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We all choose to love.
Doubts and fears!
The with the memories, of dried up tears.
The choices we made for love.
Always unclear!
We test each relationship.
Too love sincere.
Because of pain, we hide the austere
Wanting companionship gives a purpose
To the words we need to hear.
'crosscurrent morning'
Streetcar wires shivering above the block,
first light wringing at last night's worn edges.
A bin truck grinds somewhere behind the shops,
its metal cough slipping under the hour.
Pigeons lift from a rooftop ledge,
their wings catching the weak shine.
A bottle rolls across the pavement,
not kicked, just moving on its own drift.
Your step lands in a shallow film of runoff,
cold grit rising through the sole.
My music teacher says
Music is the perfect combination of notes.
I have reached for perfection but missed;
And on the fringes of perfection, I found beauty.
But my teachers frown on this beauty I have found-
They want me in the image of John, the class prefect.
The orchestra instruments in our music studio
Are mostly broken.
The piano is missing a tooth
Like the lonely diastema that sits perfectly
Between Chioma’s teeth trying
To wreak Havoc on her smile.
I find her beautiful still,
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H..H.. HANDICAP
Walking ..walking..
Asleep in a hot summer dream
Thinking..looking
At a smile beam
A flower in my heart what does it mean
In the night through the serpent bike lane
Trees whispering around in my ears
A moon in my eyes as a gleam¹
I love deep poetry she said and your rhyme
First night love, the second could never seem
It hasn't always been there
that proud empty chair.
It was once by the fireplace
and twice by the stairs.
It's seen many changes
down through the years,
life changing moments
and days full of tears.
My grandfather told me
it was one of a pair,
he bought long ago
at a bright summer fair.
I can still see my Gran
sitting right there,
sitting and knitting
in that now empty chair.
It was often the centre
where life would rehearse,
father did talk
Soothe me
Groove me
Making my nature rise
Even in four-part harmony,
As the music rocks me to sleep,
And in that time of slumber deep,
The night's wonderful sounds so,
Sweet, tasty, and even bold,
With that soft music, it serenades me
Oh, so right and so deeply.
The night music has a flair,
For just soothing you, and like the Staple Singers, it will "Take You There."
Soft and sweet,
Sweet and softly but deep,
You make my heart flutter so,
Summer has come to a quiet end,
With the blazing hot sun over us,
Days of sunshine and some rain
And now, the fall begins.
Trees that was once green
Now turned various colors of gold.
And there is cool winds blowing
Like a canvas painted and seen.
The cool weather delays autumn's stop over,
Just a few months or so,
And when the time comes,
It would come.
And now autumn becomes winter,
And winter into spring,
And winter into spring,
You are my Pandora’s Box.
In my mind I am five again, sitting beside you
and wondering at your face. I know nothing
of the man that you are, only that you are my father
and that I am happy to be near you.
I am forty and my mother tells me how
every day would start in a bottle.
My five and forty selves can’t imagine this
is you. My five and forty selves want something more
from this icon you have become. This image
“sanctuary”
Light snailed across the stone,
quiet along a side wall
where I stood.
The nave opened outward,
steady in its own pattern,
yet nothing in it called for me.
I stayed near the edge,
following each shift of sound
as it travelled through the high vaults,
confident in its passing.
In this small place,
the day held long enough
for me to listen
and abide.
.
"I love you!" she said,
hands trembling. So I hid mine behind my back and assumed an air of subtle unbotherdness
"Are you willing to enter into the storm with me?" asked I.
And she did not hesitate, nodding in eager anticipation for me to finish laying out my question — as if, as if I was wasting time trying to convey in words what she had already learned from my thoughts.