Marlstone Crescendo at Scala Dei Turchi


I was breathing in the beauty of  Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.

scalaman‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.

He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at  me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.

Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.

His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face —
I imagined I saw a  shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.

He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.





Sky Blue and Black

Last night I was thinking to myself that sometimes, there really is no one to talk to; no one who could possibly understand… and even God is strangely silent.

As I was driving to work this morning.. I was struck by the beauty of the world surrounding me. There was an explosion of color all around; reds, oranges, yellows… this really is a beautiful time of year. There was a gentle breeze that would carry the leaves into sometimes a waltz, other times a whirling dervish-like kind of dance, and then they would gently fall to the ground.  It was truly a silent symphony nature was conducting right in front of me.

But before I could reach the end of my smile, I was hit with a stark realization: the beauty that I was witnessing… was death. Those leaves were dying. And it was beautiful.  And as I drive that way to…

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Threaded By Twilight

weavingYou weave your stories like the night,
stringing the moon with the stars;
the finest of pristine pearls,
threaded by twilight.

Weaving the finest Varanasi silk
with life as your celestial loom;
laying down gold- and silver-threaded brocade,
dormant gardens burst in bloom.

Your pen is the philosopher’s stone
turning lead hearts into gold;
manipulating structure in stunning stanzas,
inscribing on hearts in italics and bold.

Nodding in acquiescence
the sages of the ages,
will then add your magnum opus
to their papyraceous pages.

Lost Love Letter


So often we move through life with our eyes in the rear view mirror,
refusing, fearing, to participate in our future.
We effectively back into our own history.
That stunning kiss,
so wordlessly tender,
left me without a history.

We spend so much time in “history” that when we step out of it –
like I did with you
We realize how beautiful “the now” rests in the open hand of the future.


Beautiful ponderer,
I strongly desire to sit and be silent with you.. .
Just dwell in your visage.
Follow your eyes,
their light,
their darkness.
Your eyes catch every light..

Something about you doesn’t mark time.
It lingers, like antiquity
something pristine and still.
Your eyes carry little lights, like a lantern in a shadow.

You’re an ancient tree with a wise shade –
one pauses walking beneath your canopy, asking:
Do I stop and lie in the coolness or watch from afar..?
Perhaps your gaze sees something in my future I do not know about…
I feel like a crystal globe around you,
full of dreams and illusions,
and soothes and snow..
You’re a rarity.
Obsidian black, conchoidal fractures that radiate light.

Your intuition is prey animal, sharp.. quiet..
comfortable in shadows and light,
day and night.
You can revolve around both sides of a person,
as if we might imagine the benevolence of
both the illuminated and dark sides of the moon.

There is something “unfolding” about you…
always surprises.

something about you precedes you…
A leaf uncurls and turns toward the light.
If one is not projecting true light, they will not see the face of you –
they will see but the blade, or something curled up and closed.
I suspect it is a bit of both.

When there is stillness, you enter like a mist.
I am disarmed of my words.
there are no empty pages to be found…
and the hours hold their arms open to me again

This is how you embrace the world
(I humbly submit this as my observation)
you have a gift..
you speak the quiet strength of both genders.

Old Bundle of Letters

When I saw you, when I walked beside you…
when you enter a room
there is something timeless about you…
such that I really have nothing relative to what I’m “used to.”

You have reminded me of another part of myself.
A simpler self –
Kinder to me, gentler toward others.
You communicate from a space to a space that is rich,
loving, heart centered.
As I said, your presence is a meditation, a yoga…
write, write, open and break through this rainy day with a smile and sparkling deep set eyes.

I love how you move into consciousness like fragrance from a distant garden.
Our hearts pour into each other,
and God bears the pitcher.
Perhaps we are the wine in each others fountain.

I am certain beyond where reason can venture,
that you were sent by Allah at this time
for such deep and lasting ever widening ripples, waves, tides!

That you make it easy for me to speak,
and do not hear my words as tricks of my mind,
leaves me awake but dreaming.
God in everything I do suppose

There is a difference between understanding the metaphor
and simply feeling the warmth of words
and allowing yourself to reflect into another…
So, that you are aware of this,
makes it comfortable for me to communicate with you…
in any way really.

I feel as though I am stepping out of blinding light into revelation…
and here you are;
your shadows,
your “unfolding” inner voices that trusts my hearts ears.

do you feel the quivering?
do you feel me shifting?
At time, nothing exists, but that moment.
We catch each other looking at the other;
not for validation or clarity;
but for me, a deepening attraction.
Something within me is deprogramming itself.
You’ve come to me as a gentle loving soul,  stunning as you are.
Rose gardens don’t make a sound….
and every rose is opened up. I feel you.

You make it okay for what is within me, no matter what, to express.
It’s not enough always to keep within and not share – so I share.

You deliver tranquility..
You see me.. it comforts.

letter rose

So often we move through life with our eyes in the rear view mirror,
refusing, fearing, to participate in our future.
We effectively back into our own history.
That stunning kiss, so wordlessly tender, left me without a history.
We spend so much time in “history” that when we step out of it –
like I did with you
We realize how beautiful “the now” rests in the open hand of the future.

There’s a deepening fondness that beckons to spend more time with you…
in a strange way that has its own melancholy.
Stepping so deeply into someone is often transformative,
It dissociates me from my former self,
a former self that I choose to bless and move past.

We have much in common.
I’m falling deeper into something with you..
And because you are so different,
the deepening keeps surprising me.

We paint with a diluted paintbrush
the true color remains at the bottom of the watercolor palette.
Like humans, their authentic hue is in the undiluted wells of the heart.

We write with an emotion
imbued by the nourishment we receive from each another
moved to write, compelled to express

I feel you when you dip your quill into my heart,
my blood, the ink with which you write your stories.
The ink becomes the symbol of what you mean to me,
your parchment as pure as our intent,
and I delve deeper into you..

Deeper still, I find the ink enabling
Allowing me to reach further into myself
Trusting in the inward and outward appearances.
.. of ‘this‘..
Delving deeper into each other,
treating tenderly all that we discover,
patiently, attentively, openly..


I never expected to meet you.
I’d literally forgotten the person within me that I loved and respected so much.
It is a person that recognizes when he is falling, and I am sensing that
I’m falling for you in ways that at least as a neophyte I’m beginning to recognize.
I love this.
It’s real, earthly AND divine.
It’s beautiful and raw!

You don’t deserve more than me…
you deserve ME! and I’m a LOT!
I was told I am to go to you.. No where else.
By my heart!

Your beauty stuns me…
your calm disarms me,
your kiss blows me away,
your creativity is palatable,
your intelligence is sexy,
you are not broken, you are just right..

I like myself the way I see you,
and do I ever love the way you see me.
And still there is more to each of us
that’s what makes this exciting. It’s just real

I sense such purity with you
I was hiding myself, so much so that with you I hardly recognize myself…
and now I like what I see
You can allow yourself to love without restriction.
So can I.

You are totally capturing me.
You know, you might never get rid of me. I am consistently loving
I can tell this is the real you.. and that is a hard thing to let go of.
So gently I embrace.. speechless in ways.

Ya Allah. Deeper I go.. into  “this”
You wont go alone.
I am unfolding into you.
I’m heading straight into the moon
I find you absolutely beautiful, desirable, soothing, loveable.

I feel an inclination to protect you.
Although I’m not sure from what
There is something vulnerable about your eyes,
yet fierce.
I don’t know whether to protect you with my heart,
or follow you into a lions den.

I dont know if I’m falling in love with you from the inside out
or the inside in..
We are love
dancing wild on the tip of a wick.

We humans were made to be commanded by our hearts,
this shell we haul around was a consequence,
a cloak to hide among others.
True love is to remain hidden in the mysterious combustibles [chambers] of the heart,
it’s fire casting light from the eyes.
This is how we recognize love – by the depth of the hidden fire,
and the length of the reaching flames.


And only you can tie bows in wildly flailing ribbons of flame!
Leave it to a gift wrapper…
How transported I get with you.
You carry your candle into my shadows
It’s not unsettling, it’s warm and new.
You are a meditation.
I wish the words were here.
If you were here,
I would fall asleep with your hand under my cheek…
my soul pressed against your chest,
my breath cradles in the rise and fall of yours.
This is what will guide me to depths tonight…
thank you from the barely dreaming…

at the end of our inhales, that is where I will be…


 “That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there.”
~ Pablo Neruda

Measured Sips


What did these hands do before they held your hand..
They must have been resting idly;
waiting for that perfect fit, the perfect span
that leaves my heart beating wildly.

What did these lips do before they got lost in your lips..
They must have remained sealed, and grim;
waiting for you to drink my soul in measured sips,
from a chalice eternally filled to the brim.

What did these eyes do before they beheld your eyes..
They must have gazed into total darkness;
waiting for a light from emerald skies,
to obliterate the utter starkness.

What did my mornings consist of
before I woke up next to you..
your tousled hair and your dreamy eyes,
your arms around me,
my legs between your steel-hard thighs.

What did my time consist of
before I spent it in your presence..
For now ~ during the times you are away,
I linger in your essence.




The Relation Ship


You are the captain of this vessel;
where you steer it, it will go.
You see, I have already fallen..
from the moment it launched from the slip.
And as all of everyone clearly knows,
the one who loves the least
controls the RelationShip.

You control the sails and the winds,
you are the compass needle.
So sail me out to the open sea
with its salty ocean air.
And if you don’t care
to stay with me,
then simply leave me there.

I’ll find my way by beacon star
and drift towards the moon;
I’ll brace my soul for choppy seas
and weather every storm;
I’ll mourn you when you leave too soon,
and leave me so forlorn.


In Whispers

We sit in the same room, the same car, the same bed
mere inches apart, yet the distance feels insurmountable..
We sit in silence, each lost in our own thoughts,
but it is so loud in my mind.
My thoughts are screaming out to you.. wishing you could hear them.
I slowly let my eyes drift in your direction.. you are miles away,
no where near where my thoughts can reach you.
I wonder where you are,
and where you wish to be.

Foolishly, I try to make you love me.
Foolishly, waiting for you to love me,
thinking time will bring you to me;
thinking if I just try this.. or that..
But sometimes we try too hard.

We sit staring into each others eyes,
but we are looking through each other.
You – looking to where you wish to be;
I –  trying to see where you are,
trying to figure out when it was that the light in your eyes dimmed,
when the flame died.
Seems it died too soon.

I miss the times you would gaze into me,
and see me.
When I saw the passion in your eyes,
when I felt your words tear into my soul,
when you spoke to me
in whispers
so only I could hear.



A writer writes..

Sky Blue and Black


a writer writes,
to ameliorate the pain
be it holy or profane
be it balanced or insane
with affection or disdain

Every word written wipes away a tear
every line, refuge from fear

a sort of self medication
a self reparation
a hopeful initiation
from a hopeless situation

every couplet,
a bleeding wound healed
every stanza,
a memory sealed

a writer writes,
to begin again
to leave behind the pain
a release from a binding chain
and that familiar refrain

in vain..

and so the writer writes..
    and Again..



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Coffee Conversations


The world needs more hand-written love letters
and people holding hands,
and  each other.

The world needs unwakeable dreamers
peering over their lip-mounted cafe au laits,
inhaling the nostalgia of quivering edge-curled
pre-autumn leaves.

The air is filled with the scent of those words.

ah.. if i could trade places with an empty chair beside you
I’d certainly have a more accurate sense than this “waiting room”