I Should Have Kissed You Then

I should have kissed you in the coffee shop.

I wanted to and you wanted to, but the moment passed just like all our moments.

We were no longer the protagonists in “Same Time Next Year” like we once pretended we might be;

and there was too much time between that sunny room and this awkward cup of coffee.

I should have kissed you in the coffee shop, but I knew and you knew that a single kiss could turn our lives upside down and we were smarter now than we had been back then.

Our kiss was left on the rim of a coffee cup, at a Starbucks in a California town.

Sadly, as time and distance pass, I know I should have kissed you then.



Have you ever felt here, but not?
How do you explain that feeling of being in the space, but absent?
When you are in the absence state, life is like a silent movie without subtitles, or worse – like a silent movie where all the actors are acting with their backs to you and the only thing that gives any indication that anything is happening, is the music’s rising or falling cadence.
It is like being part of a third dimension, where you can see and hear everyone, but they not you.
So you stop writing, painting, enjoying, loving; thinking you might disappear and yet somehow you are still here.
And you know you can’t stop your son from going to Afghanistan and you hold your breath and brace yourself for the countdown and his absence.
There is no cure for that malaise and you will be absent from life until his absence is no more.

Chasing Happy

How can one go chasing happy when halfway around the world
people are dying for freedom?

How can one go chasing happy when climate change is
threatening the future of our planet and very few people seem to care?

How can one go chasing happy when forests, homes and animal
habitats burn to the ground in the American Southwest?

How can one go chasing happy when more than 14 million
people can’t find work in our country and have already given up on the “American Dream”?

How can one go chasing happy when teachers, police and
firefighters are the “villains” for the financial straits of state governments?

How can one go chasing happy when our humanity and civility
seem to be eroding more and more each day?

Will someone please tell me soon?  I’m running out of options.

Feeling mute

Too many distractions, not enough quiet time. I’m at a loss for words with meaning and meaning for words.

I don’t consider myself a writer, but is this what a writer would call a “block”?

I don’t feel I have a single shred of poetry, prose or anything interesting to share.

If anyone out there would like to supply a thread, I would love to see if I can do anything with it.

Memorial Day Motions

Picnics, outings and days off.

Parties, beers and barbeques.

Road trips, beaches and golf.

That is the rule not the exception.

That is, unless you are a mother or wife, a father or
husband or a son or daughter of a fallen veteran.

For you, Memorial Day will never be the same again.

Your picnics will have one less favorite food; your golf
will now be a different foursome and may always remain a threesome.

Your parties will be missing one special laughter and your
barbeques will be one hamburger or two short.

Your road trips will be short one driver and will have an
extra seat everyone will notice, but nobody will mention.

The beach will seem saddest of all, without his or her
footprints in the sand, or that last swim of the evening before the sun sets on the horizon.

No, you will go through the motions, but for you, they will
be the exception.

Glorious Summer

Some people are in awe of spring while others pine for fall.

Some like icy winters and too many don’t care at all.

Summer is her season.

Glorious summer, when images of turquoise oceans, bright
blue skies and sugar sands are enough to make her cry.

Glorious summer, when the sun kisses her skin and
streaks her hair golden until it seems that a painter has wiped his brush on her.

Glorious summer, when she can fill her senses with the
fragrance of the jasmine and the gardenia.

Glorious summer, when her lips on a ripe peach or a juicy
strawberry remind her of the best kisses she’s ever had.

Glorious summer, when cool white sheets on her sunburned
skin, mimic the touch of teenage summer love.

You can have your spring with its showy vanity; your fall
with its boastful fire or your winters with its gaudy holidays and false promises of renewal.

She will wait for summer, never impatient, always breathlessly
surprised by the gloriousness of it all.


They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, yet, hers had been shuttered long ago by broken promises;

Unfulfilled dreams and the general malaise of knowing she had not lived the life she was meant to, but the life she had to.

They said the color of her eyes, so black, was what made them

She knew better, but she just smiled and kept her soul in

Silently waiting for the next time around.

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