doors upon the sea

Poetry under the palm trees continue….

doors upon the sea

who am i to tell the roses
not to bloom
how do I stop the hands of time
or silence a lonely wolf
howling at the moon
how can i not think of you
it’s like asking my heart
to remember not to bleed
or a pianist who lost his hands
to forget his keys
my beautiful muse
tell me I can lock these thoughts out
convince me
I can put doors upon the sea

.

.

Am I wrong to love my muse?

stop the presses

stop the presses

This happened my first Sunday on the island (Feb 23rd).

Axel’s baptism party was packed with guests. His parents were busy with the photographer, it was up to me to play host. Seeing so many beautiful women in the crowd, I welcomed the opportunity.

After my months of illness, this was my chance to prove I still got it. (Sorry ladies, I was born with a disbaility. I am a man and this is important).

(Cue in 007 theme music).

Started mingling, complimenting, and flirting.

As the night wore on, more and more ladies told me I looked different. Now, how different could I appear after three months?

Finally, one young lady told me “you look distinguished.”

Later that night, tossing and turning in bed, I replayed that one word, “distinguished”.

A frantic dash to the mirror.

No lines on my forehead. I smiled into the mirror. No laugh lines. Hair was still jet black and on my head. WHAT A RELIEF.

Then, I saw it, or should I say THEM.

There were a half dozen gray hairs at my right temple. Quickly looked and yeah, the left side too.

Today is my birthday. Can someone, please, ease my newly discovered distinguished soul.

insomnia

Recently purchased two 100 foot extension cords. This poem and every poem scheduled to post in April, were written under a palm tree.

insomnia

my restless heart can’t sleep
ever since she soaked my dreams
like a warm summer shower
of fireflies and fantasies
cascading radiance onto my soul
splashing away the darkness
causing my moons to shine
every sunrise to glow
my life is one sleepy blur
sleep or reality
i don’t know
just let me die of insomnia
so i continue dreaming of her

There will be a short funny post on Wednesday. Feel free to drop by and celebrate my birthday with me. xo

a voice came to me

During a depressing night where my headaches and dizzy spells drained any hope I had, I reached for my phone and discovered an email with a voice recording.

There were delightful pauses in this one sided conversation, but everything about the message, her soft voice, her pauses, her sweetness revitalized me.

Sadly, this little poem does not do justice. I dedicate this to that voice to die for. Thank you. 🌹

a voice came to me

loneliness thundered
when a soft voice came to me
landing on my five o’clock shadow
like a lightning bug
determined to tickle my cheek
while her little healing light
outshined my torment
stifling the echoes inside my heart
as her deafening silence spoke to me
her voice shined like the stars
illuminating my night
resembling a constellation of fireflies
absorbing the darkness
in my universe of misery

Inspiring Women of WordPress: beautifully broken you

I will try to revitalize my series of Inspiring Women of WordPress with a monthly post.

“There is no perfection, only beautiful versions of brokenness.” – Sharon L Adler, inspirational author of 300 Questions To Ask Your Parents Before It’s Too Late.

Life has an amazing way of touching us. During these months of illness and recovery, my precious friend Rachel of In Mind and Out, has reached out to me in my loneliest moments, lifting my spirits. We often joke about being “broken.” This wonderful poet and caring woman fails to see the beauty of her imperfections as her brokenness helped repair mine. Please, get to know Rachel, one of the Inspiring Women of WordPress.

beautifully broken you

fragments of a mirror
reflecting multiple moons in the night
making the parts
more beautiful than the whole
fractured sunsets
of healing warmth and light
in need of an ointment of poetry
to cure a jagged soul
shatterd moonlight and splintered sunsets
create a stunning view
reminding me of my darling kintsugi
beautifully broken you

Poetically translated to “golden joinery,” Kintsugi, or Kintsukuroi, is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery. Rather than rejoin ceramic pieces with a camouflaged adhesive, the Kintsugi technique employs a special tree sap lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.

Lonely Author Stranded

Lonely Author Stranded

I am a firm believer of things happening the way they were mean to happen.

Yesterday evening, the Dominican government shutdown all flights through April 30th. Jetblue was not able to accomodate me on the last emergency flight leaving to Costa Rica.

The United States Embassy asked all remaining Americans to find safe shelter to wait out the process. They implied any last emergency flights out of the country may be risky since they suspect several people with coronoavirus symptoms may be trying to escape the island in search of proper medical treatment.

Fifty plus doctors have tested positive. Dozens of police officer, too. Patient’s testing positive for coronavirus are thrown in an isolated room, where nurses and doctors are fearful of entering since there are no respirators or proper treatment available.

Taking advantage of the curfews and civil unrest, young thugs have taken to the streets since police presence is low. One police officer was killed in one town. Several police men injured in others.

Will speak to my doctor later in the day. Surgery will be cancelled & rescheduled for late May. My pills will run out soon. Will ask the doctor to suggest equivalent replacements. Nurse will assist me to find the meds.

Holed up in my hut.

Writing poetry, editing novels.

Feeling inspired.

Please, be safe.

at the edge of an eclipse

at the edge of an eclipse

a slow dance
our cheeks melting
my melancholy clinging to your soul
i shut off the moon
so we dance at the edge of an eclipse
as my loneliness gyrates
in the darkness
pressing gently against your hips
I inhale your womanhood
it inspires me to kiss
a poem onto your neck
the one I could never think of
the one confessing
I desperately need you
darling
i am slowly dying of love