Thursday, August 13, 2009

A Love Poem

This entry is tough for me to actually put on the website. i have shied away from printing my poems about love. i feel as though they reveal a great deal about me not known by many, and i have considered them very private between someone dear and me.

However, i have arrived at the conclusion, these poems are a significant part of my writing, and if i am truly going to try and live my passion for writing, i must make them available to everyone as i am doing with my other writings.

Even as i go through the mechanics of transferring the poem to this space, i am uncomfortable.

Perhaps that is what it takes to follow one's passion.

To Maureen: The Beginning of an Epic Poem

Indian Ocean phosphorescence;
glowing waves in the night awe me no longer
(younger sailors almost shout in delight
at the discovery of sparkling waves),
i walk back to my stateroom with better things to do:
to dream true visions:

There should have been a diaphanous mist,
ethereal, mystical,
flowing about her
when she walked toward me the first time

Mind, do not play tricks on me.
i desire to remember the moment exactly as it was:
Clear, finite.

Her dress seemed to be a gossamer gown
softly caressing the elegance of her body;
her hair curled softly,
falling gracefully to her shoulders,
framing the delicate, fine features.
Eyes, oh eyes, drawing me in, taking my breath,
suggested more than my mind could comprehend,
grasped my soul and told me
Scherazade's thousand tales,
drew me into the bottomless pit of emotion
before i knew emotion had no end;
allowed me to float suspended in her beauty.
i was afraid to speak,
afraid i might fall from suspension,
break the image before me.
then we got down to business.
What in god's name did i think, i think.
perhaps suspicions of such beauty, certainly awed.
i made a joke.
Did she notice i was nervous?

Oh little boy, walk away as if
you were merely happy with the thought
you will see her at least one more time.

i am deep into the Indian Ocean night.
i have learned to gauge the depth of the night
by the strength of the coffee.
now the coffee is very strong, very black.
the work seems endless.
the sea infinite.

Yet i smile
when i dream of her.

Indian Ocean
October 4, 1983

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