Poem: Nothing Else Matters

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Nothing Else Matters

Push the world aside.
Find a place for just you, and I,
a place where we can talk, one to the other,
a place of listening for breath and soul
and the electricity of touch, one hand on the other.

Set aside the noise. Push aside the crowd.
There is you, and I. Nothing else matters
save the sound of two souls slowing down
and rediscovering each other again,
again, and always
again.

About this poem

Too often we say certain things matter most, but act as if they don’t.

A love poem. The woman I love has been away a couple of days and returns this afternoon.

A poem of spirit. For too often life is too busy and too noisy for us to find God in the mix.

You choose. Or don’t. It’s OK for things to have more than one meaning.

Tom

PS – The picture was taken at the Wiburton Inn in Manchester, VT.

Poem: The Care and Feeding of Windows

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The Care and Feeding of Windows

The windows grow with age.
With understanding and time.
They grow as you foster the repairs caused
by other people’s blindness.
They grow in grace,
yours and his,
in the listening to truths that were there all the time
but covered with vines of fear and neglect.

As you do the work and cut the vines to their roots.
as you paint the shutters and Windex the windows.
They grow
with age.

About this poem. 

For most of my youth, my father and I had a love-hate relationship. As we both aged, there was more love than hate.

For a time after my divorce, my kids didn’t think much of me. Today our love is strong. I am blessed by them more than I can express.

The change in both instances came because truth was discovered, on all sides. And more than that, because all of us allowed ourselves to believe that truth and understand the other. Our windows grew and light grew brighter. Not perfect, but always brighter.

Happy Father’s Day,

Tom

Poem: Truth of a Kiss

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Truth of  a Kiss

I walk with you as the fog slips seductively in.
We stop at the water’s edge. We kiss
and my fingers trace the skin of your shoulders.
My fingertips savor your warmth.
“I am not a man of extremes.” I say.

“You lie.” you say.
And we kiss again.

Poem: Something More than Paper

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Something More than Paper

There is a chill in the air as you walk to the ocean.
Your feet crunch on stones and sticks.
Even here far from the shore,
the remnants of storms litter the path.

You feel her hand in yours.
You feel her presence, something more
than you expected. Perhaps more
than you deserve.

Neither of you are children.
You have lived and loved and lost.
You bear scars, tender and harsh,
deep as the bone. You understand

how life works, and how it doesn’t
and your rose colored glasses have fallen to the wayside
and shattered more times than you care to admit,
the path behind you pocked with broken glass.

But here you are. Improbable.
Improbable newlyweds, nearly a year past
the improbable wedding that tied the knot,
already bound to each other by something more

than paper and promises.
Her hand is in yours.
You lean into each other as you look to the next shoreline
and the horizon with its blue clouds and storms.

About this poem

The woman I love and I are coming up on our first anniversary. I debated titling the poem “Improbable Newlyweds”, but there’s been so much more to this first year than the giddiness of being in love, as nice as that is. “Something More than Paper” captured it better.

The picture was taken on Cape Cod.

Tom