A comment is something you do not have to make,
so when a comment is made, I am grateful.
And I am particularly sensitive to those small accomplishments that really are huge; those tiny steps that took tremendous effort to make.
I celebrate them!
I try to take nothing for granted; a kind word goes a long way with me.
And an ability to trust and be trusted goes even further, for an ability to love and to be loved requires a foundation of trust.
Nothing can take the place of being trustworthy.
Being good for your word is everything. Everything; I am most serious about this. Breaking trust to me is a form of killing; the slaying of what should be the best of the human spirit.
Maybe I haven’t lived long enough to become jaded; but I can tell you this, when I love, I love purely. If I love you, it is a real and honest thing.
This is not what I demand in others; this is what I demand in myself.
And I seek reasons to love rather than reasons to denigrate and despise.
I hope that what may be said about me is that I’m good for my word,
My word means something! If I say it, I really mean it. If I feel something, I really feel it.
And I do not want to waste feeling on lies and breaking trust, for some things can not be reconstructed well, especially if they were erected upon lies.
Those structures will topple, but those structures built with love have a much better chance of enduring.
To demand more of others, we must also demand more of ourselves, and
We must, must be honest… Honest
Those Little Things!
Just a bird’s nest. Just a cloud, just a swirl of dust dancing as I still can, just a hand held, just my head in the bend of an arm, belonging there, just a taste of my friend’s ice cream cone, styling the swirls of flavor like frosty hair, the elegant and special work of tongues, the luxury of the comfort tongues can deliver when they say the right things, arousing the taste buds, (hm, that must be a kiss), and they can, just a little walk, just the comfort of being alive, matters who I’m with, surrounded by honesty and trust, drooping garlands of weeping willow tassels like green beaded doorways, and a heart that understands this need to be true, the song and music of this, –oh the comfort! –oh the love!… an open door, music of pots and pans, the taste of the spinach with peppers and pecans, and the most wonderful simple dressing, honey and mustard, plenty of pepper, black and cayenne, my son cooking a chicken thigh for me (I tried not to remember the pet chick I had that died from the fumes of painting our attic apartment when I was five), splashing in puddles to simulate oceans; the pasta swelling to my delight (cooking is so very sexy); I loved watching boiling through sides of glass pots, initial small turbulence that progresses as things will, tickles of excitement as penne pasta began to dance, frenetic waves of this –oh the frolic in a pot of sperm!– Such little, microscopic things, such life-giving, life-fulfilling things, orgasm in my pot on my stove last night….
For those of you who have been waiting for good news about my forthcoming poetry, although a contract dispute still rages, for I have discovered some dishonesty I didn’t know was there. in the making o fmy contracts, apparently for all these years.
I feel betrayed, that business must trump compassion; that such feelings are secondary to the corporation, even in poetry, poetry the bastion of truth.
But that is me; for whom love is everything. I do not play with love. I don’t feel love easily, and if I feel it, it is real, and the loved one is worthy of this love. No; it doesn’t have a monetary value. It is much more than that… For if I love you, then you are trustworthy, and the more trustworthy you are, the more I can love you.
As simple as that.
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE WANTED A TASTE OF THE POEMS forthcoming very soon in “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code, NEW AND SELECTED POETRY
THREE OF THE NEW POEMS HAVE BEEN RECORDED FOR POETS AND WRITERS, IN FACT,
Melissa Faliveno of POETS AND WRITERS has loaded my readings of three poems from “Wannabe” here:
- Blue Coming (in response to Bob Holman’s “What you Can’t Understand is that Poetry is connected to the Body Again”)
- The Glory Prelude (also a video poem and first published in print form in “The Offing“)
- Me and Bubble Went to Memphis”
and please love yourselves and love others. It’s the only way,
and strive to be good for your word!
The Glory Prelude (video poem)