Michelangelo
(for Jay Fuller)

These clumsy hands
  Would paint
    With the fervor
      Of Michelangelo,
        Each brilliant stroke
          Adapting to love's hues,
          Cherubs dancing across the heights,
        Some of them falling into darkness,
      Some of them golden,
    Where sunlight trickles
  In veins of light
Through our bedroom window.

Right now, watching you leave
  In fury,
    I should paint a lighthouse
       And calm the sea,
    Send a swift current of love
  From my heart to yours,
And beckon you home.

If I could
  I would paint us always
    In the loveliest colors,
      Erasing a dark moment to color it
        With a rainbow,
      But how beautiful your colors are now,
    Even in its darkest shades,
  How lovely you are
Even in a storm.

 Voyager
(for Jay Fuller)

The Voyager sails toward the
  Unmapped regions of a heart,
  Slipping silently across its bow,
Cautious of unpredictable currents.

He knows that love can be cast adrift
  By the slightest miscalculation
Of a cold, uncharted terrain.

Will he be wise, his compass sure and steady
  Mapping the unknown currents in the dawn
Of capsized dreams?

He is undaunted, waits for the opportune time
  Before he rides a current straight away
    Seeking the sign of the sailor's delight,
    A red sunset that may tell him it is safe
  To harbor here, despite the memories of last
Night's perilous storm.

Will the heart be steady and let the voyager
  Be delivered, casting his anchor safely as Ulysses,
    Unbewitched? Or will he give way to the siren songs
  Of Aglaeope and Parthenope, and the fickle winds
That seduce men back to sea?

(as edited by John Taggart
and published in Poetry Bay Magazine, 2002)
 
Suitcase

When we reach the airport, the chauffer opens
  Our doors and hands us our luggage. You smile at me
And tip him more than you need to.

We honeymoon beneath the stars
  Of Miami Beach where rolling waves caress the sand
    The way you caress my skin and kiss my mouth, and
    I can't tell the difference between the salt of your kiss
  And the salt of the ocean.
You whisper, "I will love you forever."

Years pass. We become two soft La-Z-Boy recliners
  In front of a color TV, gazing into the familiar smiles
    That grace the front pages of our wedding album,
  The one hand-stitched by your mother.
It is brown now and brittle along the edges.

One morning you announce between the cornflakes
  And instant coffee that you want out.
    I watch you leave, but as the evening fades
    I imagine you back in your chair,
  I imagine you have just stepped out
For an evening walk.

How has it come to this?
  All our dreams
  Packed away into one little suitcase
And carried off so easily?

(Suitcase has been previously published in Poetic Voices, Poetry Super Highway, ZZBaggins Poetry Victims, and Splizz).

 Back to Paradise
(for Gary Young)

She's new,
  Polished by the California sunlight
    Into a brown-sugared sweetness, with
    Eyes the color of lapis, reflecting a
  Pacific Ocean that stretches out
Eternally.

She is touched by West Coast paradise,
  And even in these dismal, proper corners
    Of the East, she delights in sharing smiles,
  Illuminating a world with a heart that says,
"Follow me, let's party, catch a wave!"

If these land-lubbers could, these country
  Farm folk who've forgotten how to dance
    They would ride that wave with her,
      Into that sweet ocean of joy
    But she is an enigma here,
  A girl outside her element
Defined by an alien sunlight.

Sweet child of California
  Touched by the light of a much kinder god,
  Follow Rand-McNally's little blue roads back home,
Back to paradise.

(Back to Paradise has been previously published in Poetry SuperHighway and California Poetry Journal)
 
Little God
(for my son, Chris)

My son doesn't know
His own strength.

Shadows flicker
  Across the room,
  Ducks, rabbits
And wolves.

He has made them
  With his hands
  And watches them dance
Across the moonlit wall.

He laughs as he creates
  Creature after creature,
My little god.

(Little God, as previously published in Cal Literary Arts Magazine, Zuzu's Petals, Penn Review, Shemom, Rio, A Journal of the Arts, among others).		 Clouds
(for my son, Chris)

Clouds become circus clowns
  And airplanes and parades of
Pink tigers and blue elephants.

I watch as rabbits emerge out of magic hats
  And find the edges of Oz,
  Where hearts beat to the rhythm
Of a song about rainbows.

This morning the sky is particularly bright
  And free of storms,
  Only my thunderous applause
Echoes as I lie here.

For a moment I see a crimson throne
  Sun-streaked and dazzling
As though inviting me to sit.
 
  A Poetic Nightmare

I have no need for inspiration;
  I AM music,
    And when I write,
    The pen sings, and the muse,
  Awestruck,
Bends to me.

Alas I will tell you a secret;
  (shhhh!)
I am HUMAN.

I fiddle and wrangle
  And wrestle with words
    That evade me
      Like a cup of Java
    That would have been good
  (If only I'd remembered to plug in
the damn coffee pot!)

I am the poet laureate of blabber,
  The premiere definition of
"The Undefined".

Release me from
  The shackles of mediocrity --sing to me!
    Let the muses remember my name,
    Let there be a Baptist revival of my soul
  That will bathe me in the crystal waters of Jordan,
Renewed, refreshed, alive.

(As published in Nuvein Magazine)