool and fresh,

our jeans rolled up to our knees.

The Adirondacks were dark green

and the air smelled of pine and sunshine,

even out in the middle of North Lake

where we lay in a drifting rowboat

holding hands.

I Lost You In January, A Million Years Ago

Your smile's burned

onto the inside of my eyes,

Your laugh is echoing

in the places where I never go.

Your tongue is whispering

sweet fulfillment in my ear,

I remember your silhouette

in your darkened living room.

I'm So Happy For You!

Love is the only thing that matters.

Love is always the best excuse.

Love is the thing most worth serving.

Love is the one thing will never turn its back.

Love makes the sun rise in the morning.

Love melts the deepest winter snow.

Love fills the tide pools and the fountains.

Love holds your hand no matter what.

So Warm In The January Starlight

You're sleeping now, your hair in a midnight pony tail, your lips parted as you breathe the night air. You're dreaming happy dreams now, because earlier I kissed your closed eyelids and wished you peace. Skunk is sleeping in the hollow of your curled up body as I've been writing emails to my best friend. In a minute I'll lie down beside you, wrap my arms around you to keep you warm.

Friendship, It Took Two Haikus To Tell The Story

We spilled our ink like

Black blood into the fountain

And stood holding hands.

You looked at me and

laughed as I cupped black water

in my hands and drank.

It Can't Be The End Of The Road

Kissing desperately,

frantically,

in the hopeless brick lined alley

by the river,

my hand on your bare thigh

as you sit in my lap.

And I know it's useless,

and I know it's a waste of time,

but I love you so much,

God, I've got to try....

Maybe The Best Two New Year's Eves Of My Life?

Eyes closed, your head in my lap, sleeping softly on the sofa on the first night of the New Year. Your mom is asleep in her bedroom and our friends have gone home, on the first night of 1969.

And I smooth your long brown hair over your shoulder, and I lean down and kiss your cheek. Moving so slowly, I manage to stand up without waking you, and I lay you down on the cushions, I cover you with a warm wool blanket, and let myself out to wait for the bus back home.

Eyes closed, your head in my lap, sleeping softly on the bed on the first night of the New Year. Skunk is sleeping the way only a well fed cat can sleep, and I pull the covers up over you, on the first night of 2011.

And I smooth your long brown hair over your shoulder, and I lean down and kiss your cheek. As gently as I can I take your tortoise shell glasses off and put them in the drawer of my desk. And I kiss your closed eyelids, to give you happy dreams. I can't wait for tomorrow, when I can kiss you good morning and Happy New Year!