just carry me home tonight…

it seems like a vastness of time and space has found it’s home in me
the more I linger, the more drawn in I am
and should I choose to fly the open skies
the comfort of home keeps me close
if I said I missed you so…
would you carry me home


a september afternoon…

she stood aloof watching the barrage
her lowered eyes hiding the glaze
the september sun toyed with her hair

the platform abuzz with all the crowd
nameless faces and bustling bodies
trains that came and went and carried along
lives & song and destinies all at once

he stood solid, sipping his tea
his mind alive with all that could be
his face a mask of urbane sanity

the scent of jasmine drew him in
as did her silhouette in chiffon
one look at her was all it took
to reign in thoughts of september, 2002

she boarded a train bound for west
he watched from afar, strangely bereft

never let me go

you and i, we’ve met before
before the winding alleys to my home changed
where daisies met every morning to greet the sun
and music wafted from the apartment above
the road where i walked to the bus stop and
stopped to chase the little ducklings along the way
you and i have met before
before i forgot the way to your home
the one that has that tea shop for four
and around the bend, waters blue
with doves so white and pristine true
we’ve been apart chasing dreams, some elusive, some real
but the moon’s been out each night, leaving a trail
you and i we’ve met before
I’ve just forgotten the way home.

the far aways are here to stay..

There were days when laughter was abound ….they came like rain, wanton and loud. Mornings spent watching the patterns spread on the wall like jeweled ink blots and yearning clowns. Evenings on the rooftop watching the world tick away…sky a molten yellow and gray, speckled with paprika clouds. Nights on the balcony, listening to music, reading from books like far from the madding crowd.

Days that began with uncertain hellos and ended with unspoken goodbyes…

don’t turn your gypsy heart

Does it ever happen to you …when your ‘life’ seems to acquire a ‘life’ of its own? When it recedes into it’s shell and watches the comings and goings with an avid sangfroid….waiting for something or nothing, not hurting but not forgetting either but always always wanting to hop into rain puddles, huddle around liberally sweetened hot tea, waving at sunflowers tall, straining to hear the temple bells ring at dawn, watching the passage of the waning moon and complaining to you about new red shoes and him not having called?