Figure 8's, I Figure Infinitely of Thoughts of You - a poem

There is a quality

a quality in people

a quality in them

that quality

of humbleness that illuminates the park benches and makes the trek across that frozen grass that much more bearable

that quality i speak

that i spoke out loud

and have spoken in droves about

well her quality is graceful, humbling how easy it is just to listen, and to offer interests in the interests of your lovelies,

Speaking of that lovely,

or what love can do for the speaker

and love can continue to perform

speaking of love

it is is splendid to wear ice skates and draw figure eights in the ice, and demonstrate how i feel infinity across that glacier earth

seems often silly to love so deeply

how giggles come out because of silliness

how that passage of silly

is written in the scrunch of your nose

how the serious looks you have as you write notes down on devices, and knowing that same focused face will scrunch nose and laugh with silly voices at silly voices

and voices that are not silly

voices that are a bit more serious

with know how and seriousness

and growing ever more appropriate for the seriousness that I feel to give to you,

to love the way you smile,

and give off the love of a smile,

and to smile the love of a smile,

and see it and interpret it and get it so well,

a well deep and fruitfully full of water, that swells up and sustains me, and I wonder why I never felt this full of life giving before I met you

it seems my writing is littered with interpretations,

and explanations,

and exaggerations and not

and just about you,

those qualities spoken as lovely words so serious-silly, and scrunch noses

and all of you,

and all of me

and seeing the road clearly from here,

and the illuminated benches for us to sit on,

and my illuminated shoulders for you to rest your

head on,

and,

to be continued....

Secret Words - a poem

If I told you about her, you might not believe
me. How she stole my heart, but not exactly
because I had gifted it to her enshrouded
in bubble wrap. I could tell you how complete
she makes me feel, as though I were missing
a shark bite sized chunk out of my abdomen
but that she perfectly fills in anytime she is near
me. If I told you all of that you wouldn't believe
me. If I told you that I was just a boy standing
in front of a girl, and other cringe worthy lines
I don't think you'd stand for that sort of cheesi-
ness, but if I told you that the scrunch of her nose
when she's laughing makes my heart melt, as though
it's been set inside a brick oven and reduced
to a gurgling pile of mush, maybe you might possibly
perhaps believe what I feel. If the starlight was yellow
shining on just for her, as though the cosmos mistook
all the other peoples for pieces in the game of her existence
you might consider me a little bananas. If the truth that wise
men tell, about fools falling for each other in a speed course,
you might perchance venture a word of caution, but you need
not do that.

If I could find the words to encompass the sky-high feels
that embed themselves in my bones, I would have no more use
for poetry, or for prose, and letters would become
doodles done by fools. If I knew those words, I'd say them out loud
but then I'd have no where to go. These lines would be blank pages
because I would have found the perfect line, the perfect phrase,
to describe her beauty, her heart, her smarts, her drive.
This is why I do not search for the perfect word,
I do not see that as a goal worthy of pursuit, because I have so many
options to choose from as I try to form the meaning of my heart
out of what letters I have, of what understanding that I know.

If I told the masses through megaphone that blasted the news
headlong into the past and future, and littered the present,
the masses may hush me, I may bother them with my constant
lines of affections, and that would be fine, I do not announce
my feelings for them, I announce them for her, the priority
of my heart, the first and last thoughts before my eyes go to sleep,
the subject of my happiest dreams, I do not announce how I feel
for the people whose cynicism curses the head in the cloud lovers,
I announce them for her, that she should never wonder what she means
to me, and that meaning should not be lost, because to me she is breath,
the slightest inhale, the sharpest exhale, or vice and versa, and so
on and so forth, with an ellipsis, with a to be continued, with a next time
on this show of ours, this life, set up for the sequel, and as each plot
turn of this romance emerges, I will feign shock that my affections
could grow, because I knew they would go, to sky-limits, to heights beyond
clouds, to the farthest ventures that human kind can muster.

If I told them about her,
I might say that she is a woman,
and all that that entails, all that strength,
and drive, and badassery,
she is woman,
driven, divine, dreaming
and she chose to call me
hers. 

If I told that to you, you might cry, and you might smile, you might
cry-smile, and the amount of joyful tears you can drop drop and plop
onto the garden of my heart would grow my adoration exponentially
because there is no where I'd rather be,
than exactly where I am,
planning futures with you.

My First Plane Ride - A poem

Ascent:

plane taxied out on runway
and my heart beat fists against
inside of my chest. you took
my hand, to still it, as it drew
circles on your knee. tried to hide
my panicked tendencies, but of course
you saw through them, because honesty
is best policy and I hard shared
my paranoia with you.

plane drove around slowly,
like a traveler turning around
in a driveway because they'd missed
their stop. you playfully kept
looking at me, seeing how I was doing
kept asking me, how I was doing
and I kept saying I was fine. Mostly
truth, but still my heart kept
drumming in rhythms of distress.

pilot came over intercom said,
he had to get ice off the wings,
we weren't even going off yet,
so many false starts to take off
that my nerves got bored waiting.
you asked me again, if I was okay
and i said, yes, mostly more truth
now, subsiding as splashes of water
hit outside of metal box.

then into position. increase in speed,
throttle forward, raising to invisible
spaces on outside of metal tube,
headlong into,
air, airborne, nose angled upwards
and away, up, up, climbing til
stabilized, and not so bad. you took
my hand and you asked me, if i was okay.
I said, not so bad.

yawn now, you told me, i did, but it was a breath
as though I'd forgotten how to be tired,
so i had to try again, small pop in my left
ear, but right ear didn't cooperate,
once one yawn emitted, another had to come
and you caught in my infectious trademark
of tired beings, yawning back at me.

we stabilized, we centered,
and we flew onward.

Descent:

On approach, dip in the plane,
angling down, roller coaster at its peak
height, open window across aisle revealed
Boston, Mass, far off background character
to the box i resided in and you said
look its Boston, and I looked, and level
plane banked and disoriented itself
and my stomach said weeeee
and my brain scrambled and I pinched fingers
at my temple.

You rubbed hand on my shoulder,
and it calmed me a bit, and you said look
its the ocean, and I looked out window,
same one, same one across aisle,
and I saw the ocean, Atlantic, for first
time and then plane banked again
and i audibly begroaned this disorientation
as it spazzed through my brain matter
feeling i could spill my self into the aisle
and roll around a little and wait
for feeling to pass.

I didn't have to do this. You leaned in
close to my ear, and you sang to me
in whispered little voices, and calmed
me with your voice, with hand on my shoulder
and you sang us down to the earth
literally, you sang me down to earth,
and we landed and we began
and I realized for the 101st time
how much you meant to me
and what power you had inside of you

because you sang from the sky,
caught my wandering balloon strings
and tethered me to you as you space
walked me back to ground.

Beautiful Coffee - a prose poem

Beautiful Coffee

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He said it to her with such confidence, in such a way that meant that it was on solid foundation. The foundation of stones, and bricks, and mortar. But, it was out of the blue, out of nowhere, out of sync with the moment at hand, and she turned to him and she said, "What's beautiful?"

He looked into her green eyes, level with his own, and if he admitted it, maybe slightly higher than his. And maybe if he admitted he might have been closer to five-six than five-seven, but they were very nearly there, and he looked, and he said, "Us." She smiled broadly and stared out into the spaces outside the cafe windows, and she nodded as though the universe had made the statement, as though the universe were staring at her through her barely there reflection in the window that overlooked the street. She nodded and said, "Yes, yes, that is beautiful."

She turned her eyes to look at him, and she said it first, she said it next, and she said it full of affection-confidence, "You're beautiful." And he became flushed, and he blushed, he looked out the window of the cafe, and saw his barely-there reflection and he saw the broad and full smile on his face, and he felt the emotional weight of her love. A love that made him visibly alive with a glow that he didn't think he could possess. He dropped his eyes, and he smiled knowing that he wore that face, and he looked at her, and he showed her his smile, and his watery eyes, and he said to her,

"Thank-you."