Love was when I loved you
One true time I hold to

In my life, we'll always go on
Near far, wherever you are

I believe that the heart goes on
Once more you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on

You're here, there's nothing I fear
And I know my heart will go on
We'll stay forever this way
You are safe in my heart
My heart will go on

Songwriters: James Horner / Will Jennings




There's a love that's divine
and it's yours and it's mine like the sun
And at the end of the day
we should give thanks and pray
to the one, to the one

written by Van Morrison
from the song
Have I Told You Lately That I Love You

peering out the kitchen window

you are on your knees working

afore the roses are a border
of smaller flowers, you know their names
intimate knowledge of their needs

 arranged, perennial, annual, color

each a foot soldier to the rose they serve

hands that care for thee and me
as i so often have said peering into
her every day as she moves between us all
from the dinner table to the birdfeeders
hands that have woven all that surrounds her
blending us all into the joy of her existence 
while i see only the beauty in color and form

i am not so devoid of this picture

as not to recognize

the loving strokes of Monet therein

i have been given a moment with a masterpiece

that only i will ever have

one that will forever grace

the gallery in my heart, where are your portraits

where i go when life takes you momentarily away

and i am missing you
hands that care for thee and me

1/4/19

i am finished with this one

close the computer

walk to the printer

saunter into her craft room

lower me into my chair

she drops her project

looks up, is it finished she says

yes, i reply

i then begin reading to her

still a perfectionist as long ago

when i used to read to her poetry

on a bench in a park

i do not allow myself to watch her

full concentration on delivery
i am Romeo delivering to my Juliet
i have to have full command of bardolatry

i finish and look up

she rises up and takes the poem

sits on the arm of the chair

i wait with the patience of Job

it is beautiful she says

repeats a few favorite lines

pulls me to her lips

some men long for recognition

for their labors

i understand this

but for me everything is within her

that she honors and loves my labors

is what gives meaning to my life

what the world thinks, the world thinks

what she thinks is my world

4/1/19

her favorite rose is lavender

it was my mother's favorite color

with each rose that i send her

i am reminded of my mother's advice

find a woman with God dearest in her heart

be grateful if she comes to love you

sit at His feet therein and blessings be yours

at the table on some occasions

she sets single roses

one red, one pink

the red one is her undying love for me

the pink one is her gratitude to God

for the love we have found in each other

and when i look thru those two

i realize i have in her the blue rose

that which is unattainable

is the love i have obtained

that which fails the grasp of many

is in love with me

there is no greater treasure
than knowing in our morning coffee
as i lower myself next to her
brush aside her hair
when her eyes open, that Duchenne smile
becomes our first kiss of the day
yes mother, blessings are mine
as every morning i am reminded
in my blue rose

2/5/19

once and only once

life threw us one of the curves

the diagnosis was guarded

my life with her moved into panic

it was with the passing Summer Solstice
we were well into it, soon in Provence

our room was to be kept in lavender roses

fields of lavender stretched seemingly

long into the forever

we were stopped upon a ridge

having a lunch prepared by the hotel

it was then i truly took in her face

eyes lost wildly in the lavender fields below

that Duchenne smile 

happiness swirling in every atom of her existence

the Summer sun bearing down in a gentleness

i was blessed for a moment

but given only a moment

of what heaven holds in wait for me

we came home from France

the miracle we wanted had been granted

i shall always be grateful for that miracle

and the glimpse into the heaven of her

in the lavender fields of Provence

2/12/19

our Spring was a whirlwind of newness

learning our emotions

exploring the worlds we were

that had left their long-held orbits

as we began a dance among the stars
in each other's arms spinning thru galaxies
never losing the gravity in each other's eyes

we then burst into the fullness of Summer

idle days as companions upon a trail

each step brought us deeper into fruition

a fullness of an accrued life

we had reaped the orchards offerings

swung the scythe in union

as fields of wants and needs were harvested

now we sit on a bench

as everything begins to come to rest

it is our Autumn

holding your hand the age spots

are now a part of what was pure alabaster
still the precious cup
my cheek holds in reverence

the skin has folded a bit

here and there
condensing years of accruing love
pouring inward to an ever-growing heart

time has been good to us

a love that has grown deeper

its roots match the canopy

joy hangs from the branches

rooted in the happiness below

we are the strong oak

a love was borne in a single acorn

what we have is the most precious gift

our singularity in the devotion we have

for each other

what we share deepest in those roots

is knowing these seasons are but

life in the garden to come
there are still times as our lips meet
i have those butterflies
still times as i peer thru those roses
you red and i am pink
i skip a breath
the heart races an extra beat
i breathe in the potpourri she has become 
i still read to her poetry on that bench
i have never wavered in my intent
each poem has but one purpose
to win her heart, again and again
the never-ending story of my love for her

2/1/19

the squirrels' scamper across the yard

it is Winter and the feeding is sporadic

above the ground, the birds light in, fly out

it is the scene set by a wise woman

who sees to it

each is cared for in their natural feeders

there is no thieving in this woman's' yard

no disputes over stations

she sees to it they are fed in place

most natural to their nature, each beast knows beauty
i could easily believe she was behind the design
the fauna and flora of any National Park

as i sip my coffee and watch

the aroma coming out of the kitchen
fills my expectations of yet another slice of heaven

in her world, none are denied her attention

we all are happy in our stations

the squirrels have their nuts 
naturally, from the ground they fall upon

the birds their varied seeds
a bit higher, think sunflowers
it is only a desperate squirrel that robs birds
she has the most adorable logic

and there i am, waiting on my plate
a cornucopia of delights, her handmade heaven
we all know that soon Spring will come

the white blanket will have disappeared
become a forgotten ghost

the garden will burst alive
colors will adorn all of our existence
from her nurturing hands
they too will have every nutrient needed

she is more than our guardian angel

she is the goddess who loves us unconditionally
we are, because of who she is

2/2/19

that first date

the Italian restaurant where i had so hoped

would be a moment from Lady and the Tramp

and it proved to be as such

as the Chianti bottles danced in flames
atop red-white checkered tables

the musicians plied their romantic music

looking across the table

i recalled the first time i looked

upon that face

as the subdued light danced across

looking into your eyes

i saw every dream fulfilled

those smiles captured my every thought

i did not need my book of poems

nor crafted conversation

it was in that dinner we learned

our hearts were one

each sentence would find its' mark

as we echoed in a deep alignment

what was within

with our first breath

we were meant to be

on a park bench with poetry

lost in a Lady and the Tramp moment

and holding each other in our eyes 

whether across a table

in each other's arms

or in an airplane coming home

a gravity insouciant to any distance

we were meant to be

with that very first breath

2/3/19

i hear the key in the door

sitting at the desk my attention is not so rapt

i do not realize time or the familiarity

of her coming home

it closes and the footsteps start upstairs

that would be her placing her purse

upon the table at the landing

i follow the steps in the room above

there go her clothes

she is changing into her home workaday

now brushing out her hair

she moves into the bathroom

freshen her makeup

i hear her call down

that is so sweet, i love you

that would be the occasional lavender rose

i leave in there at times

my mother's favorite color was lavender

life is kind of like that, sometimes two for one

here are the footfalls

down the stairs, she descends

the door is opened. she disappears

maybe it is something in the car

an occasional exchange with a neighbor

might be why she runs at times behind

matters not, the door reopens

wait, something might be amiss

in the living room, one never knows

here it comes up from behind

hands upon my shoulders

a light kiss to the top of the head

followed by another on the cheek

a sweet i love you delivered to the ear

and she disappears into the kitchen

i am never asked what i want for dinner

that was settled by her probably

before she made breakfast this morning
altho in the realms of possibility, last year

maybe you are one of those men

who questions this list

saying why were you not first

and i would tell you that such ignorance

fails to see that being on such a list

shows devotion you will never understand

what you should know is the fact

she never has to call me twice

to the dinner table

proves my enthusiasm for the list most precious

her accomplishments

and that would be above your paygrade 
maybe why being first on your woman's list
has kept her from the accomplishments
she deserved to achieve in life

2/3/19 

our mornings have grown

the newness settled into a routine

i soon learned the differences in coffee

my predictable can

versus your bag of exotic beans

i learned the grinder whine

as beans were reduced to a powder

the touch of cinnamon 

my sweet Italian cream

were more than mere compromises

they were a confluence of mighty rivers

where differences became a mutuality

my walk to the bedroom

my morning ritual, bringing you coffee

i am the early riser

setting the coffee on the nightstand

lowering to my knees, reaching across

my arm cups you to my lips

and with that ritual i do 

begin the rivers flowing to the sea

where once we were separated

we are now joined forever

2/5/19

we go at times for Sunday drives

sometimes she drives

times when i do

as the country rolls by

music fills the car

we always have a destination

times it is a picnic by a stream

where the trees dance in breezes

blue jays beg at our table

should raccoons appear, she is ready

she has prepared food for them

walking on stones across the creek

she becomes that tomboy

unafraid and bold

yet such a lady

as she sets the table, mats, plates, ware
Tupperware with tops removed

she balances the two in adorable ways

some women bore you to death with either one

the drive home is with relaxing music

my hands on the wheel at 10 and 2

she is taking notes of lines i construct 

creativity always a possibility
suggests a change in a word
a better sentence construction

we have said little

we have loved much

today we set out on a Sunday drive

hand in hand

hearts entwined in the day
i will wash and clean the Tupperware
dry and put away
while she relaxes in a scented bath
candles aglow surround her

we are ready for the coming week

2/5/19

now that the children have left

the nest has quietened

she has it planned, the rooms

this one for her crafting

this one for guests

yet her crafting room 

can quickly handle any overflow

should holidays see a return

of the swallows now making their way

in the worlds, they have chosen

i wanted to sell it all off

buy us a cabin in the woods

or a boat sailing the world

a condo on some exotic beach

but the reality is her moorings here

that reality is the only reality

the dream i hold most precious

and such thoughts transport me

i am back in the restaurant

That's Amore is playing

when you hold a dream

yet knowing it is not a dream

the arms that hold you close

are the reality of your every dream

she smiles that smile

let the poet play, she says

had you said a retirement community

i would have serious grounds

believing you had abandoned your senses

she has a point

we will restructure the living quarters

and the guest room 

will have an apartment sized refrigerator
that she can stock before guests arrive
as i have told so many, pick any National Park
i can believe she is responsible
behind the design of the fauna, flora

she is a combination of common sense, beauty 

yes, That's Amore

the only dream i have ever really desired

is the one she walks in within me

one in which my lips devour that Duchenne smile

one in which the gravity in her eyes

holds everything dearest to me

in a carousel orbit of music and magic

2/5/19

i took her riding

this time my venue, not hers

mine was this little park

where we would steal away

paddle boats thru the geese and ducks

she would always pack up bread

i always gave her notice

she would buy the better bread

the day old the bakery dumps cheap

it is healthier she will tell you

but my magic moment is the carousel

round and round we go

back in line to do it again

holding onto the bar i lean in

to grab a kiss from my girl

as the music and horses dance in a wonderland

the Wurlitzer organ fills the air with a bewitchment

we join parents and children in the magic

later we retire upon a bench

from her bag appears our humble offerings

the ducks and geese beg at our feet

she delights in each morsel she throws

the happiness she wears on her face

i see Mother Goose in the crowd approving

drakes and hens galore with ducklings

the beauty of joy fills her eyes

to love her is to share her

such a small price to pay

to ride the carousel hand in hand

the alchemy in whirling horses and music

from an age long gone now

my treasure, a moment all to myself with her

the thrill i still have with stolen kisses

3/2/19

occasionally she likes a trail ride

i am forced upon this beast

who does not know me

does not care for me

but as i watch her ride

she points out the different trees

evergreens versus deciduous

looks green and safe to me i say

don't go near or touch, she warns

knows all her birds, raptors included

and so we ride

at trails end, i count burdens for love

such as saddle sores

on the way home i muse

it is possible, in the Big Bang

she gave the elements their final destinations 

as well as possible combinations

i could easily believe she set the speed for light

so of course, she is knowledgeable

as would be any architect wandering Manhattan

pointing to the skyscrapers

saying, simple, tension, shear, and stress

the blessing in all of this

i no longer suffer saddle soreness

i am a sailor with my sea legs

upon a sea of love
no doubt when God looks upon her
He is as charmed as i am with her

they say never look a gift horse in the mouth

i don't, i just climb in the saddle

2/6/19 

we have had the deepest of hurts

when the natural order seems to go awry

i have held you in those times

drained that hurt and placed into my soul

buried the darkness deep within me

so that light only could find your face

brought you back into the light
i am the patient stone

knowing we need never deny

we know those depths

but they can no longer hurt 

i watch you as a perched falcon

never do i leave your side

held you until the tears had all dried

placed my finger beneath your chin

gently lifting your eyes into mine

we will smile again

our love will heal us

our faith will not let us fail

bitterness will find no refuge

time is our constant companion

you have come to understand that infinity

placing flowers on certain occasions

this my love i promise you

there will come a time

when we will all be together

a time when there is no looking back

a time when the stars will have no end

a time when the heavens unfold

into halcyon days, endless meadows

filled with our every love
until then i am the patient stone

the wolf that never leaves your shadow

2/7/19

• The Patient Stone (sang-e sabur), the most empathetic of listeners, that is believed to absorb the sorrows and pains of the person who confides in itself. It is said that when the stone can no longer contain the pain it harbors, it bursts into pieces.

those early attempts at a Mexican food

no store bought cardboard taco shells

she had to prepare her own
the appearance of the tortilla press

the arrival of the tortilla holder
became a beginning to a menagerie of new tools 

experiments with red and green chili
she chose to pursue red, much spicier
and as with her marinara ages well in the freezer
as i have well noticed sitting at the table
each addition of graying, each wrinkle
an age spot upon alabaster hands
across that table, my love has only deepened
having stolen more than my heart
she had captivated the soul therein 
she prefers beef to pork
altho her lemon-pepper pork roast is heavenly
marinated in lemons from the tree she chose
and her secret assembly of spices and pepper

taco meat is seasoned to perfection
she shreds and marinates the beef
a lecture on judicious use of cheaper roasts

her own hand made pico de gallo

store-bought never, revealing the craft

chopping onions with nary a tear

the utensils began accruing

setting up the kitchen one could see Mexico

it is the same for a poem

lines that need work, crafting language

a process ensuring a satisfactory execution

it is a labor of love

a dedication to the creativity you possess

rewarding the gift with unceasing labor

how well i remember the decision

Mexican rice simply fails the assault

Spanish rice, diced tomatoes, basil. onion

garlic was thrown in to mix with vermicelli

changing at times with yellow rice, coloring

topped with more diced tomatoes, cilantro

a light coloring shredded cheese

sometimes an interplay of white and yellow

it is a poem that grows in language

and so you see when i say

each bite a sonnet, each dish is part

of my best-loved poems

i am talking about the presentation

the red chili burro smothered in sauce

upon a bed of green shredded lettuce

hemmed in by diced tomatoes, black olives

topped by shredded white and yellow cheese

with dollops of sour cream and avocado

another plate of quesadillas

filled with green chilis, green olives, cheese
one never knew which cheese she would choose
Fresco, Oaxaca, Manchego, Asadero
my yellow, white American disappeared with marriage

tacos stuffed with spicy shredded beef
not like restaurant style
an exhilarating ride thru spice and herb

spilling out shredded lettuce, tomatoes, cheese

homemade salsa to top it all

it is a gastronomical orgasm

i never achieved with any poet
and altho the children are gone
one would think meals would be simpler
her craft is never to be denied
as i have said a thousand times
my only goal is to encourage hers
and hers is the magic upon the table
the sorceress who loves me
is enough in my life
once i showed up wearing a sombrero
she looked at me across from the kitchen
do i make faces at you when writing, she said
to displease a chef is folly, 

never again did the sombrero appear

but the tongue of love did become whispers

arrows of adoration seeking her with serious intent
taking her hand, locking into eyes, a ship in harbor

sus ojos son pajaros, de quien roban

mi pensamientos, mi aliento, mi corazon

en tus brazos el cielo encontre
your eyes are birds who steal my thoughts
my breath, my heart
in your arms, i have found heaven
if love in you does not evoke another language
you have failed to explore its possible depths
you have failed the language love bears
yet the bigger sin in all of this
is to miss the poetry that fills our lives
the poetry that requires nary a word to behold
only an eye for the beauty that envelopes existence

3/3/19