Friendships

There's nothing more worthwhile than to know
That someone has your back no matter what;
That they, with no if, and, or even but
Will be by you, and help; that they will go
The extra mile, more than that, and show
Companionship beyond the common cut.
This form of love (for love it is) won't shut
Because of simple problems, or forego
Its deeper elements from causes light.
No, it is grand and holy, and consists
In two souls knitted in a bond as tight
As any two can be - and this resists
All shear and warp. It's wonderful and true
And this, my dear, is what I feel with you.

Dayo

A dreary day can make a bad thing worse
And turn what should be good a little grey;
It's like the day itself acts as a curse
And turns your purpose and your act astray.
It isn't that the color of the day
Mirrors your mood, but rather that it sneaks
A little of itself into your way
Perhaps dimming the rosy-colored cheeks,
Or making hours feel like days or weeks,
Or simply turning every deed awry
A little bit. So unkind weather wreaks
Revenge for unknown sins on us. And I
Am smack in such a day - but know, with aid,
I can repel the feelings it has made.

Tain

Think of a fountain, spewing water wide,
Recycling the liquid that it throws,
Pumping the product that was once outside
Back in and out until nobody knows
Which was at first the pool and which the stream.
Think of that image, and you see my love,
For what is real of her and what my dream
Of what she ought to be (fantasy of
A hopeful dreamer) cannot now be told
The one has matched its opposite so well.
I cannot now distinguish if that fold
Across her brow is what I used to tell
Myself I wanted, or just what I want:
But I can say I love her lovely font.

Seafoam

I am lost
Inside a sea
And tempest tossed
Continually
For love can make
A sudden storm
And blow and quake
And take the form
Of wind and rain.
But for now I
Have from all pain
Entered the eye
Where all is calm
And joy and balm.

Sails

It gives me comfort to become aware
That that which brought me here will bring you too.
It hardly seemed, before, that it was fair
That I should be by that removed from you,
But now the knowledge that you come behind
And join me by the same way that I trod
Makes me more tranquil in a calmer mind,
And lets me give my thanks unto my God.
For we were separated, and I waited
And felt the days (too long) begin to lag.
Now that you come, my soul is elevated
Where in the interim my heart would sag.
So come to me my dear and we will be
As glad as sailors safe across the sea.

Outflow

Now the time is ever-flowing out of me
A finite store that someday will expire
And as it leaves, I live. I cannot be
Except by its departure. Should I mire
That flow, or try to dam it, I would cease
To live - and to experience that life.
Nor would that ceasing bring me any peace,
Although perhaps it would remove all strife,
For peace is something. Nothing is not so:
It is a void, a vacancy, a nought.
From nothing nothing ever comes to grow
Nor can I think the absence of my thought.
Therefore although my days will shorten, I
Would not choose not to live just not to die.

Grack

I try to let it go. I really do.
But something in my situation makes
It hard. Maybe because I'm without you;
Maybe because it somehow breaks
With what I think I am; maybe because
(If nothing else) I've been away, and so
That makes me edgy (and I know it does).
Whatever reason (I don't really know)
Makes me gnaw it like a well-worn bone,
And do it more, because I am alone.
Even distraction is not too effective;
Maybe I ought to find a different place
(Almost anywhere - I'm not selective)
Or maybe I should see your calming face.

Dreamt

I dream, but what I dream I don't remember
And what I do remember I don't dream.
I think of snowfall in a bright December
Turning the city white as clotted cream,
And her outlined against the field, her hair
Drifting across her face, caught by the breeze
(Except for what was stuffed into her cap with care)
And, half-wet, left out for the chill to freeze.
I think of how she smiled in the snow,
And how I smiled back against the pain;
Of sighs, of wishes dangerous to know
And tree-limbs growing bent against their strain.
That world was wonderful - but as things are
I do prefer this not-dream-world by far.

Low

A day is fine
But more is bad;
That is a sign
That I have had
A lot of hours
Spent with you
So that my powers
All renew
Only when
I get to see
Your face again
And frequently.
But now I'm so
That I feel low.

Miss

It's always strange
To come back here
And rearrange
My life. It's clear
That this is where
I'm meant to live
But I don't care
Since it can't give
Me what I need
(And that is her)
And thus indeed
I would prefer
To not be back
Because I lack.