Fond Memory

I'd rather be a fond memory
than a daily burden;
A dream of what might have been,
rather than the reality of what once was.


As I sat tonight in my reading chair
Under the dim light focused on my book
I suddenly felt acutely aware
Of the calm solitude within my room
And of the stillness outside my window
Interrupted only by the soft rain
Gently dancing on the metal awning
Weighing my eyes with its hypnotic drone.
As I reveled in that heady repose,
That intoxicating tranquility
I read these words, comforting me further
Like a gentle lover stroking my face;
The words of the romantic Delacroix:
“Only solitude, the safety therein,
permits of undertaking. Achieving.”
My eyes close. I drift asleep. My heart full.

On Caravaggio's The Calling of St. Matthew

Hand of God, or man?
Pointing. Calling. But, to whom?
The tax collector.

Beloved from the Tower

A voice has she like gentle rain
which taps upon the window pane
and soothes me with its sweet refrain,
My beloved from the tower

Her smile warm as a winter hearth,
delicate lines I know by heart,
like paintings of the finest art,
My beloved from the tower

Eyes as blue as an autumn sky
Where beauty, depth, and myst’ry lie.
But for one stare I’d gladly die.
My beloved from the tower

Her tender lips so well I know
From which the kindest words do flow
Each kiss, as kind, her love to show
My beloved from the tower

At night, in restless sleep I dream
and hope that when I wake she’ll be
Lying quietly next to me,
My beloved from the tower.


I lie in bed and close my eyes
and reflect on the day now past.
Each night this ritual lullaby
to fall in grateful slumber fast.

The memories, countless as the stars,
the day, an endless thought-filled lake,
I a ship on this reservoir,
my task, the journey home to make.

As sailors true could navigate
by looking out toward the moon,
I look to the light you radiate;
the moon to me, my love, is you.

The moon on which I set my sight,
toward which I steer this vessel,
the home for which I long tonight,
the blanket in which I nestle.

You gently guide me back to port,
to the harbor, calm, you lead me,
my restless soul your eyes do thwart,
your warmth and kindness, they feed me.

So to that peaceful rest I go,
my heart filled with gratitude deep.
That tender smile, so well I know,
my final thought before I sleep.

The Moon

I call you the Moon. So fitting.
For like the moon, you steal my gaze;
seduce my imagination,
and seem to me more luminous,
appear to me more compelling,
than any other body there
in that vast, celestial landscape;
the brightest orb in the dark sky.

Stillness. Calm. Yet your presence stirs
violent waves of emotion;
the undertow pulls me, drowns me,
in a sea of raging passion.
I turn my eyes from the harsh sun
toward you, with your glow resplendent,
and moonstruck, I get pulled deeper
into your rapturous orbit.

Mia Anima Gemella

The last thing when I end my day
the first thing when I start
your sweetest words and messages
like honey on my heart

Across an ocean I can hear
through notes and texts from you
your gentle voice, your tender heart
And feel I’m next to you.

A poem, song, or work of art,
the sound of singing birds,
“Mia anima gemella”,
there are no sweeter words

And as you wake to morning’s light
I shall be dreaming soon
For me, my love, you are the sun
And I can be your moon