Valentine Day 2015

 Remember when

 

On this Valentine Day three poems from my book “Ageing Beautifully in Light of You” for Candy:

Classy / Adorable / Naughty / Devine / Yes!

 When Dawn Breaks Across the Stillness of the Night

 

 when dawn breaks across

the stillness of the night

and daylight filters through dreams

of all we have pleasured and pained

 

we are there for each other

 

unboundedly wrapped in arms and legs,

anchored to the soft and wonderful,

a wedded link to the possibility

of all that is beautiful in a relationship

where someone listens, someone cares.

 

mornings are made for us

our days open in a dance

of warmth and loving,

one with the passage of light

no shadows in and out

of our hours together and apart.

 

the grumps, frumps and frailties of aging,

churning out the chapters of lives lived,

melt beneath the covers             drift away

with each passing moment

of each and every day

 

we have the pleasure of our company

 

 

and the comfort of knowing

in our heart and soul

we are fearlessly where we want to be.

yesterdays sauntered aimlessly

and lulled about heaven

casting no shadow

leaving seldom behind

now it’s all in a day’s grace

this loving space we are in,

walking giftedly beside each other

no less favored then before

but lighter footsteps and fewer doors

with a companion to love, trust and adore

 

as we journey now,

on the evening of our lives

toward a sunset of the visible light

more spring than fall

more time trailing behind us

than to be laid down

 

the life we share is not the beginning

for we have always known each other

 

nor will it be the end

for we will always be together

time and time again

 

red rose

 

My Hands Are Making Love To You

 

My hands are making love to you all the time

they’ve discovered a world of their own

humbly satisfying my senses fully

they don’t just hold hands with you

they caress, fondle, grip, squeeze and tease

dance on the tips of your fingers

touching , exploring, reveling

entwined in you

It is the laying on of hands

my hands holding on

to what the heart knows to be true

My hands make love to you walking down the street

alone with you in a crowd

they unembarrassingly make love in public

exploring privately only what my soul can know

before you entered the rest of my life

my hands began to turn downward

they were being pulled earthward

growing heavy, arthritic  and tempered

they are free now to conduct your music

sculpt the soft sensual clay of you

trace your lips into a smile

and draw you close to me

write a poem or two

to say I love you

 red rose

Count Me In

 

The heart and soul of a couple are not immune to despair,

for the wear and tear of the ego will always be there.

The mind is ever capable of wandering

down dark alleys and wallowing

in the wasteland of what’s it all about.

So, if one day, doubt enters on a word

trailing with it sleepless nights all too surreal,

nothing as always is ever the same

and you need a friend to say I love you

count me in

If codependency means someone to lean on

in times of anxiety and pain,

if it’s pickup when you’re down,

a smile upon a frown,

or simply someone to be there

just to know you are around

count me in

If you need someone to talk to,

someone to listen and hear you

cry it out, SHOUT IT OUT,

or just to be there

which is really what it’s all about

count me in

 It goes without saying that it works both ways.

If you wake in the morning wanting

to be there, thankful for being alive,

in stride with the love of your life,

that’s not dependency, it’s just

I’m your husband and you’re my wife.

There’s nothing wrong with sharing

both the highs and the lows of every day’s caring,

believing that you can, without a doubt,

depend on one another to say

count me in

The Ways You Walk Beside Me

couple vettriano-butler

couple vettriano-butler

A Valentine re-post for mi esposa – of one of personal favorites

 These are the ways we walk together.

Forgotten fears, footsteps behind us

dissipating in the laughter

of our growing old together,

capable of having too much fun

 

as my friend

 

in the garden we long since planted

with the soil of our spirit and desire,

you enrich my union with the earth,

your water nourishes

the very root of my being me.

you look upon me without judgment

and when momentarily I lose sight of who I am,

I turn to my friend

and your light is always in the window,

the way to your heart always open

 –

 

it is you I come to

when I want to be alone

and need to be held

 

 as partners

 

Palm-to-palm fingers entwined

in wonder of the world around us,

venturing in unknown surprise

in a no fault relationship

trusting we are there for each other.

we talk to one another

and I am in awe of your wisdom.

we share our space,

I am saturated with your nearness.

 –

side by side in cadence,

indivisible in the light

leaving one set of footprints

in the silt and sands of our memories.

I will be forever courting you in delight

 

your lover

 

unblushingly undressed

before the mistress of my passions,

you lovingly invite my touch,

my humbled hands

conduct a symphony of joy.

you welcome the heat of my desire,

my body enters sacred ground

finds fulfillment in your fantasies.

my love lies down to sleep

beside me

 

the companion

 

of my dreams,

your soft hands

laying beside my head

holding the night together.

I close my eyes knowing

when I wake

you will be there beside me

waiting as the dawn waits for daylight.

you say my name, goodmorning

and I am at peace with myself

  

as my spouse

 

there is no bond between us.

no neediness or wantfullness,

only loving the warm comfort

in a winter’s darkness of our flesh

folding over one another.

a husband

needing to come home to only you

to catch the moonlight

as it lays shadows across your body,

wanting always to breathe you in

making the most of our twilight years

 

birthday girl

birthday girl

 

 

Celebrating your birthday today

more than just a yearly trip down memory lane

it’s a thankful reminder

that if you live long enough, and believe.

 

Lasting relationships don’t just happen,

often it takes what seems forever,

to find the driftwood

that makes for a work of art

in the heart and mind of a drifter like me.

 

I’ve always been a dreamer,

Inventing colors, bird-dogging rainbows.

 

Cocksure wishes came true,

And memories should and could

Be made of the same ingredients

As the aroma of after love,

Or a kitchen perfumed with preparation

for a feast, for two.

 

Had the day not happened,

Sky blue would be a tinge grayer,

Sunlight a bit dusky on the best of days.

 

In the evenings under a canopy of stars,

Sitting by the fireplace, listening

to the mellow sounds of season,

Not so beautiful

 

Without the essence of you

Sharing the space I am in.

 

For the sun is a touch warmer now,

Days a little longer lasting,

 

And nothing, I’ve ever done

More fun, than loving on you.

 

 

My Hands Are Making Love to You – Audio

Re-post for a Friday evening

Google Image

Google Image

My hands are making love to you all the time

they’ve discovered a world of their own

humbly satisfying my senses fully

they don’t just hold hands with you

they caress, fondle, grip, squeeze and tease

dance on the tips of your fingers

touching , exploring, reveling

entwined in you

It is the laying on of hands

my hands holding on

to what the heart knows to be true

My hands make love to you walking down the street

alone with you in a crowd

they unembarrassingly make love in public

exploring privately only what my soul can know

before you entered the rest of my life

my hands began to turn downward

they were being pulled earthward

growing heavy, arthritic  and tempered

they are free now to conduct your music

sculpt the soft sensual clay of you

trace your lips into a smile

and draw you close to me

write a poem or two

to say I love you

There are times when a hug -audio

This is a re-post of a poem with the recording.   I am so fortunate to live in a community where hugs and kisses are a natural expression.

 

There are times when a hug

is all the warmth your body needs

is enough to quench the thirst of a parched soul

is exactly what the spirit holds onto

In particular the moment you close your eyes

when your thoughts seek solace in the comfort of sleep

or just before the sun rises in the predawn silence

when doubt lays hidden in the shadows

and expectation is still asleep.

These two momentary pauses,

the pinnacles of the pendulum of life

before it swings from dawn to dusk

from day to night –

are the way stations, the rest stops,

the benches on the Path,

where hugs are waiting

for every soul that journeys

through the darkness and the light

When for whatever reason the embers burn so low

only hope and love will stay the cold

that settles in the bones,

the well is dry and the thirst remains,

the memory and the promise of a hug

wets the lips and warms the heart

Art by Candis Flesher-Dodds

Art by Candis Flesher-Dodds

Posted to open link night 129 dVerse Poets Pub

Father’s Day

 

In the village of my child all my fathers

were Captains and Conductors, men and their workings

were forever coming home and leaving.

In my village, there were long stretches of empty beach,

great white seagulls always out of reach

undertows that carried sand castles out to sea

My Bogart Daddy became a blind conductor

with a wooden heart that dangled in the window of a caboose.

He could whistle like a train leaving, or the echo

of a foghorn calling me across a cold, hard sea

 

Where ever life’s journey carried me

there was always one street I looked for,

each house complemented a neighbors, from each

a soft glow in the mist gave the aura of home.

One street I came to know where ever I went,

where every door passed brought me closer

to far away from where I’d ever been.

 

 

I was forever slipping ashore, sliding back out to sea,

each time I’d meet this man along the way

I knew from some forgotten place in time,

I’d tell him that I was too old to settle down, when I stayed

in one place too long the feet didn’t listen anymore,

the mind did all the walking and my hands turned to old stone.

He takes my hand, and I’d feel the rough hand of passing years,

like a blind beggar searching my pockets of fear for change.

 

 

With the years driftinglike the child sifting the sands

beneath the monkey bars for change, time pretends

forgetfulness and carries with it the feeling

of being loved without ever having done my time.

Why is it so difficult to bring to an end

the well of it when dry? Something in the male of this

that suffers the new start, the beginning of the end.

Having hunted in all the unfilled spaces of a lifetime

I closed in on my prey.  I could hear my self, gull scream

in a voice the sound of waves retreating into sea.

 

 

What might I have beento have recognized my Captain,

my Conductor! To have passed over and settled tenderly

on the familiar. Old rags and brittle bone

had been where I had been and covered his tracks well. 

My father let his bones die. He let his legs ground to sand.

I had been denied the final moments of the hunt.

 

 

What I had been looking for was the music man

who sits in the first chair made of sand and driftwood

alive to the pause, listening to his flesh grow old cell by cell

someone who listens for his name to play off the distant clouds

and drift over the sea towards home. What I inherited

was a gathering of shells and stones along the shore,

and a yearning for the undertow, and in the eyes of a boy

the waving good-bye from the rear of a caboose.

 

 

The bus parks on the side of the road

The driver opens his thermos, pours himself a cup of coffee,

stares into the rear view mirror. I had come this far.

My children and their children it seemed would miss the bus.

This being the final remains, the echo of a train leaving,

suited me. It all went something like this:

 

he made a simple exit through the rear door

 and let the driver finish his coffee in peace

50/50 Odds On Love

love-in-the-afternoon. Andrew Wyeth

love-in-the-afternoon. Andrew Wyeth

 

maybe you can make it

if you forget about the odds

 

slip them under the pillow

while you’re learning to love

 

be honest

be gentle with your secrets

 

take long walks through your bodies & taste everything

wash each other

 

play the lead in your production

and let your partner steal the show

 

grow raindrops together

& watch them flower

 

commit your possessions to the hours

for you may have a lifetime

to parade

to flaunt

 

to wrap quietly around your minds

and warm you

Wait, Be Patient, Be Still

waiting - Nicholas Roerich,  Wikiprints.org

waiting – Nicholas Roerich, Wikiprints.org

 

When you are in-between going nowhere

all possibilities are open to explore

you walk to the door seeking satisfaction

retracing your steps, pace back and forth

the distance between beginning and ending

diminishing with each retro action

until you stand and spinning

wait

 

You know that if you face

one way or the other

your energy will exhaust

on the very edges of the known universe

creating a wind behind you

that will bring you home

be patient

 

You dwell in the pause

the safe silent space

you have always tried to reserve

where no one enters

 

it is full of white noise

the crushing sound of always

pounding on the doors and windows

of your soul

be still

 

Every breath leads to another until

A room of mirrors

Rene Magritte   The False Mirror

Rene Magritte      The False Mirror

 

it was all a dream world

until now

 

life passing through me

filtered in a haze

of stillborn memories

 

a room of mirrors

each a reflection

of who I thought I was

in time

 

each one a framed perspective

of a soulful moment of mine

 

each day a new beginning

washing over and around

my shoreline of rocks and broken timber

receding, bleeding back

the life of me

 

back into the here and now of me

 

 

it is not that we don’t remember

where we have come from

the primordial mix

of all that we can see

 

it is what we hold on to

each time we crawl back from the sea

 

what is left

in time passing

a polished stone

a clutter of debris

 

each day of us a loving memory

In a Heartbeat

Alex Katz  Upside Down Ada  -  WikiPainting.org

Alex Katz Upside Down Ada – WikiPainting.org

 

In a heartbeat of a single moment

measured in time

In the strange attraction

of the unpredictability of a lifetime passing,

 

imagining you are where you want to be

waking in the morning thankful

for the chance to have it this way.

The love, the joy,

the wonder of each day

opening in a dance of warmth and loving.

 

Or even better,

 

being who you want to be

igniting a passion for life that scintillates in light,

dancing in the dream of limitless wonder

sharing that which only you can be

your unique and special gift

for doing what you absolutely love to do

 

 

paused momentarily on the Eden of day and night,

all your memories gently washing over you,

receding in waves of recollection

casting ashore the sands of dreams

in and out of your imagination,

silhouettes and salutations balancing the outline

and inner word of your particular story

 

better still,

 

imagine you are with whom you want to be

this very moment wrapped in arms and legs,

anchored to the soft and beautiful

wedded to the possibility of all

that is wonderful in a relationship

 

where seashells lace the tides separating day and night,

 

where the future, waiting on your light,

 

enters your present one moment at a time.

Uncoupled

the-lovers-rene-magritte

The Lovers is a painting by French surrealist Rene Magritte, created in 1928. Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

 

what is it that I must learn from you?

why am I in your lifetime

sharing your space

privy to the dark side of your moons

 

I see you stripping away

at one another

scarring the fragile surface

that separates and bonds

the his and her of you

 

becoming in my awkward view

the antithesis of one another

the very thing

you least like about yourself

 

in the midst of your screaming frustration

silence stands beside me,

arms folded, arrogantly listening

as your voices jab at one another,

incessantly, mercilessly shredding

any sense of oneness

 

certainly it’s not that I need to be

so foreign to my present

to be outside looking in

 

or that the experience,

so opposite to the wonder

of the loving relationship

I now share, needs a reality slap.

it can’t be a lesson in white & black

I’ve been to the dark side

of my moon and back

 

it’s not that I have any power

to influence the paths you have chosen,

the negative vortex,

spaces you’ve created around yourselves

nor would I

 

I guess it’s not

what I can glean from you

or what I could

possibly do for you

 

it’s more what I can learn about myself

accepting where I am

who I am

in the midst of turbulence

tearing away

at the very flesh and soul

of what we could all be

 

if only

one stopped

and listened

to one another

 

I mean really listened

Muddleheads

 

 

In legend there is a little spirit

called the Mouse Woman

and when your child is in trouble

she will always come to the rescue

 

begin there, today and tomorrow

setting mouse traps

as soft as your arms can hold

and bait them with years to come

 

You know that time is patient

You know that it is stalking

the body of your child

like a bad day dream

waiting for you to fall asleep

the heartaches and traumas

you can mend and put away

it’s squeezing love out of dark clouds

but you know that

handing him over and over again

while you wait the distance

in the sterile corridors of your heart

while you watch for the slightest sign

that your child will always be running home to your arms

 

the invisible nibbles away

at the little things that make us human

 

It is said, the Mouse Woman

has little patience with muddleheads,

but when your children are in trouble

the tiny spirit will come to their rescue

 

begin there

setting mouse traps

as soft as your arms can hold

and bait them with  tears of joy

All my life I have searched for home

Thanks Telise for reminding me of this poem

 

All my life I have searched for home

when all the time

it has been a place within me

 

You entered my world

and simply asked me

to look at myself

to look at the beauty within me

 

and your vision overwhelmed

the darkness of my soul

I felt your voice

resonate within me

 

and I was home again

a gift given

 It is in the gift of giving I find joy – a poem for open link night dVerse.

 

Sometimes you are given a gift,

a chance to turn around and face your shadows.

The opportunity to begin again, or right a wrong

when but a moment ago you were lost

and now you are found.

Having searched a lifetime

trying to manifest illusions

Was it really you?

Seeking what you could not find

no matter where your body

or your mind might wander

Was it really you?

Leaving a trail of littered dreams,

half empty schemes,

in fields of if onlys and could have beens

Of course, it wasn’t really you!

For all the while you’ve been right here.

this very place you have been guided to,

the circles ever growing smaller and entwined

in the universal loving hand of Spirit,

who only knows you as you are right now

Your gift is you, the silent you.

Going inward has set you free

to do, to act, to be.

In the universal wisdom

you have landed where you left off

with nothing more than you’ve always had,

the God given ability to see within you,

where you are in love with the world

you have created,

for you truly now,

in your knowing

are where you have always wanted to be

believing in love,

believing in me

being

now is absolutely beautiful

tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, as everyday should be, a celebration of all you love.

subtlerotic jazz

mixing with the mood,

a scent of burning candles,

softlite soothing the angles and edges

of where you are in my vision

a moment layered with presence

she sits in another room

elegantly playing the keyboards

communing in cyberspace,

my thoughts enveloping her

in a warm knitted shawl of pleasures

only a quantum moment ago,

just a couple Besame Mucho’s ago,

dinner on a valentine day hangover

an altogether enjoyably crimson delight

as it should be after all these years

having moved beyond the yours

and mine history, into now,

this room, this here

believing today to be

in this very moment

a continuous conception

of where we will always be

I’m your quality control guy

leading up to Valentine Day #7

I’m your quality control guy for love

24/7 checking your parts is my kind of heaven

I’m Love On Wheels

and when you’re hungry

it’s three square meals a day and snacks in-between.

I’m your Maitre’D

You can sit anywhere you like

but I’d prefer you sit on me

I’m your Valet

You can park it in my lot any time of day

I’m your Mr. Fix It

I’ve got the tool, you’ve got the fixin

I’m your Chauffeur

Drive you anywhere but prefer to drive you insane – gently

I’m your Tour Guide

Everything in your imagination I can certainly provide

I’m your ubby

Crazy without you

My Hands Are Making Love To You

Leading up to Valentine day a repost for #6

 

My hands are making love to you all the time,

they’ve discovered a world of their own

humbly satisfying my senses fully,

they don’t just hold hands with you

they caress, fondle, grip, squeeze and tease

dance on the tips of your fingers

touching , exploring, reveling,

entwined in you

 

It is the laying on of hands

my hands holding on

to what the heart knows to be true

 

My hands make love to you walking down the street

alone with you in a crowd

they unembarrassingly make love in public

exploring privately only what my soul can know

 

Before you entered the rest of my life

my hands began to turn downward

they were being pulled earthward

growing heavy, arthritic  and tempered

 

They are free now to conduct your music

sculpt the soft sensual clay of you

trace your lips into a smile

and draw you close to me

write a poem or two

to say I love you

The ways you walk beside me

Lead up to Valentine Day #5

 

These are the ways we walk together.

Forgotten fears, footsteps behind us

dissipating in the laughter

of our growing old together,

capable of having too much fun

as my friend

in the garden we long since planted

with the soil of our spirit and desire,

you enrich my union with the earth,

your water nourishes

the very root of my being me.

you look upon me without judgment

and when momentarily I lose sight of who I am,

I turn to my friend

and your light is always in the window,

the way to your heart always open

it is you I come to

when I want to be alone

and need to be held

 

as partners

Palm-to-palm fingers entwined

in wonder of the world around us,

venturing in unknown surprise

in a no fault relationship

trusting we are there for each other.

we talk to one another

and I am in awe of your wisdom.

we share our space,

I am saturated with your nearness.

side by side in cadence,

indivisible in the light

leaving one set of footprints

in the silt and sands of our memories.

I will be forever courting you in delight

your lover

unblushingly undressed

before the mistress of my passions,

you lovingly invite my touch,

my humbled hands

conduct a symphony of joy.

you welcome the heat of my desire,

my body enters sacred ground

finds fulfillment in your fantasies.

my love lies down to sleep

beside me

the companion

of my dreams,

your soft hands

laying beside my head

holding the night together.

I close my eyes knowing

when I wake

you will be there beside me

waiting as the dawn waits for daylight.

you say my name, goodmorning

and I am at peace with myself

 

as my spouse

there is no bond between us.

no neediness or wantfullness,

only loving the warm comfort

in a winter’s darkness of our flesh

folding over one another.

a husband

needing to come home to only you

to catch the moonlight

as it lays shadows across your body,

wanting always to breathe you in

So Right Sunday Morning

Lead up to Valentine Day #4

 

 

Sometimes the combination comes together

no history no future or promise

subtle light mixture of music

mellowed by the hum of a gentle fan

slightly chilling the cabernet

 

her recipe simmered with soft words

fresh basil

finely sliced carrots

little round tubes of pasta

stirred briefly in butter until tender

carefully allowing flavors to transfer

 

her love lubricating, exhilarating

her laughter intoxicating

 

old pleasures renewed

sharing the moment as if it was planned

 

ingredients picked fresh from her garden

so right you could taste it

 

so right

that it’s all about loving you

Places that hold an energy of love

Countdown to Valentine Day #3

 

 

There are places that hold an energy of Love

once planted there it never leaves.

 

You can come back to it time and time again,

it’s like you’ve never been away.

 

There are precious spaces

where everything you see around

is of your making.

 

The visual comes from the heart.

The sensation of moment,

a memory of that very day

Love came into the space and stayed.

 

It’s in the breeze that gently plays upon your skin,

and in the sound of silence,

where the music of Love begins.

Ageing Beautifully in Light of You

Countdown to Valentine Day #2

 

 

Aged to perfection

in wood hewn for music

 

the instrument of love so made

the hands that crafted it

lay open in perfect harmony

with the gift of knowing it is right

 

the hands that play it

weep for the beauty of its sound.

 

I asked for you

God guided you to me

knowing you were here all along

all I needed, was to become aware

 

through action and word

we manifest the love within us

 

you are all that I perceive

that is one with me

you are my intent, my desire,

 

the time within this hour

where dreams seem real

when the urge hits

 What would Valentine Day be without a poem or two, or maybe eight.  Here’s the first one we all should be able to relate to.

when the urge hits

them in the crotch

a whole new vocabulary

enters the bloodstream

with whiskers sprouting

on his chin

his eyes wide open

he pokes along the sidewalk

skipping cracks –

she develops

out of pavement

her margarita cups

poking thru a trans

parent top

she slaps him

on the ass

with a passing

glance that breaks

his mothers back

and they are hooked

he struts along behind her

like a peacock

having just eyed a rainbow

Surfacing Fears

Acrylics by Candis Flesher-Dodds
“Surfacing Fears”  Acrylic  by Candis Flesher-Dodds

if you go searching for things,

you will always find them

some dressed in mourning

some pure delight

sometimes you just don’t

want to go there

nothing more needs to be said

if you think there is

something underlying

then there is,

choosing not to go there

lays the fearing to bed

if you interpret what you hear,

the dark side dominates

don’t go there

choose where you want to be,

follow in the footsteps of your heart

the unspoken word

lays down two shadows

one of fear

and one of mistrust

my love for you

is surrounded in light

let it wash away the shadows

let it be

A Still Silent Space

Here is the very spot where we made love.

You abandonment personified,

eyes closed, pure enjoyment

in the moment, in a still silent space

Over there, on a low concrete dike

that pretends to hold back

a jaded pool of tranquility

you sat chin to knee,

a happy Buddha lingering in the essence of being

In this space,

beauty has no boundaries, no edges

It just is

A pond of subtly blended shadows and sunlight

surrounded by a sea green shawl of moist grass

the forest wrapping it all in its’ arms

a perfect ensemble

It belongs here this emerald jewel,

in a solitude of mountains,

and you wore it beautifully

We never left here, we just left it behind, momentarily.

It was my dreamtime to imagine,

your still space to blossom in paint.

God has been keeping an eye on this place,

waiting for love to return.

Now, that I’ve taken over as caretaker,

nothing moves, not a breeze, nor a ripple

even the water spiders are tiptoeing.

It’s as if there is a film of time over a mirror

waiting for your beauty to reappear.

for though you love this place, as I do,

love is only half fulfilled

when here, alone

without you.

The Sparrows Are Sleeping Late

you are fine white earthenware

a porcelain gift in a stranger’s hands

you gathered yourself around me,

introduced me to your ancestors

and your quilts, arranged and re-arranged baskets,

catered to the cats, tendered the plants,

and mixed your books in with mine

I was comfortable with us

all my dead ends turned to footpaths

and long leisurely walks home

you were someone soft

I wanted my hands to know a lifetime

flute and violin, always to possess

a corner of my morning sun

the leaves of 15 summers

turned in our reflection

now

the sparrows are sleeping late

the shades are drawn

in the breakfast room

and the music of our promised lifetime

a soft  irreversible memory

When Dawn Breaks Across the Stillness of the Night

when dawn breaks across

the stillness of the night

and daylight filters through dreams

of all we have pleasured and pained

we are there for each other

unboundedly wrapped in arms and legs,

anchored to the soft and wonderful,

a wedded link to the possibility

of all that is beautiful in a relationship

where someone listens, someone cares.

mornings are made for us

our days open in a dance

of warmth and loving,

one with the passage of light

no shadows in and out

of our hours together and apart.

the grumps, frumps and frailties of aging,

churning out the chapters of lives lived,

melt beneath the covers             drift away

with each passing moment

of each and every day

we have the pleasure of our company

and the comfort of knowing

in our heart and soul

we are fearlessly where we want to be.

yesterdays sauntered aimlessly

and lulled about heaven

casting no shadow

leaving seldom behind

now it’s all in a day’s grace

this loving space we are in,

walking giftedly beside each other

no less favored then before

but lighter footsteps and fewer doors

with a companion to love, trust and adore

as we journey now,

on the evening of our lives

toward a sunset of the visible light

more spring than fall

more time trailing behind us

than to be laid down

the life we share is not the beginning

for we have always known each other

nor will it be the end

for we will always be together

time and time again

Count Me In

The heart and soul of a couple are not immune to despair,

for the wear and tear of the ego will always be there.

The mind is ever capable of wandering

down dark alleys and wallowing

in the wasteland of what’s it all about.

So, if one day, doubt enters on a word

trailing with it sleepless nights all too surreal,

nothing as always is ever the same

and you need a friend to say I love you

count me in

If codependency means someone to lean on

in times of anxiety and pain,

if it’s pickup when you’re down,

a smile upon a frown,

or simply someone to be there

just to know you are around

count me in

If you need someone to talk to,

someone to listen and hear you

cry it out, SHOUT IT OUT,

or just to be there

which is really what it’s all about

count me in

It goes without saying that it works both ways.

If you wake in the morning wanting

to be there, thankful for being alive,

in stride with the love of your life,

that’s not dependency, it’s just

I’m your husband and you’re my wife.

There’s nothing wrong with sharing

both the highs and the lows of every day’s caring,

believing that you can, without a doubt,

depend on one another to say

count me in