Poems
an ongoing collection of writing
〰️
an ongoing collection of writing 〰️
from the comfort of a rainy morning
I woke up early and it’s storming outside,
chamomile is bubbling on the stove with candied ginger slices,
some rain drops hit my feet and tingle.
I’m sitting on the edge of the porch,
in the right place to feel the weather comfortably.
Thinking,
as the rain oscillates between hard and soft tempos,
Fall resets us.
A nostalgia for the routine of school,
Of new starts and missed friends,
welcoming hugs in backpacks,
and full hallways.
A longing for the familiar.
And now we sit alone,
the gentle raindrops,
reminders of a wistful time.
But, if we can speculate in such a way,
that we become aware of missed summer readings,
and the pulling priorities of adolescence,
we can begin to raise our attention that this moment,
is precisely what will be missed to come.
Taking in the deep breaths of Fall’s welcome.
Cool air, cloudy morning,
rain tingles on my toes every now and then.
I am Here, here.
… So go unclench your jaw,
and stretch your legs.
Give a brave yawn for yourself to hear.
You are Here,
you are Here, here.
on first memories in Paris
I sat at the bar watching the faces of people working at the brasserie,
as they peeled eggs & pearl onions,
plated tartare with forked lattices,
prepared rhubarb and strawberry tartlets…
There was a brief moment that I felt part of the scene.
It was a moment I saw such a girl in the back of the kitchen,
dancing while she worked the ovens.
Caramel skin, healthy body, braided hair, warm smile.
I’m here. And she was too.
I can’t tell you how she moved, it was personal and unique to her.
When it was over, the moment,
she saw me watching and gave me a smile letting me know that she felt my eyes on her.
I have picked up on the beautiful ways that the world shows herself to us,
all we have to do is keep our eyes open.
kyoto stars
Prologue in Denver
What if two shooting stars cross,
In the night sky?
Seen for a half moment.
In the daylight?
Lost in star dust,
Amongst children playing in blades of grass,
or mountaineers climbing peaks and drinking from rivers.
For there is no certainty,
That these two are seen.
But,
Felt in the belief of mothers and fathers,
Who’ve loved long before them.
May one be his north star,
And the other, her north star.
—
Pt 1 in Kyoto
What if two shooting stars cross,
On Christmas Eve in Kyoto?
As it happened in Alfama,
To the music of children singing.
For there is hope,
In the belief of mothers and fathers,
Who’ve loved long before them.
Copper gilded booths at the bar,
Empty of memories.
The corridor is loud,
With songs that went unheard.
And the world wakes soon,
And there is tea tomorrow,
And so another card is written.
—
Another Card in Kyoto
This black lacquer table,
One may look at its surface,
But those who see(k) will find reflection.
—
Pt 2 in Kyoto
What if two shooting stars cross,
On Christmas Day in Kyoto?
It may happen,
The day after a lonesome evening.
Whether it be deep or shallow,
At a café with no appetite,
Or a memory so faint it ought to be forgotten.
The sky dark,
As the black lacquer table.
Cool air,
Like the hug of a dear friend.
Because for what was once built,
Forever remains.
The love of friendships,
Of copper gilded booths,
Now blanketed with green patina,
and crowded.
The same black sweater,
Wears the clutch of lonesome nights,
And the comfort of a familiar hug.
—
Pt 3 in Kyoto
What if two shooting stars cross,
The night that followed?
Sitting in the crowded green booth.
Two of them,
But still crowded.
Timeless questions from sons and fathers,
Who’ve loved long before them.
For there is hope,
In the belief of answers.
Those who listen, see(k),
But all are blind.
The black lacquer table,
Reflects familiar faces.
There is tea tomorrow,
And cards unwritten.
But tonight we drink champagne,
In copper booths and loud corridors.
A universe of stars in each flute,
Bubbling softly.
—
peace and love everyone, always,
robert