Wedding Fitz

WHISPERS

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.

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.

Contentment

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.

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.

faucon

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

Shatters.

Sorry?

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.

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

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

Fitz exchange

I sent (before I moved)

When I am here and you are there
there is a part lost in between,
and I’m not sure
if it’s something we needed,
or excess thoughts and dreams –

but I’ll bet that it’s a bit of magick
that exists when we are close
and that we have lost nothing
except a memory or three.

She answered –

ah but memories are never lost, my love
they are …

but a moment's kiss away
and the warmth of our breath kindles anew
the patterns that we have swirling 'round us
or perhaps the gentlest touches sparking a'fire
generates lovedust to soften the underlying passions desire
memories are not of the mind as most would suggest --
I say they are of thine Heart and mine.

Learning Love

Not a Fitz --
written for my first wife
of 36 years -- still a true friend,
as we were in the beginning ...

I was afraid to love -
but you knew that, didn't you?
unfair - you came from no love and was sure -
I came from love and didn't know how
we taught each other - some
not enough.

What was said - and not said
needed - not found
not needed - given
lost - found
abused - massaged
loved - forgotten?

I thought to sacrifice myself for your needs -
you thought I was sacrificing family for self
how can I say I have regrets -
when I never did anything to cause pain or loss
deliberately?

Yet, how can I expect love when caring/understanding was ground to dust?

Of all the things that have happened, my friend -

You are now afraid to love

For that I am truly sorry

Love not allowed

Love unseen

We touched, my love and me
in an old dream

Now in eyes of distant memory
we walk together through harvest fields
and see what might have been

Love Realities (CF)

SEED: "love did not seem real"

Reality is transitive at best, at least in terms of love

as we are conditioned by what we see and touch
and rarely what we feel or allow ourselves to know.

Then I met m'lady who cannot see
and was not allowed to love, for all of that --
but can give me love's unknown realities.

Daily Routine

Our love did not seem real
but the light
that shone in our eyes
on the first day of our loving
is with us each morning
as you bring a coffee tasting kiss

Thread of Remembering

In keeping with an apparent thread
of remembering or forgetting,
I offer a sonnet written long ago ...

faucon

............................................................

REMEMBRANCE

There is a time, my love, that I remember well;
Thoughts that I caress and hold to swelling heart.
I laugh out loud; eyes close shut and arms wide apart
To clasp a memory of which I often tell.

Yet I know that mem'ry often diffuses fact,
To protect fragile ego over shifting time.
Our love did not seem real then, somehow more sublime.
Actions were not reasoned well, we simply did react.

Now I must question if I recall actual love
Or simply do invent soft thoughts of joy and bliss?
Was it myself I loved but sought not to ever miss
A chance to find myself in answer from above?

Do I wish to remember well, or perhaps forget
That what should bring joyful thought often gives regret.

A CF for Lisa

New poet in Thrine

Well does she speak in triplet form or single verse

This new member beknown by ancient Phoenix call,
but also that of bridging Troll and by right a Sister too.

Three does allow a braiding well known or hair and rope,
that in simplicity can embrace many spiritual threads
of thoughts and dream and passion.

faucon

Making a poem on Salmon Beach: haiku triad

each word gleefully
snatched by the wind, then scattered
in all directions:

some roost in twisted
trees, some are claimed by bronze ants,
a few hide within

winkleshells; later
they come straggling home again -
soaked, scuffed, eyes shining

Embrace Emotions (CF)

SEED: beauty, terror, suffering, and love

How poorly trained we are, methinks

in embracing such variety of emotions and reflections --
driven to order them as good and bad or worse.

Should not the comparison be, in truth,
with not being able to embrace emotions at all,
or to have a soul so deadened that it hears no music with the dance?

faucon