Sharing

I want to touch you
in all the wrong places
because I see you everywhere I go

everywhere I want you;
everywhere I see you, and
I want you to love me
as much as I do you

Oh sorry,
I didn’t mean to embarrass you
with my enthusiasm, but

Don’t we have fun?
I know we do. I
know we laugh so well
when we hear each other
love the world we share.

Oh in such drama that I see,
you kiss the world and me, and
though I want to share you, can you
come home to my game,
to my play with you, when we
celebrate our sharing.

Bhutan College Girl Returns Home to the Farm

The leaves of the potato are wise:
they send the sugar below ground
for a tuber of love,
somewhat starchy in demeanor
but as wise as an aging parent

She is an educated farmer
knows the smell of the city,
has read many books

But the land of her parents
must not lie fallow

She will milk it
for the love of the land
and for her parents, because

fine pigs for the market will
bring home the bacon kindly
while crunchy carrots will say

books can wait, but
Mother can not

The Percussion of a Kiss (Draft 1) [from the translation discussion]

If you’d listen to the beat of my heart
you’d know the scent of you is in my dreams
where melodies are made thrilling

listen dear, a symphony plays
the music of popped cork and trill with wine

I am composed of love;
sing my composition.

Feel the beat, the rhythm —

sing the melody in the clouds of mind,
dart with me to the beat of our hearts
and then may you agree to

touch a soul with a note, for you
will know my lub-dub pump,
this sanguine song start
to a drum kiss sangria

The Feathers of You

Your mingle, jingle joy
tickles me airworthy
gives me flight, so lift me
and wing it all, ’cause

your mingle jingle joy
carries me skyward

Oh, your magic spiral
spins me skyward, and

your mingle jingle joy
escalates me so, though

before you flew in
I was in a pickle
feeling sour and blue

now your magic spiral
spins my jingle joy
like a tour de force

an escalating spiral
fête de l’amour

your mingle jingle joy
pickles me in salty passion because

you flew onto my runway
with hors d’oeuvres
and blue sky.

Pens Lost In Digital Snow

Seals and polar bears swimming.
Pens of explorers lost.

Many digital articles on Eskimos
laughing together
transcribed from pen works, but
not much left from
writings in the snow.

Ambiguity must be earned, for
never would one know
there’s no flower in the snow.

Returning to the laughing igloo
he brings home the food and fur
of a work without a pen

Spear and club are shrug-ugly
piercing the seal in blood
opening the seals of soul, a muddy
ambiguity of his spirit to live
to eat, and return to the igloo,
though now his child has a computer.

The blessed child is the after-laugh.
Oh such a giggle rainbow, colors that grow
in many modal drawings of love,
in crayons, in finger paints, in ink, in
the paint of explosive jello
and the wiggle of love with cosmic pen
writing in the streak of laughing stars.
Many articles about stars, ice,
the noble hunt, and he, the warrior
may someday look for
his pen in the snow, when
he began to take notes for a researcher.

His child doesn’t need
a pen or spear anymore
nor a need to ever return to the igloo.

Her Pink Camera

[This is technically an old poem but for some reason I didn’t include it in the eBooks. I suppose I didn’t like it at the time.]

Her Pink Camera
(formerly called “Aftermath” in a hard cover book)

Stormy days came just after us;
things washed away
seagulls cry

Gave you a pink camera you’d wanted, and
you said you’d visit the beach to
hear the seagulls cry blue
the ocean roar

Said you’d get batteries for it
after you got a cute pink computer

Stormy day floods on first floors
things washed away, but
weren’t you on the fourth

Don’t know
haven’t heard from you.
Did you get the batteries
and go into the storm surge?

Stormy days
things washed away
and I haven’t seen your pink
but I gave you the pink camera

In Hurricane days
things were washed away
seagulls cried blue
and videos were shown

Maybe it was you in the pink,
who took those anonymous pictures —
I haven’t heard

I miss your pink, had
missed you in the swirls

but, yeah, it’s your style
you could have posted video P1748:
seagulls following your pink camera

Stormy days, dead
things washed away
seagulls cry blue

Bulldozers and sand walls
protection against the waves.
Did you get batteries and a pink dress?

Didn’t you say you’d visit the beach
to hear seagulls cry

Next time you see the seagulls
tell them I love them, ok?