my life in places where I've woken up

[South Balboa Drive]
Morning has passed my sleepy face
As the warm place on my chest starts to purr
I better not get up just yet
Lest I awaken this gentle bundle of fur.


[Lake Galilee Road]
My eyes creep open at sunlight.
Another misty, hazy dawn breaks on the lake.
Looking through the dirty glass
A peaceful moment, while no one is awake.


[Great Portland Street]
Body awakes but the mind still sleeps
From honking horns beyond the apple tree limbs.
New day walking the crescents, mews
Chasing my every wanderlust, traveler whims.


[Union Street]
He always wakes up before me
I lie under the quilts and watch the curtain flow.
Streams of light feed the plants
And I feel warmth here in spite of the snow.

[28th Street]
I hear people shouting in the street
But it’s still a quiet start for a Manhattan day
I count the bricks on the wall
A home of love and dreams, but underpay.

The Sounds of Snow

The snow makes a sound as it hits the ground
If we could only listen.
All at once it sounds like the wind
A blowing silencing hymn
Just like a thousand mothers
Whispering to their babies “hush”

Yes, the snow makes a sound when it hits the ground
But only for an instant.
All alone it sounds just like your blood
Swishing through your veins
And the rhythm of the snow’s song
Is your heartbeat’s thumping in your ears.

I believe the snow makes a sound as it hits the ground
But only the broken-hearted can hear it.
Its sounds like your lover’s breath
after the last time you kissed him.
It sounds like the tears being made in your eye
It reverberates in your soul;
That is the sound of snow.

Dusk

The snow laden trees look best at dusk
When the headlights bring out the glitter in white
and my eyes fail to see the branches
broken by the weight of wet ivory.
Each snowflake, unique and small,
was too much for the tree to bear.
Sometimes you can hear them cracking
but never at dusk.

Seeds of Silence

Your hush falls bitter cold as snow
and congregates at my feet.
They fail to fall with any truth,
You lie to me by omission.

Once our words were infinite
and poetry would rain, our flowers
our seeds of truth would grow.
How quickly seasons change.

This snow, this silent killer of love
It buries us in achrome
With each word unspoken
I die a bit more.

Erst I saw a land clear of white
Honesty warmed my core
I breathed unfogged
All lies would melt.

But, still, you do not speak
Blinded by snow I know
that in this sickening, delusive blanch
the seeds of silence here is sowed.