Sunday, August 28, 2005

Wedding Fitz


I pledged to thee
In ceremony
All that I am and more;
Two spirits joined,
Shared wings unfurled,
To stir the silent breeze.

Yet of our souls
And most human hearts
There must be soft tended joy;
In softest touching,
And giggled nuzzling,
And whispered cherish tears.

Of these are we now
In vowed eternity.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Join Hands

SEED: "Join hands with me"

A simple phrase, rarely heard,
as Game Boys and TV clickers
eschew joining of any kind.

Lost is the basic skill or reaching out,
touching another's hand and heart and all,
and forging a bond stronger than two alone.

Even more profound is this request --
an heart based invitation to dance
with life itself.


Seed: Glissading down -- on blind faith alone.

Join hands with me, my darling

Together we may descend into the mundane
but in the evening know the comfort
of warm bodies joined

Our fireside may not be adventurous
yet I see its warm reflection in your face
I have all I need.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Snow Fly

SEED: gliding in an eternal glissade
(a double Fitz)

Some climb a forlorn peak, striped with pristine white

to get a better, clearer view of life and all --
but only find another, higher peak to ascend;

while others, especially those who did not hike alone,
prepare for the most thrilling decent to breathless mundanity --
the fearbound thrill of glissading down -- on blind faith alone.


Find a gifted branch to rudder balance and steady hand.

Run so confidently across sharp boulders of adversity -- and leap
upon the corn-snow patches -- glittering reflections of yearning,

and glide, ski-less, witless -- yet ever in preparation
for the ending -- and feckless dash across life's barren spots
to leap again, onto a glistening stretch of hope.


Friday, August 05, 2005

Seed: And turns into glass (Maya)

In the end, it all comes down to glass. Smooth, slippery, cold. Glass against my fingertips, my cheeks, my breasts; glass beneath my bare feet gliding in an eternal glissade. Sliding is so easy, slithering, slipping, swimming the slick, forever flow of glass; aching for the inexpressible crunch of relief when it all finally


Thursday, August 04, 2005


SEED: "I have never, ever been sorry"

I wonder, sometimes, if I am truly sorry for anything.

Of course, I regret the hurt I have caused …
that may have cause another pain - needlessly -- the only sin.

but I am as I am, and fairly happy with that and all,
and if I would change what brought me here,
well … what then be?

Glass Wave

As in a dream, the wave appears.
A liquid wall towering mightily, erasing the sun.
Looming ever larger, it curls and dips downward
I stand transfixed on the shoreline. No fear.
Poised to accept my fate, I close my eyes and lift my arms upward.
The wave touches my outstretched fingertips
and turns into glass.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Seed: Butterfly wings still beat into the blood (Fran)

I was left with only memories, spun in crystal, hung on filament wire

Left with nothing but remembrance rainbows . . . and words
Blood still beats like butterfly wings

Behind the hollow throat of wax your lips dreamed into being
A throat that still swallows rainbows, still whispers words, and no,
I have never, ever been sorry

A Fitz in time

Seed: "your tender tempation"

Oh, such a divine sincrosity or stuttered thought or slip of mind --

a hesitation in time, perhaps, or a forging of will;
drawn by being excessively sensitive or simple moderation?

I will have to add 'tempation' to my SpellCheck
and at some time, perhaps with libation,
will cast it upon the violent winds of creation.

Erroneous Result?

Those butterflies, delicate against the light

Colors and wings, strong against the wind
carried to a northern island

Butterfly wings still beat into the blood
our children know nor have I been sorry
for your tender tempation or my yielding

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Seed: In an old dream (Fran)

In an old dream

You counted my heartbeats, silent singing of butterflies, you said
Multiplied times two and then divided by the same to find your own pulse

Your lips against my throat, drinking hot blue butterfly wings, counting
Then deciding that it was just possible this procedure might be giving you
An erroneous result