Imagination Stew

I wish it were raining while I’m eating my soup.

The drizzle would glide down the panes of the glass roof, overhead
enveloping my senses in memories of a childhood long since put away,

time spent inside the library, reading of exciting voyages

looking through the window, past the trickling drip-drops

into the vast, grey, powerful sky

and wondering how Columbus felt as he re-discovered America.

There, behind the streaked window pane of Port Washington Public Library

I was re-discovering lands that only Stevenson and Defoe

and countless other adventuresome lads had before me.

It was a solitary time, a thrillingly solitary time,

and I find myself longing to be back there.

As finally a single droplet finds its way to the glass roof over my head,

I find it strikingly peaceful that I’m sitting here, reminiscing over this steaming bowl of hot soup,

the droplet, a harbinger of the imminent storm

the soup, a nourishment of my body and overactive imagination.

Perhaps the whole sky will fall, and break this fragile ceiling above me

and I’ll be carried away with the entire town,

transported to my own island, where, of course, I’ll have soup everyday

and say, “Hey, remember that time I had the soup, and it rained, and I landed here?”

Gee, if only I were more prepared. I could use my spoon as an oar, if it were bigger, that is.

After I have enjoyed the entire bowl of imagination stew, I look up, just wondering.

The panes are now streaked with miniscule rivers from a light sprinkle;

I had bigger plans for that rain.

But, alas, as my soup is no more, such is the storm of this day.

Nevertheless, my wish for rain came true,

and now I, as Noah, must venture out unto the land, renewed

by the freshly-recalled ponderings of my childhood

and the drip-drop splashings that were summoned over this bowl of tomato-rice bisque.

"Thanks, I think."

I
Can't tell you that
Your mind is the sexiest part of you
For fear that you'd become offended.
But
To me,
It's the greatest compliment
I could ever think to have for someone.
And even though there's this back and forth,
It's give and take.
And in my mind, it all works out:
I and your sexy mind,
Happily ever after.

Utah Valley

Nothing could be more beautiful now
Than these mountains,
Green with mosses and grasses and lush undergrowth,
Rock crevices illuminated in the golden glow of summer's dusk.
The clouds are blue-grey after the rain,
And the smell of fresh new beginnings is the residual humidity.
Rainbow hues beautify the southern skies as the sun
Slowly drops out of sight in the West.
My heart is happy here.

Contemplation in drizzle

Running
With you in the rain
is
Infinitely better than
Standing
Without you in the sun.

Irony

She
Has you,
And I
Don't even have a job.

The Best Part of Waking Up

Litle red glow
Sparking my hope for a better day
As I cross toward your light
Your life-giving aroma stirs me into consciousness.

You fill my cup;
As I drink in your warmth,
My deadened senses revive
And I awake to the start of a brand new morning.

Emotional Affair Pt. 1

Big, deep, chocolate eyes
Curves that make a man want to cry
They're that good.

Hair:silk.
Voice: soft, like summer rain.
Mind: brilliant.

Husband: not jealous enough to know better.

I've got a secret.

Crooked face?

My crooked glasses
wobble on the flat table
but they fit my face.

Afternoon Coffee

Sleep is for the weak.
I've given it up for good.
I'll sleep when I'm dead.

"Adorable" Monologue

Would it be ok if I told you I liked you?
Or would you be just like all those other guys
All those other times
I said those words.

Not that I've said those words a lot.

Oh Jeez.

Now you think I'm a loser.

Well, so what if I am?
I'm a loser who likes you.

No, wait, that came out wrong.

What I mean to say is
Hey, I like you.

And I think your crooked smile is perfect.
And I like it when you get embarrassed and turn all red.
I think it's adorable.
I mean manly.
Stupid! You're never supposed to call a man adorable!

What?
Oh no! Not you!
I was talking to myself.
I mean, yeah. I was talking to myself.
I talk to myself sometimes.

So, I'm gonna go, because you think I'm crazy and
I'm so sorry to have wasted your time;
I know you're a really busy person.

And I'm just a crazy loser who thinks that adorable is the perfect way to describe you
Even though I know that isn't right.
But you see, I never get things right.

I'm never going to hear from you again, now, am I?

What?
You think I'm adorable too?
Gee, thanks!

Lament of An English Teacher's Desk

Help me!
I'm drowning!
I'm smothered!
I'm dead!

I'm buried!
I'm burdened!
I'm covered in red!

I'm heavy!
I'm dusty!
I'm cluttered!
I'm piled

With boxes
And papers
And pencils
And files.

Reflection on a Moment Passed

"I got mud on my toga," she said,
Eyes full of mischief,
Hair sparkling like the many thousand stars
That seemed to mock me and my inability to make decisions.

I wanted to tell her that I thought she was the coolest girl I had ever met.

But instead, all that came out was,
"Yeah."
And I stood there
As she lifted her Roman robe,
Revealing just an inch or two of creamy, white thigh.
I thought, for a moment
I had swallowed my tongue.

As she erased the drops of earthen spatter,
I was frozen in my tracks,
Hoping she couldn't see what I was hiding
So horribly.

In a matter of minutes, the stains disappeared
As did my chances of telling her I loved her
More deeply than the depths of the deepest ocean
Or higher than the heights of the tallest mountain peak.
See? It's better I didn't.
Words are my enemy.

Oh, how I long to hold her,
Caress her smooth skin,
Feel her lips on mine,
Know the touch of her hand,
Taste the sweetness of her breath.

And yet, I stood there
Like a statue
And inside, I crumbled to ruins
Like the ancient city in whose garb we were covered.

Her laughter electrified the night.
The sound of her voice sent shivers down my spine.
How long had she been talking to me?
How long had I been standing there,
Mouth gaping?
Eyes staring?
Heart pounding?
Hands sweating?

Finally, my feet learned how to walk again,
And we reached the party.
I left her side
But for a moment.
I got her a drink to whet those divine ruby lips,
Soft and supple,
Like the petals of a dew-tipped rose.

And he crept in,
The cunning fox.
I WAS ONLY GONE A MINUTE!
And then, she was his,
Completely under his spell,
She cooed and batted those lashes,
Giggled and puckered and playfully pouted,
And she touched his arm.
I wanted to die.

She was not one of his play-dolls.
She had a brain before they met.
And whit and will and virtue,
Which I found sexier than anything.
And he destroyed her.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

She had waited for someone like me.
And he took her.
Used her.
Broke her.
And I just didn't know how to put all the pieces back together again.
God. Knows. I. Tried.

I'm married now.
Not to her; she's still single.
She's still broken,
Though with time, I see her mending,
Little by little.

He works in a bank, with his MBA.

I laugh.
Not at him, just at his circumstance.
Karma.

I told her I loved her once.
And then she asked about my wife.
"She's fine," I said.
"Just not you."


"Oh."

I think she gets it now,
That night
In the mud,
Under the stars,
Wrapped in sheets
In which I wanted, ever so desperately, to be entangled
With her.

"OH."


Mouth gaping.
Eyes staring.
Heart pounding.
Hands sweating.

Hers, not mine,
for once.

"Oh."

"I, I've had a few beers."
I said, eyes sparkling with the tears
That were forcing their way to the surface.



She wanted to say she had loved me too.
I know it.
I could see it written on every fiber of her beautiful being.
She wanted to lament her mistake and make amends,
To tell me she was sorry,
So sorry,
Not just because she ended up with a morning after pill and a broken heart,
But because she had loved me too.
And she had been too afraid to let it escape those now trembling rose petals.

But instead, all she replied was,
"Yeah."


And then she walked away.

Sigh

How do you tell someone you're in love with them?
And why would anyone want to do such a thing?
When will the time be right?
And what words will you use?
Where will this conversation take place?
Who cares?