World pieces

There might be dark forces
currently at play
but there is also light

--
April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 5: purpose

Pool party

the sex was a lure
sure, it grew into love
but it never should have

we watered that love
with kisses and long distances
that became a pool of longing

a refreshing drink
for parched hearts

a place to splash and play
but rarely linger

we fed the pool
with tears when we parted
and missed the cool

escape we had created
looking for oases
in others instead

never inside ourselves
never where it could actually be found


--
April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 6: trap

Space walls

We've had the 
luxury of space
for so long 
that it seems 
a right and
not a privilege.

We've had the 
burden of space 
so long that 
we believed it
was alright to 
ignore each other

We've believed that
proximity was a 
burden and not 
an opportunity to 
remember that connectedness 
is actually our 
most natural state.


--
April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 7: lucky or unlucky

Speed demons

The woman who drove saw
only hazy blurs.
Shapes, not faces.
Cars, not people.

The woman who ran saw
what she wanted.
Signs, not stores.
Next, not now.

The woman who walked saw
everything she passed.
Smiles, not bodies.
Gatherings, not crowds.

The woman who sat saw
all there was.
Service, not shops.
Love, not people.

--
April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 10: the blank who blank

About face

Sometimes I think he's hiding
from the world.
But I think he thinks

he is protecting the world
and people around
him by hiding himself instead.

--

April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 9: ekphrastic

Earth Mark 2

what if the future has
already happened, that
time isn't linear but looped

what if the apocalypse already
happened ... multiple times ...
and our fear is memory

of the past not anxiety
about the future
for we have already lived

that what if. we survived ...
or didn't ... but
keep hitting reset until we

get it right, until we
remember to remember
that we are the reset


April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 8: future 

Catch and release

My grandfather took me fishing 

only a couple of times

I did not like the taste of fish 

but enjoyed the feel of the reel

the quick release game of coordination 

and the swish of nylon line

zipping over the water, its little lure plunking 

into the stillness of our quiet fishing spot

it was play to aim farther,  more precisely

never leaving the bait to dangle 

long enough to entice any stream-dwellers 

before pulling in the line as swiftly as I could

I got lucky once or twice but threw them back 

for being too small

I squealed not wanting to touch the poor fish

not wanting to see their gasping mouths

snagged by my hook

when I had only wanted to play

Predictable

One could say our relationship was like an airport

so many comings and goings 

long embraces after even longer absences 

and more than a few delays and bumpy landings 

looking forward to every hello

and regretting every goodbye 

until the last

Stateside

When does one celebrate an

anniversary when divided 

by an ocean, where day

for one is 

night for the other and

dreams no longer

fall onto the same pillows

x

Travelers

You were never
my North Star

but a fellow traveler
a cheerful companion

who held my hand
on a rocky path

who sang me songs
to pass the time

and kissed my cheeks
so sweetly

that I almost forgot
that your destination

was never the same
as my own