haiku for spring

Spring has arrived in Chicago…

Read the rest of this entry »

on loving

Read the rest of this entry »

love and waiting

You asked me recently about life and love. I cannot answer with wisdom, for love and wisdom are rarely companions. But I can tell you what I have seen, and how I felt as a young man, and how I feel now as a father.
Read the rest of this entry »

comfort zone

Can I risk to love you, and open up my heart
trust you, like the surgeon placing  sterile ice
to quell each rhythmic contraction,
artery and valve repaired and let the beating start.

How could I trust some surgeon more than you,
when with eyes closed, I can trace each subtle
curve that makes you whole and real to me,
find the outline of your smile, the sweetness of your lips.

Shall this healing act begin with sunlight and curtains wide
fingertips your hand in mine, and laughter bubbling, rising
to the surface of the spring of youth that you and I have shared
we will tiptoe near the shore, snaring every moment that is there

Let not our love be needy, as we, no longer children, know
that in fusion of our souls, we cannot grow
but instead with independent strength in love as all we do
lets us smile and say to all, I choose you.

true love Italian style

A friend who lived in Italy as a single woman some years ago dated an Italian policeman. After only a few dates he professed, I love you.

Love me, she laughingly replied, we hardly know one another.

That’s the problem with you Americans he stated soberly, You don’t understand I am in love with saying I love you.

May your Easter be filled with love, the real kind…. and may you live, and laugh, and love.

inching along

We make our gains in inches

like soldiers slogging up a hill

The enemy must yield to constant pressure

Or so we think.

Saw the surgeon this morning.  Everything looks good, if another lymph gland remains cancerous, they can go in again and out it comes.  The incision is healing well,  Scar Fade seems to be working although the scar remains an ugly red testament  at the base of my neck.  The  tumor was 3.5 centimeters.   So many problems for such a tiny thing.

We fortify our souls in quiet places

where no one else can ever know

Then out among our wishful helpers

And step by step we forward go

Back on the internet, I work the formula  age x .8 + 1 for stage 3 + 0 for metastasized and tumor size x .3 add in a pinch  of turmeric and shake and 80 plus % for cure.   Four out of 5.  Good enough odds if you can afford the wager.

We take the meds with perfect timing

Arranging diet and sleep to be  just so

Put our faith in this mustard seed of science

please make it die, it mustn’t grow

After work I head out for the Monday night ride.  About eight of  us ride out seventeen miles.  I am lighter, down 25 pounds ( 1.8 stone if you are across the pond ) and although I am still weak, when I stand on the pedals my Specialized Roubaix  jumps forward like a rocket ship. All this time I had thought I had a gaited horse for smoothness and it has just been waiting for me to ask for speed.  The night is perfect as our line flies over the pavement, each of us taking pulls at the front.  This is how a man should be, to live and love and laugh.

sparrows and broken wings

I would be intimate with you,
and know your soul
but you dance away on gossamer wings
to protect your heart

Let my arms enfold you
and still your fears
we will gently sway from side to side
in this dance of life

I will release you
and shed a tear
when you are strong and trust in love
without regret

Too passive… lets try again…

Let me love you,
and know your soul
but you dance away on gossamer wings
to protect your heart

My arms enfold you
and still your fears
we gently sway from side to side
in this dance of life

I will release you
and shed a tear
when you are strong and trust in love
without regret

perilious poetry

If you write a love poem https://bwthoughts.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/moonlight/  to your wife on an open blog you might get a response like this:

A haiku in your honor:

Oh what a poem!

Say, who could the author be?

That’s my Dad, Ew, Gross!

Leaving no recourse but to respond  :

How did you think you got here?  Spontaneous generation?

wild and untamed

February 29th, a rare day indeed.  As rare as true love?

As for the 389 miles that separate us, let me transcend them through metaphor.

Who knows, perhaps our love will be greater than the untamed Sahara desert.

So epic and sweet that it is spelled dessert?