Hug from Nonna

I hug my Nonna twice a year:

On her birthday

And on mine

But only because I engage

I announce the occasion

Buon compleano!

Lean in

And wrap one arm around her shoulders

I love you

I love you too

A kiss on the cheek

Maybe

But more likely reserved

For milestone occasions

 

TDM

Andrew

You were trying to be

a Kerouac

When you led me

from subway to streetcar

To marbled sidewalk

and thought you were adventure

Looking for old doorways on Bay

Where I knew there were none

And you were trying to make me

your Queen Anne’s Lace

So I would be

gentle with your secrets

sooth your eccentricities

and unravel your spirit

But I was the seedling of

a dogwood flower

And led you

From subway to streetcar

To tall grass footpath

And thought I was adventure

In convincing you

to cascade backwards between

dandelion and dew

to match my wavelength

which was unravelling itself between

the blades of grass

as though the meadow were

a maze leading straight

to your disposition

 

TDM

Summer Heat

I need some opinions on this one. Is it complete or does it have a long way to go? Please comment below with any thoughts. Thank you kindly.

 

I could tickle the shade

on a day like today,

musky odour (I admit)

emitting from my “delicate” temple

whose flustered

along with my will

to make happy with

they

who step lightly and grin

while I drip

and drop

and drag myself onward

through what seems like concrete Sahara

Word Vomit of the Imaginary Traveler

I have gone on many paper adventures, pages and pages of text have carried me up and up, far, far away. Daydreams and sleepy dreams have comforted my thoughts and set an imaginary trail behind me. Footsteps through cobblestone pathways, sipping dark coffee, following lamppost moons. Then tracking through snowy banks, heavy feet and runny nose, breathing in crisp frost, windy tears wiping away snowflakes that land on cheeks. Sun baked faces turning red as gazes are lifted, trailing the side of ancient monument and sand castle. Silk or linen draped across wandering eyes, highlighted colours amongst sepia and terra cotta. Crickets keeping souls awake in the night, a reminder to feed the fire to keep the warmth from escaping the tent, so that catching fireflies is a little bit more interesting. Though harder to see them in flame light, it is better for roasting marshmallows. Stopping by a stream to sip or splash water in the cracking faces and worn boots. Stopping by the side and peeling off jackets to rest heads on, stones to prop tired feet upon. And finally listening to ocean swells with active ears and quiet faces, being sprayed with salty mist. Then to squish toes in the sand when the water has not covered them, scraping a heal on a little shell, a tiny home built in repetitive beauty, swirling and twirling curves. The shell made of soft pinks and yellows, like the canvas stretching far beyond the rolling and bouncing waves, going going on until hidden by blues, lighter, then darker, then burst of silver overhead. Twinkle to preserve some light for walking home in, howls to bid goodnight.

TDM

Breeze

While she lay in bed, she felt the breeze rush in from the open window. The curtains danced along with every gust and whip the wind took. What pleasure the night had brought her. What utter content it was to have the light of the moon hover outside, as she lay cloaked in sheets, sinking into cushion and feathers. Every inhale took her deeper under the covers, every exhale was a cuddle and a relief. The chirping crickets sang to her, or were a steady beat, keeping with the rhythm of her breath. If she could stay this way forever, she would.

 

TDM

Marble Head

I would take

this big head of mine

and shrink it to the size of a glass marble

if I could,

and not even think twice

if it were to roll away

off the side of a cliff

and shatter,

at least then my head could

be of some use

the scattered fragments

could reflect the sun

create sparkling flicks of twinkle,

or cut someone.

TDM

Skipping Rocks

I would skip

rocks

with my feet plunged into moss

curl my toes underneath mud

grip myself

turning a stone over in my hand

weighing it with every rotation

to make sure it wouldn’t just

plunk

to the bottom of the brook

though if it did

it would not be lonely

because there are plenty of others

who have

sunk

to the

bottom

and nestled themselves

even after they’ve skidded the rapids.

 

TDM

A Little Nature

If only i could lie

in the grass for more

than just a little while

I could graze the atmosphere

with my drifting eyes

turning my head this way and

that way

I’d twitch my ears

to tune them to the sound

of daffodils being kissed

by tiny insects

I could wipe my nose clean and

inhale perfumed stardust

that would shake itself off

and hitch a ride on currents

golden flecks falling through my hair

hovering first like a halo

and I would not mind nibbles

from creatures polite enough

to make their presence known

take what they need and then leave.

 

TDM

Polite Love

the trees are polite

 

they bow to the wind

whenever it pushes through clouds

and knocks upon their cracked bark,

their aged and writhed skin,

contours of time shaped by the hand

of everything,

blushes as gusts brush upon them

like the touch of a lover’s face

pressed against a lover’s face,

comfort, sweet and warm

to contrast rough and gritty,

overwhelm these monuments,

make their leaves shake and whisper

to one another, excitedly.

 

TDM

With So Many Tears

With so many tears

A dismal life of clutter

And not

Having anything of value

Not a one

Decent face

with whom

To bid the morning anew

 

Sallow and pale

A cause for no real

Alarm

Nothing permanent to cling to

Not in object defying

Wasteland

 

Sleepless nights

Tangled sheets for one

With so many tears

For lights out

Without any bed time story

 

II

With so many tears

A hopeful breath familiar

And with

Attentive nods and grins

Always

A lovely face

with whom to

Tuck away the evening and

bid the morning anew

 

A smitten tide of

Suitable love,

Of comfort,

Of

 

Mind at ease and

Simple pace of thoughts

Heart still racing

With excited touch

Lights out

With promise of bed time stories

 

TDM

A Remembrance of Winter

The snow is falling now, and I am happy to walk through the village and let it cover me like a cloak. The flakes tickle my eyelashes and for once I am okay with giggling to myself and smiling, even though passers by can see no reason for a grin or a smirk on such a grey day.

Grey days hardly bother me. I like the stoic feel of the sky, to find the peeking light in other places when the sun is not shining amuses me and brings me much pleasure. And how amplified the little pleasures seem on days when there appears to be no light. The want or need for them is much greater.

I do not want the winter to end. I really do not. I like the way it makes me feel. I love the coziness of coming indoors from a frosty walk and warming my cheeks by the fire. I like how hot chocolate is smooth and how quilts are heavy warmth wrapped around my legs.

I like the woods when it is snowing. How the birch looks behind a sheet of falling snow. How the evergreens become white monuments with green needles poking through. How tracks outline a walkway of otherwise white roads and guide me anyway and every way. And if I find a lonely path, I would hope that my own tracks would not be covered by the ceaseless snowfall, though beautiful and silent, that I might, when I desire, be able to find my way back.

T. DM