take me to the place in the sky

http://www.flickr.com/photos/rebelwithafrog/5211040376/

Take me to the place in the sky
where hands are held.
Take me to your bones.
Feed me your gravy - the marrow
of your mind keeps me alive.
Take me to your attic of broken furniture
holding memories of spent Sundays and
the beauty of wood. I am your glue.
I am the cobwebs on your longing.
It’s my toes, they told me so.
They’re waiting for you at the door
with open arms.
They see you
as the footsie queen.
Take me to the place in the sky
where feet run free.
Take me to the blue in your eyes.
I am your pupil.
Feed me your seasons, I will taste
your ever changing moods.
I will learn your recipe.
Take me to your pic-nic.
Your red and white checkered sunshine wicker grass basket
and I will take you to my shady tree.

I am this fresh new day
and you are breathing.

Author’s Note:
folding away my forgotten journal in a desk drawer, that is darkness. i took out an old journal from the 90's to see what I was doing around this time of year. i was thinking about love, thinking about everything meaning nothing and nothing else matters, thinking that my future spouse is out there walking around somewhere. thinking that we've yet to meet. those were my thoughts.

Words of the Moment

Words of the Moment 4-4-96 12:18am


All these things unwritten, passing
these moments I sit and ponder tranquility.
What is it that catches the eye
of Raphael’s little angels?
These quiet times before bedtime,
they hold the leisure
of the child angels.
Not that of great importance
but, that in part,
the necessity of sanity.
With a sip of tea and an ill idle pen
words of the moment pass.
Goodnight.

Author's Note:
Same today as it was back then. To sit in leisure with the intention to write and then to not write. The house is sleeping. For the most part the ticking clock reminds me that nothing has been written, regardless of the temperature of my tea. When tea is at the right temperature you want to sip it all. Why waste the best sipping time? I should sip it all. But I should not gulp tea. Why would I gulp Golden Monkey? It is a fine tea with complex chocolate undertones. I brew it by the cup. I enjoy the aroma. Well, writing is like that. Now is not the time to purge. I must scribe a bit and savor. Even if I don't write anything on paper, I must enjoy the weight of the pen in my hand and the feel of the paper underneath. Goodnight again.