I Love Men: A Poem

I love men.
Their musky scents.

Car grease, salt,

And briefcase leather

Linger in my lungs.

 

I love how they move.

Purposeful fingers pounding keys

Or the deliberate way they

Place one sturdy foot in front of the other

As they swagger
Across floors.

 

I love men’s stalwart shapes

Muscled arms, broad shoulders

Carpeted chests

Inviting touch

And nuzzling faces.

Their small hips

And the way belts

Ride just so.
I love the sounds they make.

Dressing for the day.

Snapping buttons, razors buzzing

Water splashing.
And deep voices

Which resonate

Their mesmerizing tune.

 

(Photo by David Stroup)

True Art: An Excerpt

“Our world will be saved if their art is true!” Bartholomew shouted again.

Alex reached into his pocket and felt the brown button. Now he understood why it had lead him here and what true art was. When Bartholomew sketched Mom in class, that had been true. His paintings that came from deep inside of him, true as well.

When Mom had gotten sick he’d stopped going to that special place. Well, not any more. It ends here. He broke off a few soda straw stalagmites and swirled them in the water.

The swirling stalactites became paintbrushes as the water turned into a palette of colored streams. Alex dipped a brush into the softest of browns and made two dots on the ground beside him. Then for the peach. And the golden yellow. Her blouse had been aqua. Don’t forget white. Oh how her teeth had shone.

A tiny bit of light emanated from the gold ring. Mom’s fingers began to glisten. Alex reached out to touch her hand and it glimmered, growing brighter until the entire cavern was basking in a warm glow.

Alex embraced his mother. A single beam formed in the center of their chests. Alex took a deep breath. See it. Believe. A fiery rose bloomed between them and thousands of golden rays shot forth.

Just like Alex in Artania, we all forget our unique wonder at times.  But when we remember, man oh man, amazing things happen. 

artaniasky

Dating Life: A Poem

You want me to perform on stage

For you alone

An actress reciting lines written long ago

When you first imagined nubile girls

And felt stirrings sensual and strange

 

You ask for a curtain call

But the first act has not yet begun

Or even been rehearsed

 

I am outside this theater looking up

At its neon lights.

Wondering whether to step inside

 

Or run from their harsh glare

To the soft twinkling

Of country summer.

 

You want my ecstatic dance

To rise like a crescendo before your eyes

My limbs twisting and convulsing in

Tribal rhythms

 

But the music has yet to play

And I am wrapped in the silence.

 

You want an aria, a magnum opus

A soprano hitting notes so high

As to shatter hearts.

 

But I am just a woman.

And can’t even sing on key.

 

Love Will Find a Way

For anyone feeling the weight of the world, watch.

https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fmichaelfranti%2Fvideos%2F10154762461701360%2F&show_text=0&width=560“>Michael Franti & an amazing 9-year-old

When my daughter and I went to the Whale Rock Music Festival last weekend there were so many wonderful performances. But when I saw this 9-year-old girl join Michael Franti and Spearhead on stage, it lifted my heart in ways this writer has no words for.

A beautiful day dancing in the sun with my baby girl. Then, as it set, Spearhead filled the skies with joy.

jessmomLove always finds a way.

Dark Crusade: A Divorce Poem

Long ago there was a little girl

Who had two fathers.

One was present

The other absent.

 

As she grew

She wished they could trade places.

And one day they did

But they received identical index fingers

In the exchange.

Two imputable Musketeer swords

Pointed and crossed,

Secret signals

Bidding charges at the mother:

We denounce her as Vilifier.

Our recompense will be her blood.

 

And so it was

That in their recriminatory cries

An ignoble cause was born.

And they thrust their blades silently

In glorious abandonment.

 

 

But in all their dark crusades

In lands both far and near

Seeking reprisal for deeds

Both true

And imagined

They never knew that

The mother stood strong

In her adult armor

While the child

Lay bleeding

In a heap on the floor.

 

Love Will Prevail

Our school year began last week. A new crop of shining faces smiling out at me. And while  I am called teacher, I know that what every pair of eyes is seeking. Love and acceptance.

Keep showing them the power of love, and they will see wonder in the world. Let them know their unique gifts and they will see magic in themselves.

Like two boys creating art to save a magical world in Artania.

artaniasmall