Memories

...and there are those whose memory
Will never fade with the ripples of time,
For such love cannot be measured
By imposed dimensions or limitations.
Love should be celebrated. Affections are not easily dismissed
And the exchange of mutual passion
Only gives way more intently with time,
For even in separation
The longing continues for more time well spent.

Copyright 2010© Ccovetti

 

Wondering

Silent, the twisted branches receive
Heaven's cloudburst streaming down,
With every critter suddenly gone
I sip tea in this ghost town.

Wondering when this rain will stop—
My eyes half-blurred from years of pain
Looking outside this coffee shop,
A fresh brew from life’s murky stain.

Wash away this perspective
O how I pray!
Changing my once defective
Heart, as light moves gray away.

Copyright2010©CI

Caught

Caught

between two worlds

my emotions frayed –

while my heart says, “yes”

my head says, “no,”

and the others preach

wearing platform shoes

in loud display, as their

confused tongues babble

secrets.

Copyright2010©CI

Afterloon Delight

In a soliloquy of falsetto cries, you glide
across secluded waters, recluse by nature,
almost primitive with black and white
markings and dagger-like beak – uncommon.

Loquacious after the silence of winter
has passed, wailing, yodeling even
into the night between dives, I observe
by moonlight distinctive style.

Graceful and awkward one in the same;
your elegance limited to water,
while vulnerable on land;
O, what striking beauty – unique.

Red glares surrounded by shiny black
feathers, almost blue; mesmerized
from morning to afterloon delight
in dramatic entrance, I ponder.

New England native, you remain
mysterious, alluring; the call
of the wild lurking on ponds
surrounded by trees green – uninterrupted.

Copyright ©2010 CI

The Liar

A book of tales,
concealing truth in
a fabrication after fabrication
of unrealities served on
a silver platter for
breakfast, lunch or dinner;
however the mood strikes
while elaborating certainties,
assumed identities before
the clock strikes twelve.
This life less lived, for
genuineness –
difficult to find,
as bridges are burned
in a mockery of bon fires
raging against the souls of many
who once believed eagerly.
                    He looked so sincere.
                    His conversation so assertive
                              and convincing…
Sneaking, like a snake slithering on the ground,
the liar mingles through people,
paying careful attention to the more gullible,
while feeling no remorse for his schemes,
nor does shame stop the cycle
of make-believe slowly wrapping deceit
around the minds of his prey, squeezing tightly,
and when exposed, he flees rapidly-
never looking back to review the damage.

Copyright ©2010CI

A Dead Man

A dead man walks hidden halls
after rush hour stopped requiring
stronger medication as the weeks
turned to months and things once
unfamiliar became routine.
Did he remember day's prior,
before his mind took a different
turn in the road?
Perhaps school day memoirs assisted
his collapse, when abuse was as
commonplace as the alphabet.
“You'll be put in a bag!” yelled the janitor,
as he pulled up his pants after a bare bottom
beating.  
One humiliation after another
in a ritual of abuse they called
“discipline.”
 
The fortress of home only a mask
for parental maltreatment-
appealing on the outside, but revolting within.
Cleanliness not reflective of Godliness,
for God would not have
a child suffer so…
The thrashings were frequent.
 
The boy turned man, left
with a character void-
a life less lived in fear
and simple trust unfeasible.
Peace replaced by anger.
Joy traded for depression.
Friends lost to lonely days and nights.
 
The halls vacant; school dismissed long ago,
yet the players left to reminiscences ghosts,
haunting and tormenting in an affliction
of the soul as if yesterday's woe's
continue day after day, and like a thief-
defer hope to despair and truth
to a lie.

Copyright ©2010 CI

Overloaded

Building blocks tumble frequently
When they are stacked too high,
And balance is lost in fixating.

Plans are altered after the crumble,
And sometimes the game is put away
Altogether- or Scrabble is preferred.

Besides, these diversions only further stimulate
The overactive mind aiding in sleeplessness,
The insomniac's nightmare.

Childhood dreams, ice cream trucks
And bubble gum puffs made life simpler.
(One never plans on these self-defeating episodes).
Suddenly-whisked into adulthood where
Life is a perpetual soap box and
Little boxes are no longer made of “ticky-tack.”

Loosing sleep is never planned,
However, frequent shortages occur
With information overload.

Heck, it's 4:00 am
And before another game ensues,
I will turn out the light.

©Copyright2010 CI

Today

Without a forecast--
no umbrella could stop
the cloud gush, nor
impede the wind
from whirling round
about my heart.

Falling fast,
drop by drop
upon window's
remembrance,
of a time
and a place.

          I cried today.

Copyright©2010 CI

Embraced by Words

Perhaps it is the delight of fantasy
That keeps me coming back for more,
Whether this is real or imaginary
Your words I have come to adore.

And so amid life's countless distractions
Taking us far away from this place,
I willingly choose these interactions-
For your words hold me in sweet embrace.

Copyright 2010©CI

The Man in the Moon

Luminescent over deep blue
I stand absorbed in stillness,
Under the glow of the nights hue
Embraced by moonlit kisses,

The man in the moon looks down
Casting light upon my crown
While in the distance I reflect
On the tête-à-têtes affect

Tugging at the tides of my heart.
With each exchange of inspiration
Against a backdrop of heaven's art,
Surrounded by cloud formations.

The west winds tranquil breath
Caress my soul, while the wind
Whistles through cypress entwined
Awaiting the next sunbath.

Mesmerized, I skip across sapphire water
Topped with fizzy ashen spume,
Looking for the next installment of banter-
Shared with the man in the moon.

Copyright 2010© CI

My Father

Dim shadows,
hang about in memories pocket-
the “Bravo” years
under the baton
of the “Maestro,” my father.

A variation on a theme
of melodic intensities
breathing through his pores-
a marriage of tempos,
blended harmonies,
voices resounding,
while exposed strings
smoothly carried out
the next scene

responding to every virtuosic wave;
pacing was bright, but never hurried.
After standing ovations,
the bubbly flowed freely
in a gala of toasts.

Today, Act II is less celebrated-
more tempered with age,
for the tempo has changed.
Yet inside tired eyes
passions fire remains
with notes orchestrated
on a page and applauses
will continue long after
my father has left the stage.

©Copyright2010 CI

An Evening Walk

Fog drifting in again
across cold waters, blue
fading over aisles of trees, their
green growing deeper while I
walk through myriad
moods and a cool evening mist.

Tides spill in and recede,
always different, always the same;
day in and day out, light
fades into absence of color,
night ever falling
over all.

The inconstant moon,
behind clouds unseen,
alters shape with the wind.

Trees hear lullabies,
sway in stirred air
as if being rocked and I

Growing sleepy too, a long
day done,
at last watch my door
shut closed like the setting sun.

©Copyright2010 CI

The Other Side of Mundane

On this side of the mountain,
The skies hues are clouded
As the river darts cold
Chills run up and down my spine.

I want to see blue again-
A fresh life perspective from you
The other side of mundane
In a new pair of walking shoes

Where the river jumps stones
Nothing remains stagnant,
The winds sing in descant
As we find the unknown.

Copyright©2010 CI 

The Last Shower

While breath resides inside my essence-
The simple in and out motion of being
Underneath the umbrella of grace,
I sway to numerous melodies unsung,

Awaiting the last shower of earthly love
That will arise before the setting sun.
Where my heart will fly on the wings of a dove,
And remove the grief that left me undone.

Copyright2010©CI