it is not the drinks that matter

it is not the drinks that matter
not the sinful sips of hearty spirits
smoothly washing down down
coating my soul with laughter

not the sweetly nibbling bite
of Caribbean rum twirling
in candlelight with raspberry liqueur
and languidly painted smiles

not the warming caress
of tequila tickling my tongue
with tartly eager lime and
time enough for breasts bared

not a quiet shot of vodka or two
befriending bitter grapefruit
while a hint of peach jealously
chases after them both

no, it is not the drinks that matter
in the end
but how easily they seduce me
away from me

Ages ago somewhere in Turkey

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Laya

It was raining then,
soft and gentle and pristine.
Covetous I watched.

The sky enveloped me.
Petals pouted in the shadows.
Moisture clinging to my skin.

You spoke to me,
your voice fondling my heart.
Laughter tickling my hope.

Forever could I listen
knowing that you were all,
adorning every moment.

Raindrops caressed you,
and I watched enthralled.
Yes. This life is ours.

Laya at Windsor

to laugh once more

such tiny toes tickling at my heart
her smile at once innocent and true
and affirming each moment of play
beside her mischievous big brother
who longs to discover one more thing
that will make her laugh yet again
and again

there is a dynamic in every we—
a means of managing the want and need
without bowing to the extraneous
voices that ever demand our skins
compelling a sit and a think and
a banal effort to clean this, fold that,
stand straight

to be again so very young and whole
reaching for each moment in time
with such passion, such adoration
such lack of petty prevarication
is to overthrow the reserved dynamic
and to laugh once more with the abandon
of a child

My weans–Leona and Cooper–at play.

the taste of laughter

i wish i knew more than this,
more than the listless dribblings
that fall from my memorizing tongue

ceaselessly turning pages
composed by knowledgeable others
whose certainties transpose my doubts

i would have seen more,
gleaned more from the engagings
of life’s merry makings and sheddings

i would have played gleefully
without a care for the cold haunting,
the distracting dissatisfactions of others

and i would stop wallowing
tearfully swallowing the pills of regret,
which is why the now is for me and for us

you see, at this moment i
tremble at the sight of you smiling
again, my dear love, and i am exultant

years may have swept away
my receding needs and pleases
leaving empty regard for times unheld

but i so very am—i am still
beyond the graying yesteryears
and despite them all, i know the taste of laughter

a child’s laughter

precise patterns declare this life
founding institutional morbidity
determining individual consistency
dryly imparting spiritual conformity

beyond these walls these borders
beyond the refulgent adornments
of this overly stimulated sloth
there must be something more

a path that wanders aimlessly
into a garden of lushest dreams
a stream that laughing flows over
stones of sweetly shimmering hues

this world announces a mosaic
of song chanted by children who
recognize not the impossibilities
of time nor the rules of sound

gleefully constructing

their own

delicious

eager

yes

Salt Lake City 12 Nov 2012

breakfasting with my daughter at Oasis Cafe in Salt Lake City