Dead Stars

No friendship can be safe 
From the destructive power of time,
From the curse of fading memory, 
From the poison of indifference. 

Our telephone line may bridge
The distance of the daunting miles.
But no bridge was built to cross
The distance of the daunting years.

To keep at bay deep fears
We pretend our friendship holds. 
But no denial can fill the loss
Of the trust we once held dear.

Courage it takes to see it clear:
The passion of youth does end,
That joy that we cherished -
That friendship won't perish - 
Lost when the road did wend
Far to the left and far to the right:
We walked our own paths,
Soon lost to sight.

If the child in you and the child in me
Should one day meet in your memory,
Tell them both to always sing
Of the joy and the excitement
In a future we held in awe;
Tell them both to always cling
To the vision of companionship 
In a future we thought we saw.

For across the sky the darkness falls:
On the sand alone I count my scars,
Your echo faint and then it stalls -
A friend like the light of long dead stars.

Worldwide Web

You can project
Your content here:
Your hope, your fear. 

This space can be
Your preferred candidate,
Your Superman,
Your Jesus. 

What you want me to be, I cannot,
Because I already am. 

In my mind there is a land
Where we can walk together.
Flowers in a field gathered;
Like us, they sway and dance,
Sprung from seeds scattered
By the fickle winds of chance.

 

 

August Moon

Another summer slipped away
In a warm and windy haze.
Another summer I don't sense
Your silent, steady gaze
As I fussed about the kitchen
To pour us both a glass of wine.

Another summer fades in time,
Images lodged in the mind
That blur misty when I find
One night melts into another,
One year into another.

On a warm and balmy night
Under a waning August moon
We said we'd see each other soon.

Side by side we slowly walked,
In quiet whispers we had talked
Of all the things still left to see,
To hear, to taste,
Before time laid this world to waste.

Perhaps we knew and would not say
Our roads would lead us separate ways.
To keep your fading memory bright,
I look up at the August moon -
Like you, her smile is filled with light.

December 24, 1914

Before the bitterness, before the hatred,
Before spawning the beast
That must be sated,
In the horror of every war since,
Came the peace on Christmas Eve. 

Few could then believe
The German call heard in the night
Across the blasted waste of No Man's Land.
The British and Germans dared to stand
Atop their trenches, within sight,
And, walking, met halfway in brief reprieve.

Though comical the call,
"We no shoot!" opened the door to all:
To sing old carols, "Stille Nacht, Heilinge Nacht,"
To hear a band play "God Save the King,"
To give as gift every simple thing -
Wine and cigarettes,
Bully beef and biscuits -
To share a human night is all they sought
And a game of soccer with a makeshift ball.

By Christmas the following year
All of the players had killed each other,
Bringing on the helpless, hopeless tears
Of British and German mothers.
French mothers, too, clutched their damp letters
From sons who believed, in December 1914,
That life could be better.

Gone are the trenches; gone are the fences.
Gone are the days a solider could see
The enemy's faces.

Our enemy bears no love
For our yuletide traditional ways.
And still we rain death from above
On the enemy's most holy days.

So let us pray today
For the youth of that children's crusade,
The ones who had glimpsed on that night
That another kind world could be made.

Distance

Imaginary fingers
run gently through my hair
as I fix a lazy stare
at the table, once laden, now bare.
The heating pipes knock, hiss
and warm the silent air,
in the night beyond the only kiss
the wind upon the branches bare.  

Imaginary hands miss
my tight and aching back,
hardened by the days of quiet labor,
dragging the alienating sack;
hands instead that brush the sand
from a hardened pillow
on a warm night in an alien land.  

The soldier and I had parted
in the possible of an autumn evening,
one meal not sufficing, not enticing,
a gust of words to loosen
the silent weight that years create.

Dust

We parted on an old road

near the edge of a small town,

its name forgotten.  

The bus, rattling softly,

raised a cloud of dust

as it faded into memory.  

I remember the pasture

where we escaped the dust

raised by the passing wind. 

In the middle of the pasture

sat the copse of trees,

the remains of an ancient forest.   

We would go into the trees

and pick berries from vines,

wondering if we could eat them.  

His was a strange face

in that strange country,

more open, more knowing.

But his name was lost to the years. 

In those days

our souls were still growing,

our innocence showing

the faith that those moments

would not fade away.

Encounter

We are alien to one another:
Our visage,
Our turns of phrase,
Our customs and flourishes,
Our dishes,
Our mien,
Alien is our being. 

The alien brings the fear -
And wonder;
Fear that screams and wonder quiet,
Fear that seems to trail our footsteps
And thicken the evening air,
Wonder drives our fingers outward
To touch each other's hair.

In fear our eyes avert and dart, alert.
In wonder our lips curl - a grin or smirk.

Wandering, walking in the starlight, I think
If we could touch each other's faces
We could build the safest places,
Our strife and turmoil soon to sink
In the knowing that forms our link.

Suddenly

There is a thing that we do
To get on with our days, we do.
We hope.
Though we don’t know
That we hope.

On the other side of that slope,

Will I see you tomorrow
At this time?
And if not, what will I find?

Phone calls unanswered,

Letters returned –
I did not know enough to learn
The name of your mother,
Or some friend or other,
To ask where you had gone.

Solitary Pine

With no one to befriend me,
With no one to know who I am,
A stranger I shall remain
On the day of my last stand.

So near me they pass –
Lovers who laugh, lovers who quarrel –
Yet my mirth I can only share
With the indifferent little squirrel.

Upon me the people confide
Their fragile human sorrows;
Today regale me with plans and pride,
But abandon me tomorrow.

No one has asked me the questions
One friend would ask another:
To what end do you grow?
How does it feel to be covered in snow?
Whatever became of your brothers?
When this forest is cleared like the others,
Which way will you go?

If my voice the wind through the miles could carry
To the people who live with their picnics and parties,
To them I’d declare all the wisdom of my days
Of a life spent on a cliff, above a windy, rocky bay.

Standing still, time slows its pace,
So I live longer, though we share the same small space.
Reflecting alone, my thoughts and world I own,
So I stand stronger, while others scatter, by the winds blown.
Dreaming alone, though I share not these dreams,
Makes life more joyful than my lonely days would seem.

And yet, like the air above the cliff always beyond grasp,
Lives the tender touch of friends, as they pass around a glass.
You, through your friends, will be remembered beyond your years,
While I, when I am gone, will have the winter rain for tears.

Summer

The dragonfly
Grasps the meaning -
To sample the meadow,
Flitting here and there,
Among the tall grass

While the sun shines brightly
And the clouds roll by
Across a summer sky
That forever will be -
But not for you and not for me.

Do you remember when as kings
Of our backyards we traced
Our trajectory?
You’d be an astronaut,
Or a pirate.
I’d be a lawyer,
Or the President.

No one can know the trajectory
Of the dragonfly in the meadow,
Where once we sat
With our beer and wine.

Now, it is true that sorrow
Fades in the wind of time.
But that summer meadow
Is never as bright
Since the only eyes to see
Are mine.

Faggot

Your crackling energy
Brightened the room
And our faces – the first
Bottles flowing soon.

Boundless and lively,
So merry and gay,
You pranced about the room,
Lighting our faces –
A welcome boon.

Corks popped as we talked;
Great Days returning and their haunts.

Did you not like our conversation?
You seemed to demand always the attention.
Hissing like a cat and grasping at the air,
We could only laugh at your sullen stare.

Corks popped as we talked;
Great Days returning and their haunts.

But the party could not last forever.
Heads nodded; hours wore on.
And the shadows of your brilliance
Flitted from glass to glass,
Over our faces – through the plate glass
Window into the long night.

Oh, how you despised us then.
For you knew that, in our lazy silence,
You were smothered, spent.

And, oh, the contempt you felt then.
For your fiery beauty, sweet and youthful,
Had by night’s end fallen,
A face ashen mournful.

Yet, in your glowing embers of resentment,
Lies the memory of our Great Days.
We – without you – the silent faraway stars;
You – without us – the dark spaces of the night.