i'm a puddle in the back of your head
a dripping faucet there
a leaky pipe, a cascading tear
and a nose wipe - on the surface it's clear
we're in that childhood poem
on that foreign planet
the girls were right,
this man is a maggot
you say under your breathe
but we both know what's in the back of your head
you got lost there a long time ago
please visit and reflect
a grey sky pond, a cascading tree
and there's no time - at the shore surface it's still
run to that childhood poem
on that foreign planet
the girls were right,
this man is a faggot
you say under your breathe
but we both know that together it makes no sense
sometimes you're wrong
and sometimes i am
sometimes we're both wrong
sometimes we're right on time
sometimes i'm just a ryhme
in your eyes
but you're not just a thigh
in my sight
we're similiar in that we're different
it's not that hard to understand if you listen
please ask your tears to wait a second
please ask your tears to wait a second cause
i'm a puddle in the back of your head
a dripping faucet there
a leaky pipe, a cascading tear
and a nose wipe - on the surface it's clear
we're in that childhood poem
on that foreign planet
the girls were right,
this man is a maggot
you say under your breathe
but we both know what's in the back of your head
we both know what's in the back of your head
He said, she said.....
Battle lines are drawn.
Retreating to their foxholes,
no compromise considered
nor flag of truce flown.
Ammunition prepared...
Ready, aim, fire!
Wounds inflicted
and enmity grows
creating more provocation
for revenge,
additional excuses for conflict.
He said, she said.....
A brief retreat,
a silent, sullen
halt in hostilities,
allowing time
to review strategies.
They eye one another
across a no-man's-land
of nursed grievances,
preparing the next salvo,
neither willing to concede.
He said, she said.....
The clash begins anew,
boundary lines redrawn,
battle after battle,
reprisal on reprisal,
firing bullets of blame
in a never-ending trench warfare
inside these four walls.
Thirty minutes is all I ask
A lunch time spent together.
Is it to great of a task
to allow me these moments I treasure?
Our crazy schedules we have so little time,
Can’t you put your phone on hold,
and make just thirty minutes mine?
You say if you didn’t work at home
It would be the same,
But you do work at home,
Would thirty minutes be that great a pain.
If the phone rings
And it isn’t an emergency,
tell them you will call back.
tell them someone you don’t
get much time to see
Just came home,
Give them the facts.
All I know, is the phone calls
seem more important than me,
You tell me, this isn’t true,
I AM your husband,
I too have needs,
And my biggest need is YOU.
So for thirty minutes
Turn off the phone,
We can pretend
Nobody’s at home.
We can enjoy our precious time
Until the work alarm tone,
Then I can commute to work,
and you to your precious phone.
I never dreamed this day would come,
Your proposal is still like a dream.
Then, there I was, standing in my beautiful gown,
In your eyes, I saw a new and brighter gleam.
Waiting behind those huge wooden doors,
Waiting for them to slowly open wide.
There stood my handsome husband-to-be,
Waiting nervously for your new bride.
Standing beside you and exchanging our vows,
My heart felt it was going to burst.
Looking into your sparkling blue eyes,
There's nothing more beautiful than love that's first.
You've made me so happy, I feel like a queen,
How safe I feel in your arms.
My mind is at ease and my heart so calm,
You astound me everyday with your charms.
I love you now and will forever be yours,
Until my hair grays and I forget my name.
Sitting in our rockers side-by-side,
When we grow old...this love will be the same.
Sixty six years married, said Fred.
All of them hell.
From dawn to dusk she made my life a misery.
Nagging, cleaning, cooking and whining.
Then just as I was getting used to it,
she ups and dies.
It isn't right.
Annie was a hard woman,
your Gran.
Never got over the miscarriage,
and your Dad, well, that just broke her heart.
She took it all out on me.
We buried Fred next to her.
Three weeks later.
In the family grave near the old stone seat.
The bed battlefield is a lonely place,
when one heart beats retreat.
Sixty six years married.
Then Fred refused to eat.
Two hearts are distanced
by pain and hurt.
An argument started
by a misspoken blurt.
It's a fact of life
that we sometimes disagree.
Then we're stubborn and suffer
in our broken harmony.
'Who's right? Who's wrong?'
is all that seems to matter.
While things left unsaid
hang in silent chatter.
Neither wants to give.
Neither wants to budge.
So the hurt goes on
while holding that grudge.
The issue at hand
gets lost in the shuffle.
Hearts are bruised
in the ensuing scuffle.
Pride holds each at bay
and widens the gap.
Till neither can recall
what even caused the mishap.
Each thinks they're right.
But by now its so benign.
For all it takes is one step,
to cross the fault line.
Only five paintings of her on his walls;
but twenty times that many in his poems---
I asked him why. He said it was respect
both to her nature and her modesty---
without regard to others' worldliness.
The pictures made with choicest artistry
are variations on a single theme---
an outdoor scene in bright, late-spring, sunlight;
a bench on which she sits surrounded by
the lawn on one side and, opposite that,
a pond. She is clad in her finest gown,
her well-heeled shoes kicked off; her silk-sheathed feet
quite prominent in each. The portraits show
different perspectives only, close and far.
A single pose done on a single day---
a favor that she was not comfortable
with, really, but allowed for love him.
Others would have demanded what they want,
but not him: he was gladly limited
by what she would permit, grateful for that.
I asked him why, unlike some other men,
he had no serving girls to look at there.
He said he did not need them here, nor want
to keep them in submissive slavery.
He said that, to a point and a degree,
even the pleasures of variety
became, for certain men, a storm-tossed sea
of lust in which to drown. Hence, his devotion
promised always to her, spares the emotion
of infinite desire and then despair:
neither commensurate with licit love.
Many people don't know if they
Are ready for marriage,
Ready to accept the responsibility of a lover,
Ready to be there for each other,
If there's a possibility that you won't be happy,
Ask yourself if you want to do this.
Go ahead, be brave, speak your mind.
Eventually loves happens.
“He Has to be…”
Dark as the night or bright as the sun.
It doesn’t matter: I’d be content with either one!
Just let him be tall and lean, or short and muscular.
He has to talk like an executive, but be persuasive like a hustler.
He has to be smart, but every now and then stupid.
He has to have a rough exterior, but a heart like cupid.
He has to have his own life and be able to handle many things.
He has to be busy, but always answer the phone when it rings.
He has to be complex, but then again simple.
He has to know me inside and out, and identify my every dimple.
He has to be down-to-earth but occasionally a snob.
He has to be creative, but still have a job.
He has to be my mentor, but comfortable following my lead.
He has to prevent me from failure, and Insist that I succeed.
He has to be there when I need him but not always in my face.
He has to have his own home, but keep clothes at my place.
He has to like my family and vise versa.
He has to be polite, but not afraid to hurt ya!
He has to be conservative, but an undercover freak!
He has to be quiet, but always dare to speak.
He has to be my best-friend but never my dad.
He has to periodically piss me off, but consistently keep me glad!
He has to have the ability to be trusted with a set of spare keys.
He has to be cool if his curiosity delivers him more than he expects to see.
He has to be discreet about our intimacy but brag about me to all his guys.
He has to be tough, but not ashamed to rest his head on my shoulder if ever he cries.
He has to be the reason I can’t wait to punch the clock.
He has to be a great cook, but still my favorite jock!
He has to be real and sometimes tempted to stray.
He has to be rational enough to let his heart lead him back my way!
He has to be many things; definitely a good find.
Most importantly of all, “He has to be mine!”