First Memories

Our name as One.
My earliest memories are of my sister.
I am barely old enough to pronounce her name,
but I know to hold tightly to her canary yellow blouse
We travel the speed of light on the back of her banana seat.
My excitement rushes out of me-
Honeybees fleeing their hive and I wanted to go faster!
As we sped along with the urgency that is always youth
The concrete beneath our tires glistened with jewels
as the world was a blur –
a step behind our buoyant energy.
Love grew like children in the summer air
A bond sealed for eternity
It is the nature of brother to sister
The spirited oath of possibility
It was the moment when our names were called as one
April&Charlie, one word, no spaces.

Grandmother calling from the porch,
‘April&Charlie’ to come and eat.

Mom and dad wondering where we were hiding
‘April&Charlie’, come out of there!

Two children forever connected
Where one stopped, the other began.
Now, in retrospect,
I sit, tickled.




Youth is beauty
Youth is beauty
It is the ignorant bliss of first kisses
Youth is running through fields
And singing songs free of burden-
Popsicles on back porches
Wild noises like horses and tigers
The endless search for pirate treasure
The constant yearning of cracker-jacks & carnivals

Like California beaches in May –
An ever moving tide
Sea shells and sand smoothed rocks
Youth is the heavens spilt down
to form endless wonder
In the eyes of a child
To be viewed by mother.
But mostly youth is beauty

Littleton

You are more of who I am than I am of me
More than the envelope of bones
and gris gris charms that manifest my destiny.
A charming spirit housed in no host
I wait on you, here, my purgatory
Endless stone-still nights
A mosquito in timeless amber-awaiting discovery
by Man, who is eons away from loving himself.
And so I fear, I am just beyond reach
as I am never tangible; just a lazy shadow
a figment- caught only in the corner of the eye.
I do not exist
When I am indiscernible static carried on the winds –
upswept pollen, gathering in the feathers of migrating geese

A Lesson on Agriculture

You stood there naked as Adam
Robust as Devil’s Ivy.
I was uprooted,
needing to taste the pungent slime gathering
like morning dew in the base of your stamen
waiting to spill unto my sepal.
My throat played along the trunk of a furtive sapling;
I feel the slickness of your filament-
Svelte and gummy around my pistil
wishing to feel every granule of your earth.
Roll in your dirt with open hands and extended tongue
Benison given, you are fertile soils
You; as yielding as the plum blossom-pink flushing your neck
when my lips suckle gingerly along your nape
My hands the ants, running across your leaves
A rush of chlorophyll, green pigments that expand
Hearty vines wrap us as a pod
To brave the pain of germinating
The smell of your pollen whets my hunger
I want to taste the milky burst of your spring
and feel the meaty fruit that lies beneath
Until we produce a gelid sap
And our pores drip amber, arrogantly.
But my courage has remained a seed
To bloom in idle, no will to reap.
I seek growth in this summer’s heat
Branches outstretched I make a nest
In your tree, a gift from Gaia, intoxicating
Pluck away at your bark, brush away the debris
Now I can see where you flower,
a garden for the God’s to feast

A Universe unto Me

You stood naked, a universe born
Celestial body, my organic heaven;
Obvious rapture.
every freckle a traveling zephyr
destined to seek curve of cheek,
bow of sky, fold of arm and flash of teeth
I, a private audience witnessing
every line and crease
my pulse shuttles rush of blood…the altitude?
Musk of starburst – A comet in my chest
Eyes; emerald orbits remove gravity
Weightless now
A Pantheon among the clouds
Per chance to dream of Zion’s gate

Harvest Time

I plant mustard seed my savior,
will it reap on my faith?
this farmer, at work, in grain;
Golden rods and leafy shoots
I seek enough strength to see me through
Another summer’s organdy moon

Incomplete

To me to me
I feel I feel
So I bleed and leak
And spill and spill
A poem incomplete
The mind reels and reels

I fly and fly
A bird on the bound
Catch the breeze
Around and around
Cut of my wings
I sailed down and down

I sing I sing
a voice that soars
but I bring I bring
the song of discord
but I mean I mean
to be in accord.

A poem incomplete
The mind reels and reels

no touching

You were naked and I, amazed
Raw and ready
Every line and crease
unto my touch
But ghosts
be your ruining
So I gave you a little head
But refused to let you touch me
So I fucked with your head
No one can touch me
So I planted the seed of doubt

Won’t someone touch me?

You question my mystery
Challenge my melancholy
But I won’t let you see me
Im an organdy sheet
merely composed of the breeze

I once let someone touch me

You are me just six years ago;
More of who I am than I am of me
So I understood why
Your progression would be to leave.
But I felt alright about it
My duty was to save you from me
I walked you to my door but feared closing it
This poet didn’t like the symbolism
I stood in its threshold asking for one more kiss
You stood in my threshold but were able to resist.

I reached for your hand but you passed right through
as I was never tangible;
a figment
just a lazy shadow
caught only in the corner of the eye

So how can anyone touch me

When will you call it an end?

I met a man from a sovereign land
We had beer and small talk
Till he noticed my lashes
And called me beautiful.
Then we had beer and real talk
He told me I should leave you
Not for him, but for me
Not for you, but for love

Then you and I had beer
And you started to talk small…
About my ‘big’ ideas
Schooling me on your uniqueness
In contrast to the rest of us.
Schooling me on emotions
In contrast to what is left of us.

I met a man from a sovereign land
He told me he sees how I feel for you
He told me he sees that you’re not feeling me.
He told me he hears what I don’t speak
He appeased me in Haiku;
Someone will find you
Who loves you firstly, selfless.
But it won’t be him

I found you in my bed
Naked and drunk-
Your favorite juxtaposition.
I slept in my clothes and never changed pose
Refusing to give you the benison
That you have yet to give me.

Unfinished Business

I have been scorched
napalmed many times over
But I advocate ignition
hounded by your flame
Still it’s a spark in vain
the fire is spent in just surviving
as you tease the moths hived in my heart of wool
Trying to chew their way to a certain freedom
hollowing me from the inside out
with a constant need
to meet your flicker
And maybe I should reach
for some subtle relief
but I lack the energy
to birth the electricity
that would stop the burns
from overtaking me entirely
Besides...
The fire is spent in just surviving
I want to feel the heat of good advice ignored,
taste the bitter char produced by indiscretion
taste the spicy nectar that is you
You, with voluminous beauty and keen intuition,
that singes layer upon layer
of my skin.
Until I am dried-
brittle like fallen autumn leaves
that sweep under restless nomadic feet.
As I prove to be merely a medium
unto a muse
I suffer so,
yet I compose this gift that I have been given
As you prove to be merrily a medium
to leave me bemused.
A gift unto all men but me.