"Alone under the tree ...

All these years later, every time a leaf flutters down, I remember this poem. What can I say but - Dear me!

Alone under the tree
Waiting for my fruit to fall
Softly, slowly I call -
Break free ...

I look down at my clasped hands
At my body cold damp and bare
Shading me from the sun's glare
The tree stands.

I look up and the sun pierces my eyes -
And beneath me the stones my skin
Quietly, silently, deep within
My heart cries.

Something has broken apart
My fruit my future is here -
I reach out to hold it near!
A dead leaf lands on my heart.

(written on March 26th, 1985, 9:40 p.m.
204 W. South, MO)

"Behind my eyes ...

Dear me! So many of my poems mention this vast space behind my eyes. I lived in my head for so long that I created an immense world back here, and it was a good and safe place to stay.

Behind my eyes
rests so much love.
Dressed in friendship
I can only touch you with my eyes
and shall never speak my love out loud.
Which is worth more -
love or friendship?
Friendship touched with desire
is a feeling They do not condone.
So I shall keep my thoughts silent
and dream of you when I am alone.

Behind my eyes
is a love that will last.
So much more than friendship.
I can only wish that if I let up the blind
I would see my emotion mirrored in you.
Which is worth more -
honest or lies?
My words would shatter the crystal
perfect friendship we share.
So I shall keep my thoughts silent
and dream of you when I am alone.

Behind my eyes
are tears for a love that is "wrong"
A wasted emotion on infertile ground.
There will be no spring blooms, no gentle kisses.
I shall hide from you, and love from afar.
To let you look behind my eyes
would be too wonderful for me,
and too painful for you to face.
So I shall smile at you in friendship
and keep my love locked in its place.

(written on Dec 11th, 1984, 12:48 p.m.
on flight KC-NY)

"My feelings ...

Dear me! I'm a bit embarrassed by this poem and the next, although I needn't be. Perhaps back then I didn't understand that there are many different kinds of love, and that not all of them need to translate into a physical relationship. Perhaps I didn't know what love is. Or perhaps I did. I loved her then and I love her now, and I wrote these for her. They're not my best poems, but they deserve their place here.

My feelings for you
are more than a spoken word
My love goes deeper
Too deep just to be heard.

Deeper than the passion of a kiss
is the thrill within my heart
A kiss is a mere touch of the surface
of a love more than physical bliss.

Within the depths of my lonely soul
further than the look in my eyes
is the thrashing, chained emotion
of a love that can never be whole.

(Written on Dec 16th 1984, 3:01 a.m.)