Loving and Losing


Perhaps of all the things that motivate one to create poetry, number one would be the joys and sorrows – the elation and deflation – the almost indescribable feelings and thoughts that are engendered by romantic attachment and detachment. This Chapter from the Eternal Sea is very self-centered in the most part. Chapter IV is in the same vein and also has a subset that includes some ‘incoming’ poems that were sent to me. There may or may not be a ‘match’ among the poems included here. Looking at what has been written, I can picture just a few situations that can be ‘tagged.’ The rest let’s just dedicate to this most delicious of sentiments and experiences, and to lovers whomever and wherever they are.

Make When Now
When I am with you,
I want to be
The person I like.

Too often,
I’ve been driven by ego,
Claiming abject love.
Too often,
I’ve been a petulant kid,
Ready to run when rejected.

When I am with you,
I want to be
The person you like.

I want to fit in
The nooks and crannies –
The interstices in your life.

When I am with you,
I want you to be
The person you like.

There are lots of joys
And wondrous moments
To share, being together.
There is spiritual delight;
Closeness and ONEness,
And oh those EQ’s
[Emotional Quakes].
There is mutual appreciation,
Sharing of experiences –
Sharing of sadness and cheer.

There is a fit
Where the individual piece
Is preserved
In the jigsaw of life.

So, it is time
To celebrate
Our joys and wonders.
It is time
To bury petulance,
Together with ego’s fantasies –
Being fully aware,
Each of the other.

Can we walk those paths
That from time to time
Criss-cross in ecstacy?

Can we make when

Love’s Gift
Is like
Each growing thing:
It needs to be
Nourished to grow.
Weeds choking it
Need to be plucked.

Sometimes the weeds
May be perennial;
Other times
They may quickly bloom,
Fade and die –
Never to grow again.

Some love
Yields food for the body;
Other love
Nourishes the soul.
Once in a while –
Sometimes it is a long, long while,
That very special flower blooms.

It has no reason;
It has no rhyme;
It just IS –
Is sheer joy
Happiness to behold, to savor.
A love to be IN,
To be a part of and share.

No point asking why or how;
No real way to resist.
Just roll it ‘round –
Savor . . . enjoy.
Give thanks!
Give great thanks
That life has dealt something

Is like
Each growing thing.
When nourished
And allowed,
We all become
A song to sing.

This poem won me “Poet of the Year” award at the State University of New York, Morrisville – Kudos to the English Department there.

CrossroadsImage by Pixabay

A crossroads,
Creeping through those inner parts:
The interstices of marrow;
The backstairs of the psyche;
The third eye’s retina,
The final jangle
Of each ganglion’s pulse;
Memory’s yet-to-come input;
The light rushing ‘round the corner
To confront my soul’s
Beyond tomorrow.

A pulse, a beat, a cacophony –
Sounding and playing
That ‘other’
Who’s been a part of you;
That soul who, of late,
(So sad “of late”)
Whose vibrations have set off
That who wave
Of sympathetic notes,
Until each mini-second
Of each hour,
For every day that I live,
Sounds with the potential
Of the love that who will deny . . .

Of love that cannot be denied;
Sounds of the realization
Of wishes – past and present –
Sounds echoing but a moment
In the eternal span of time.

A crossroads, I devine,
Is near – or here.
Which path, which road,
Can we kick up
In harmonious steps;
Joyous dust that will play
Tunes of delight,
Sorting itself into masterpieces.

Kaleidoscope of love,
Fusing with growing strength
Until its power and light
Melts two super beings
Into a galaxy
Whose power sweeps all before it.

Or, do the lovers
Take separate paths:
Tears moistening
Purple forget-me-nots,
As distance renders the bond
Between two suns.

Have been etched in the paths –
Yes, bittersweet renditions
Of nagging regret and uncertainties
Over what Union with realization
Might have yielded.

There spins between these orbs
That gentle, lovely soul –
The “we” –
Springing from the essence of each
That grows with each day;
Each revolution
Spinning off a mass
Whose light may outshine
All others.

Though spirit drags
Crossroads there is.

Here is my hand,
Tomorrows call
And we must go on.
Will you take that hand
And match my tread
On the road
We both can trod?

The Last Note Of Your Song

I really like this one – the concept of being “the last note in the song being sung,” in the final ‘act’ of someone you love – unconditionally – just shivers my timbers (love that phrase also!). Music, to me, is the universal language – it speaks to all who hear it and creates a whole other sentiment and understanding from words – particularly if the words are ones you don’t understand because they are in another language. Life itself has an eternal music – an eternal song.


The fire of life
Burns bright and burns strong,
Energy is singing
Life’s eternal song.

That energy flows
Into matter and music,
And we human spirits
Are created to use it.

We were created,
Humans, tigers and doves,
To experience life’s dealings,
It’s travails and its loves.

The fire of life
Burns bright and burns strong
I want to be
The last note in your song.

The lesson is simple,
Open and clear,
Be in the Now,
Be Present, Be Here.

Do understand that the eternal quest
Is to be at ONE,
In the Creative Spirit’s nest.

The fire of life
Burns bright and burns strong,
It’s the space between the notes,
In Love’s sweet song.

The music you play,
It’s best loud and strong,
Makes me want to be
The last note in your song.

My Love Lies Inside
I can feel
The spot
Where you lie.

It’s on the left side
In a revolving curve,
My heart.

I reach out
To bring you in.

The melding seems
Not terribly hard.

I tuck you away.

My love
Lies inside.

Life’s Magnificent Charge
Bubbles burst;
Rainbows disappear;
Warmth and light
Are followed
By biting wind
And darkest night.

Joy can dwell inside.
Visions paint
Our brain’s eye
With every colored hue.

So, too,
Love sits in the saddle
Of a charging steed –
And, oft times,
Falls off.

Nothing, here, though
To stop
Life’s magnificent charge:

The struggle
Up the hill
In stickered wood,
Reaching the exhilaration
Of the top.

Life Is For Living
Is, oh, so many things
When a smile surrounds.

Grabs and holds me
When I listen to your sounds.

Life is for living
When love is a-giving:
Life is, oh, so many things
When you are around.

There are many forces
One can’t ignore:
All the Kings’ men and horses
Are here to assure
That life is, oh, so many things
When you are around.

Life has its reason
In each and every season,
My senses get pleasin’
When you are a teasin,’
And life IS for living
When you are around.

So keep up the music,
Be with it
And choose it;
Love is the harmony
That the soul sounds.

Life is . . .
Just so complete
When you are around.

Sweet Nectar
The sweet nectar of life
Moistens the dewy petals
Of the lovely flower
That is your soul.

Fly to draw
The nectar
For my new hive.

I leave
But enriched.
Blessed be YOU:
The flower
Whose nectar
Has become
The sustenance
And sweetner
Of this new life.

NYPL (New York Public Library)

The big central public library of the NYC system is at 42nd street in Manhattan – (no one ever says ‘Manhattan’ – it is ‘The City’ or New York). The main entrance is framed by two stone lions. I stood there fairly often and wondered what they were saying and what they cared about – if anything. And such riches inside – although relatively hard to access.


The lions turn
The other way –
Cathedral of knowledge
Framed our joy,

Temple of learning
Knows nothing
Of the twists
Fate can employ.

Cold books,
Scratchings on paper,
On shelves
All properly in a row.

Yet, outside,
In the warm drizzle,
Create the glow.

The spark
Grows to a fire;
The flames fanning
“True Love.”

The lions turn
Another way,
Which condition
Is the real one?

Which state
The ultimate Truth?

Can all those collected words
Give the answer?
Does it lie
Under that roof?

Was all that
A temporal flush of emotion,
Or rather the coming together
Of the one and only truth?

I am caught up
In the challenge;
Where is the answer?
How to pick,
How to choose?

They are inseparable
And by choosing
One would lose.

At First

I met a woman during dance classes at The Omega Institute – I was single at this time, having relatively recently gone through a ‘friendly’ but still difficult divorce. Would another woman enter into my life? This poem reflects the ‘odyssey’ that ensued.


At first,
You smiled at me –
Just an ‘innocent,’
Sweating through five shirts,
Trying to figure dance steps
For a performance
I would only get to watch.

At first,
You enticed me.
You came back,
Smiled a lot,
And was always ‘there.’

At first,
How nice it was
To have someone
Excited to see you
And seek you out.
We talked;
It seemed so easy and ‘nice.’
I got “hooked.”

At first,
You confused me;
And, yes,
You told me
It would be four months –
At least –
Until I could come to your house:
I came the next weekend.

At first,
I slept as a guest;
Then I held you –
God, holding you
Was the nicest place
I’d ever been
In my 21,870 days.
It made me feel
That I wanted to do it
For another 31,930 days.

At first,
You drove me crazy;
And then there was raised
The specter
Of discomfort and mistrust.
You didn’t believe me;
You thought
I would intentionally hurt you;
God, that gave me
Such pain.

I trusted the truth would prevail –
And it did.
The scars healed on us both.
I came to want to be near you –
To refocus my place
Of Being in life.
I wanted to be a support system
For your life’s goals.

And then,
You said I was crowding you!
The ground fell out
From beneath me.

At first,
You had opened for me
A new door to love.
I loved your music,
And making music with you.
I loved your laugh,
And laughing with you.
You picked me . . .
There I was, laughing with you.

I loved
The comfort of your home
And being comfortable there.
I even loved
Your regal pair of felines
And figured we all
Could have a wonderful life together.

Where was this explorer to go?
I thought I was
On the ‘right’ path,
Yet kept running into
“No Trespassing” signs,
Seeing nothing
But brambles ahead.

At first,
You had picked me.
How nice it was
To have someone –
Someone you grew to love –
Excited to see you;
To seek you out;
And make you feel welcome.
Oh,so good!

Holding you
At that time
Was being so close
To feeling at ONE
With the source
From whence all comes.

So, now,
(that now was a couple of decades ago!)
Can we move
Past picking out
To create what comes next?
So, now,
Is there a path
To your heart
And love’s life
I can follow?

Will you take my hand,
Will you take my heart,
Will you dance with me
To the Universe’s beat?

At first,
You smiled,
Enticed, picked . . .
Confused –
Where will it end?
(It did)

And as my friend T.S. Eliot said in The Hollow Men:
“This is the way the world ends,
not with a bang, but a whimper.”

My Soul Just Ain’t The Same
Head kinda heavy
And chin hanging down,
Fighting through the
Earth-bound fog;
Eyes, mind,
Lifting up.

Then rose salmon
Cotton-tieredn cloud.
Mountain tops rounded –
But not bowed:
“You are your own best friend.”
To live, then, I am learning . . .
Damn well, how.

And this think
Is an essential part —
A true nub of me:
My soul ain’t the same
When it is not
Connected to “WE.”

In fantasy land,
Church into theater is re-made;
On the screen
Don Quixote’s a-questing,
Seeking Dulcinea
A scullery maid.
And, yet, I dare . . .
I do
Dream the impossible dream,
And turning homeward
Search for the path
Upward to the sky.

Crescent moon,
Long and erie,
Piercing through earth-bound fog;
Then still looking up . . .
Arriving –
But not going inside.

Stars fixed in random beauty:
Fixed by each of our searching eyes;
Crossing then –
A flash of light–
A “shooting star” . . .
Fate; Kismet;
Calling to Westerly shores,
To goals near and far.

My soul is a good one –
So welcome journey-mate and friend.
Somehow, somewhere
(Oh, I know)
I have discovered (with you)
That place where that road
Has an end.
There are beginnings:
Myriad dreams.
Gazing upward becomes normal.
Life is so much fuller,
It does seem.

So choice:
Here you face me (us).
We know it’s no game,
Something is not quite right –
And to fix it I aim.
So hear you this message;
Think of the shame
When we are not together . . .
Our souls
Just ain’t the same.

Special You
Whose muscles stretch
In joy and freedom.

Wide, absorbing,

Unmixed, real,

Grasping the rumble,
The deep depth
Of you.

With a special scent.

Limbs and blood,
Nerves and muscles –
Body alive
As it draws
Breath of you.

The Eternal Sea
Image by Pixabay