Letters to Dandelion (8 page)

but then I met

her and things

went out of focus.

Because she was

atrocious. Her life

scalpelled apart,

and not so surgically

so we can see the

splinters from each

dull axe strike.

Her eyes were so

tired, and her beauty

so contorted, like a

living Picasso,

weeping dry tears.

I offered my hand,

from the recreation

that my life might

have seemed, though

no one knows the

cobblestones I have

shattered my shins

and worn out my

Achilles Heels

upon.

My life, nor hers were

any fun, only when we

came together in a mix

of the dirty game we

played, could we laugh

and love and feel each

others naked skin

in the warmth of dreaming

that the other were a cloudy

pillow to fall asleep upon.

Sex? Oh Yes you fool.

Grow up and be an

adult, funny though

that seems to be the

target, but life somehow

walks us backwards, from

being inquisitive kids

who can sense turmoil

and trouble, and pour

their uneducated hearts

into trying to help,

rather than adults

who attack everything

with money and though

and logic and false

pretenses in defenses

of those who may be

defenseless, but smile

a sly crookedly snide

grin towards the efforts

of your undertaking.

I opened my palm,

with whatever I could

offer. My poems, my

time, my money, my

love, my understanding,

my patience (or little of.)

My suggestions, and my

often hidden tears, because

just as thoughts are things

and produce results, maybe

tears are the pocket change

to contain a notion for God

to finally get off his ass and

do something.

Maybe not.

As, in my poem – IF,

being its’ own dimension,

of places where sights are

unseen, thoughts are unprocessed

and words are gone unmentioned,

I forgot a fourth integer.

If, being also a place, where

the smallest door, can drape

and empty canvas, to which

may unfold a whole new picture

of life, onto which we both may paint.

Thus, as I opened my palm to

her, with what little I am and

what minute I have to offer, my

heart burst full of fuel enough

to take Her, I and her Children,

to a brand new world.

One of rest, success, Happiness,

laughter, love, security and

togetherness.

Why would I lie? When I have

already put it, right here, right

now, in writing for all of the

museum of life to witness.

Could the courts not use this decree?

To pursue the plan stated?

No need. I never planned to default

the deed of my love for her.

I extended my reach, before

her weary, yet Angelic face.

I offered my hand, with the

knurls of my fingertips

eagerly anticipating the

warmth of her own touch

to encircle my own.

My eyes grew wet with tears.

A smile turned up for a small

second –

then my heart sank like a stone,

as from my hand, her grip –

slipped.

The Reach – ll

I want to stretch out my
arm,

and reach for your hand
–

So when our palms meet

and our fingers land,

into a knitted hovel

of love.

Knowing that your touch

is an extension of your
beauty,

Believe me –

my reach, would be for
you

only.

For I could never
imagine

being without you.

But, my reach, falls
short.

Because I’m always the
one

reaching out, and you’re

the one running about.

I hate to say –

I want.

Because no one seems to

care about that.

I hint that I would
like,

which is more subtle

than direct.

It just feels so
perfect,

but so many things I
never know.

I lost you for 6 months.

A monsoon of tears I’d
often

daily cried.
 

I was reaching out for
you then,

but the reality of the
situation

soon set in, and to me
did not lie.

I am just a man. A flesh
and blood

human being –

I am full of love for
you, this is

something I hope that
you are

seeing.

Please baby –

I’m reaching,

I’m hoping,

I’m trying,

I’m dying – to be the
one

who loves you daily.

Please, all I ask, is
that you

just don’t play me.

I’m not rich, or made of
money,

But if you became mine,
then

nothing could stop me –

from claiming glory, of
any

new story

We could both write to
summarize

the tale of our love in
our lives.

I would love to reach to
you, to

place a ring on your
finger –

I would love to reach to
you, to hand

to you, or take from
you, our daughter.

I would love to reach to
you, in the coldest

part of the darkest
night –

I would love to reach to
you, to keep you
warm and safe, and do things for you right.

My hand is open,

my heart is open,

and though it is

easily broken,

I love you so much –

That it is worth the
pain

from the reach.

Why can’t we both agree,

That is we could simply

get past the small
issues,

we might just be perfect

for each other?

Grave and subtle differences between Man and Woman

Let me take you to a better

place, he said, with a heart

full of grace, as open and
brilliant as the new day

sun.

Let me be the one, who extends

of himself, to bless you so you

can rest and grow and learn to

love.

No, she said. I don’t need you,

nor want you, I am who I am,

and won’t bow to you.

Bow to me? He replied, there
is no need. I want to put aside,

all childishness and foolishness.

I have long been in the pit, of

lies and games and deception,

my new mission, is to love

someone, you, if you will allow.

No, she said, I am in love with

substance, and with circumstance,

and I won’t take a chance, not

with you, because we played

the game of flesh and it’s not

worth it.

And he said, take my hand,

we are still who we are. We

are still two who can become

one. We are still two who

can think as one, we are still

two, who can overcome, we

are still two, who can live,

love, learn and grow together.

Life is not always as such, I

know, I have grown. Please

trust in something, other than

yourself?

I can’t she replied. My eyes

can not see that far. I am trying

real hard, on the small that I

am able to create for me, though

you laugh at my progress, for

me, you would never guess,

just how hard, even that was

to come by.

My life is in shambles, my home

is lost, I only have my pets, and

those who I can manipulate to

support me.

I can not manipulate you. You

want the real me, and a real me

does not exist.

I can see the real you he exclaimed,

I can touch the real you. You are

not dead. You are just in limbo.

Let he guide you through? Let

me hold your hand and at the

end, love you like you should.

She silenced for a moment, and

thought and pondered and bit

her lip, then said  -

No, Because, I am just me, and

it is my nature, to stay as such.

She won’t pick me.

I’m out of her league.

Or, should it be –

the other way around?

Then I wouldn’t frown.

So much.

I would wait.

Just to see her face,

smile at me,

glow towards me.

But, the clock ticks on

and she uses who is close.

I want to be used.

I only want to touch her –

I’ve loved her.

But, it was one-sided.

I dream too much.

Short, vignettes of desire.

Strokes too the much the

raging fire in my mind.

-
         
in hopes

-
         
in fact,

that I want her.

But, I’m just the bent ten in

a new deck of Aces and Clubs.

Her beauty is so subtle.

And yeah, she’s a bunch
of trouble –

But, trouble couldn’t be

any cuter.

I’m a fool man.

She’ll never pick me.

In a sea of authenticity,

I’m not the Pantages Lamp, or

the hundred year old pair of

underwear.

I’m nothing special.

So, who am I to dare,

to cast my hat in the ring?

I’ll show you how –

With everything I’ve got.

This life,

This moment,

These situations

are my only shot.

So why not?

My heart sprouts roses

when I see her.

My skin turns to ginger bread

when I touch her.

My eyes narrow so,

from a smile that I can

barely see her.

She is who I want.

I can only hope,

that, she’ll pick me.

Most mysterious mystery

What is the beauty of a woman truly for?

Was it given to her to use, to become a whore?

Was it given for gain; to trade for profit galore?

Was it given for her to use to explore,

            the seductive evilness of an exploitive world,
distressed,