One Green Step

Great stone stairs
long and wide
winding down
far and sweeping

the earth grows wild

and ragged

on the edge

of heavy darkness


She leads
he follows
her fruit
the small of her back
the fullness of her hips
a brown skirt
thick in soft
hard in smooth



Her midnite coat
comes to there
no further
purposed
reasoned
perfected




Her steps deliberate
click clack
upon the stone
grace in rhythm
nothing hurried
a language all it's own

He steps silent
in tribute

A gardener near the wall
shifting eyes
busy in nothingness
not acknowledged
merely to decorate



Her steps slow slightly
the syllables changing
the gardener twitches

She stops
he stops
time stops



An arm of silk lace
glides
from beneath the shawl
nails touch the palm
a finger points down
the gardener looks away



"Here"

The vapor follows the word
thick, sweet, hers
and drifts to his face

A step forward
and down
shadowed in her power
secure in her strength


And he paints
one step

Green

Pitted and weather worn
scarred and honoured
painter and canvas


When finished
a slow glance upward
time measures the depth of her return
one sword upon another

Blades cannot cross
as one
but surrender is willing



He rises
her silent echo
as before
down the stone
click clack

The gardener stood
as the painter bowed

is he now servant to the gardener

Had she pointed there
the gardener would have
trembled in dispatch
knowing his place as well




What has she gained?
what she already had

And his gain?
what she already had

An agreement
perfect in settlement
consummated in device


Why green?
She knows

Might she not have stopped
certainly

Might he have refused?
never



Does the gardener know?
he thinks

Will he tell?
the power is in the keeping
the whoring in the telling

All whores have a price
and knowledge an author



Click clack
click clack

Is it bridge?

Yes

To where?

Click clack

Click clack



~Rick

She Took Me With Her

I wrote this piece several months ago, after a very special time with a very special friend




When she went, last night,
She threw closed a
Thousand doors and
And a phone lay crushed on the floor

It was a fire, big and wild
Of another's wood
That scorched, not warmed
And only a river of tears
Might put it to shame

She hushed me quiet
As she opened her window,
That i might see
A clenched passage

Unavoidable

We didn't speak
Or hold hands as
She guided me
To where her innocense
Had been sacrificed anew

In her hands of a child
She carried a sack of burnt offerings

I watched as they squirmed
And writhed to escape
Or perhaps, fight escape of
A resolve they underestimated

As silently I shadowed
And her child's fingers fisted,
The sun withdrew knowing
It had no place here

She sat me on a bench
And looked away as
She settled beside
My torn shell of helplessness

Then it began,
Just a tear, then a stream
Finally a river
As one by one
The bag was emptied.
She cried too

Purge,
First a history
That should never
Have been written,
Then a guilt, mindless
Of compassion

Next,
A horde of miscreants
Masquerading as love

Brothers, so called
That might have sheltered
But instead hid beneath her,
And a sister that might have loved
If only she knew how

Efforts,
To fix, explain-conceal
Music
That fell just one note short
Of true healing
And two wine glasses
That lied about forget

And finally,
Mothers
That never were
And weak, foolish fathers
Who never could be

And when at last

the bag was empty,
Swept away
In the dirty flood,
Then she took my hand

And it was no longer
A child's frightened squeeze
But rather the tender hold
Of a beautiful woman
Who would no longer

Carry other people's trash

To the curb

Then close, she let me draw her

as I kissed away her tears,

And her sweet face

Found my shoulder.

She let me hold her

Having learned her hurt

And she taught me love, again

The way it should be.

And when

There was no more to do

No more to cry

No reason to linger

-She let me walk her home

I liked that she took me

I like that we held

I like that love still lived

In a home of broken windows

And dirty linen

Where rats rule the cupboard

But I hate that her heart had to shatter

Once more

As purchase for me to learn

That her love is unbreakable

The Sands Of Time

It had been a wedding gift, this record, and  appropriately, the song's title was The Sands Of Time. The Perry Martin Orchestra performed it beautifully, and once or twice, they even danced to it as if still on the beach where they were married.
When he was at work, she would put the record on the old Victrola and make up lyrics for the melody as she did the breakfast dishes, washed the kitchen window, constructed dreams..
At first, it made her believe, later, it made her remember a happiness that was or wasn't real and that's the great thing about a song you write the lyrics to.
At night, when he came home from work, she tried to teach him the lyrics, show him how well the words defined their melody. She would sit upon the arm of his chair of refuge and sing to him while he smiled up at her and tried to sing along.
"What do you think?" she would fairly burst. "Isn't it perfect? isn't it us?"
As she squeezed his arm tenderly and swooned to the music, he would smile and hum along as she sang.
Music changes as time rolls by, as does everything. Perry Martin became Elvis Presley and then The Beatles, then the Stones, Dylan, Zeppelin, Madonna, Coldplay, Lady Gaga, but still they held onto that old Victrola, that first record, and the words she gave it.
She taught it to their children, to her family, to his, their friends, and anyone else who would listen.
And all this time he smiled and hummed along, but in truth, he never was crazy about the song, never really got it, and the smiles grew forced as the humming turned to gravel.
It's funny how she held to that song like a flattened rose in a blank album. If she did tire of it, she never let it show but rather, sang it all the louder and played it even the more.
Have you ever heard of the Perry Martin Orchestra? Didn't think so. It was a rare recording, and in fact, only one copy existed.
One day, as she washed the morning dishes and watched the birds sail before the window, the record skipped and she nearly panicked. Pausing mid-wipe, her face froze statue as the same part of the song played over and over. It was the place where her words sang "we will love beyond the sands of time"
and as she sang the verse over and over, the tears hidden deep within denial sprang forth and the birds flew away as if knowing.
Somewhere far away, far beyond miles and her reach, his sprang forth as well as if on cue.
That night, on the arm of that old chair, she pleaded as the song spun in the worn groove.
"Can you fix it?" her desperation asked. "Can we replace it?"
Hanging his head and shaking it, he listened as she sang the verse over and over.
There is a place where a battle must be faced, cannot be ignored, and truth must be shaken from the limbs like fruit gone bad. Perhaps the tree must come down. Maybe the only victory to be had is in a surrender long overdue. As she cried and sang all the louder, he knew they had come to this place and rising from his worn out chair of refuge, he took the long walk without smile or hum, raised the needle, lifted the record, and broke it in two.
His heart broke, same as her's, the only variance being cause.
She wanted to sing that song forever.
He never did sing it, but hummed along far longer than he should've, lying to her heart cruelly, far beyond the sands of their time.

love letter

in this, the time of I pod and 4g,
Amazon versus Ebay
and 0 to 60 in five-point -two
i think of her, when i think of her

she's that old station wagon
and no seat belts on the kids
as she swaggered down the road
like a cow plump with milk

she's the tapioca my grandma made,
her mashed potatoes,
all that on the old white porcelain stove
chipped and blackened
before instant and microwave defined perfection

she's those four channels on the TV that mattered
and the national anthem at midnight.saying goodnight
Tony Bennett when he sings
and Marilyn Monroe when she smiled

she's a plaid table cloth for a summer picnic
a cloth diaper folded and downy
the four poster bed with feather pillows
and that photo album of black and whites

in second period math, John
reaches into pocket
and blindly, yet like lightning
fires off a hamburger

and in the library, Tammy vibrates
dampens down and smiles
mt u @ 3 by rvr
oh! love so swiftly sweet!

thanks to Steve and Bill
even oceans are crossed in an instant
bridging boredom to loneliness
and web cams to lost modesty

theaters sit empty while
dates are now hook ups
and wiki
has burned all the books of lost relevance

and it is now i think of her
as now i think of you
her sticky fingers
that have to be pried apart

her black skin with gold tattoo,
smooth and without blemish,
and when she speaks, and oh, how she speaks!
she sounds like a tap on the shoulder
prelude to a kiss

of course she still wears a ribbon
and must fly or float to cross vast oceans
and 0 to 60 comes in minutes
-not seconds

but now when i think of you
and of my love for you
and of a letter to send you
i think not of the droid, or even hotmail
but of her, stout and mortar
the old Underwood too long silent

it will take me all night
a dictionary, a brandy, and a lamp of oil
to tell you of my love, my dreams
for us
and of what your beauty
means to me

and in that time
a billion loves will be bartered
arranged, completed
and deleted without trace

but when i think of you now
and the love i feel in this swollen heart,
i think of her
and the time she keeps
in her ink that becomes my blood

so let us my, Darling
just this once
love in the ancient way
before instant
so that we may remember
that love need not be raced through
just because it can be

The Baking Lesson

i watched her, from deep in the attic,
from the far corner of the cellar,
from my secret window

with unsteady hands, she broke the egg in two
then, yoke from white, white from yoke,
she schlopped it back and forth
while softly humming a tune
i yet did not know
-the bakers abortion

my pants were too long, too baggy,
and my shoes straggled untied
and i noticed, just beyond her curlered hair,
the sun shining through the dirty window
far too small to escape through
not even if we went one at a time

the sink dripped her minutes
while morning from night
yesterday from tomorrow
hope from desperate dreams
she schlopped, keeping
both of us hypnotized
by it's charm

my nose was running dirty
my hair a tangle of ruin
but she didn't notice
nor he, who was at the diner
eating an omelet

but the lesson she taught, i remember,
i know just how to do it

step one, ignore the boy in the window
draw the shade, and take the curlers out,
now toss them in the oven, turn on the gas,
but don't light it.
the ticking sink will be the fuse

now take one grade A large bomb
throw it against the family portrait
which never spoke the truth
never saw the sunlight
and watch it explode

that's how you make a cake
and even the diner will rock
from the tremors

Elizabeth

In his sweet polished shoes
the look of mahogany
he sees his reflection
and is mesmerized

he sees the blazon throne of power
the pinnacle of glory
the banner of his beauty
and the means to achieve all

and also, he sees her,
a perk for the lofty flight with
her soft sensuous curves
and her fine cut breasts

all this, and us too
he carries up his mountain
a throne to build
from his Solomon vision

but on the echoing tarmac
tears of defeat rain heavy
before the raging thunder
of abandonment

her shirt she rips off,
the scarred and scorned breasts
she frames with these words-
"you don't see me anymore!"

and we all fall off his mountain
we fall hard
she falls harder
he's still falling

ol carnegie

This is a song (which only i know the melody to) so that's why it will read like shit.

take a bow, take a bow, yeah
let everyone see
raise the roof with your playing
bring the crowd to their feet
cuz if you played the piano
just the way you played me
they'd stand up and cheer
back in ol carnegie

every note strikes a nerve
and your method's precise
the birds up in heaven
even stopped to look twice
your score was on target
your pitch it did soar
and it carried me out
while they came through the door

so take a bow, take another
let everyone see
the way you performed
and the fool that was me
if you played the piano
just the way you played me
you'd kick all their ass's
back in ol carnegie

and she came to me softly, when the moon was up high
she taught me her magic, she said i could fly
and for awhile i believed, just enough to take flight
but like the moon after sunrise, she's no where in sight

and do you ever get lonely
when the lights go down low?
when the curtains are drawn
when the crowd turns to go?
in the silence of midnight
when there's no one to hear
do you long for the laughter
but reach for your fear?

so take a bow, take it now
let everyone see
me left in the shadow
of the song in your tree

and if you played that piano
just the way you played me
you'd be raisin the roof
back in ol carnegie

take a bow, sing it loud
cry it out and be proud
the people are waiting, just look at that crowd
up there in the rafters, up front on their knees
they've all come to see
just how well you played me