Poetry is everything to me: and it’s not just words on a page.
Poetry is what makes the pixels in every photograph I take.
I see in words. A sea of words.
A sunset is a sonnet, my children are the breeze.
My lover is my handler and my past made up of sleaze.
I’ll write the words forever. I can’t not take a pen
and like water down the river, show everything again.
Your love makes me want to write.
In another life: we make more mistakes,
but less that hurt forever.
We have 9 kids and name them after
poets or people or memories.
I want a daughter named Penny.
Another named Piper.
Lets name a boy Royal
and his brother; Jack.
I want a Ruthie, Robin and Jade.
Give me an Otto, I’ll love a Wade.
Truth is I’d love a snail
if it was me and you.
Your eyes, my nose.
Your hair, my toes.
Lets make a baby,
even if we have to dream it up.
Let’s shop for cribs
and watch the non-existent bump.
Lets just make more love.
I saw a homeless man
biking an older woman
around in a baby carrier
and it made me think
And how you carried us –
no matter your strength
and despite our inability
You never complained.
You just carried us.
On and on …
I loved that about you.
And I miss you. And your
Below is one of three episodes that aired on TV after he died. I finally watched them again in over 8 years this past Christmas with Jessica who wanted to hear what his laugh sounded like. That she wanted to hear him laugh? That was the most beautiful thing I’ve been asked in a long time. I’m finally going to write about this.
Don’t watch it if being comfortable in your life is all you ever want out of it. Don’t watch it if you think your lukewarm marriage is just fine. Don’t watch it if you reserve the name “God” for reference when you’re surprised. He was just a man and he’s gone, but the gift of his love saved me then and all these years later – it keeps saving me.
Episode 1 – The Boeve Story from Winning At Home on Vimeo.
(Click through to see, we were having major loading issues while trying to support the vimeo widget for the video. Working on resolving this.)
There will come a day,
where I stand on a stage
and I use your name
Comfortably and effortlessly.
I won’t be scared of anyone
I won’t be scared of everything
I like the quiet stillness of the
Jade and amber green, mini puffs of
Where a breeze is a song and the
birds flight easy.
Her quiet is my roar, my quiet makes