in my heart a memory surges and I repress it with the deepest of urges. If I allow it to come forth all will be lost for tonight is a night like so long ago, it's raining again and not just in my soul... I'm fighting to hold back the tears..fighting to maintain control...to late I lose hold... I'm drowning in memories...

my writing often mirrors whats going on in my life, it's not always an accurate portrayal, but sometimes it's too damn accurate...

I stepped on the plane
just like a million times before
but this time felt different
this time was different
this time I sat alone
I layed my head back
tried to sleep
but sleep never came
Turned my head to the window pane
Mentally I screamed out your name

A soft orchestra played in the background, grey skies showered tears onto the ground mingling with those of the black clad crowd gathered to mourn the passing of their friend, family member and lastly one single man’s love lay cold, slowly being lowered in to eternities dark embrace. Brave words were spoken, fond words, words filled with love, hopes of a new beginning. All heard except one, the single man whose love lay cold in the earth. He stands in silence, separated from the crowd who slowly slip away one by one, silently returning to their lives and loved ones. Leaving the silent man alone staring at a patch of ground where love lies cold embraced by earth. The skies tears pour down stronger mixing with his own. The orchestra’s stopped playing and long since gone home and the silent young man still stands silent and alone. Till the grounds keeper comes and politely says, “Sir, we’re closing. Sir, you must go home.” The silent young man slowly raises his head, his eyes filled with infinite sadness meet those of the grounds keeper. He slightly nods his head, turns his back to the earths fresh packed mound. Walks down the pathway past the monuments to the dead to the waiting car in the empty parking lot, Fumbles for his keys, gets in turns on the engine, pulls out and drives to the sound of a soft orchestra playing in the background, loves favorite melody…

(he doesn’t know why or what brought it back, but suddenly he stops and remembers )

“I’m so glad to have you as a friend,” he lied. “me too,” she lied right back as they stood holding each other closer than two friends should. His nose was buried in her soft brown hair drinking in the mixed scents of her shampoo, perfume and that smell that was forever embedded in his heart and mind that told him this woman was beyond compare. Her nose was buried in his chest breathing in his warm, comforting closeness. She loved that he didn’t wear cologne to hide his natural scent it made her trust him almost as much as the gentle strength of his arms which always made her feel protected and safe. Too soon their embrace is broken and with a gentle brush of his fingers across her face he places a few stray strands of hair that had fallen forward. “Goodbye,” he says softly, “drive safe”. “Thanks, Goodbye,” she replies equally as soft and with a final wave goodbye. She starts the engine, turns the wheel, pulls out and into the street. In a few minutes she’s gone from sight and all he can do is stand there and wait for her to come back…

The young man stands across from a young woman, an old friend, then lover, then new friend still loved, gently he takes her hand and says, “you once told me the futures possibilities are endless.” He pulls her close into his embrace, “but…” she says, “shh, no talking now, there is only the dance” he says. And it begins, heard softly faintly at first . those first few notes so inaudible, building upon themselves, they begin to move together this young man and young woman. Slowly it begins again these two become one and flow across the dance floor. His gentle strength guiding her elegance in his arms. They dance and remember a happier time when they were together in the woods, an arboretum is where it all began there upon a bridge over a little creek with the wind blowing through the trees he pulled her gently close and under the shade of the trees, among the flowers in golden sunlight they danced for the first time together reveling in their closeness the beauty of the moment. No music was needed their hearts sung to one another and they danced under the leaves. Suddenly a phone is heard ringing, the young man snaps out of the dream, returning to the present the rain is still beating against the window. The phone rings again, stumbling, he reaches the receiver picks up and all he hears is silence… after a short time he says, “hello?” all that replies is the click and sound of a dial tone.. the rain continues to fall and slowly follows the phone…

On a bus sparsely packed sits a young man with a backpack, outside the city lights are a dark blur against the rain filled night sky. Warm breath on the window creates fog which idle fingers trace idle lines. A few more streets pass by till comes the stop and with a gentle sigh the young man disembarks into the pouring rain, shoulders his backpack pulls a slip of paper from his pocket, checks the address walks the few paces up the side walk to a well lit door. His hand reaches out grasps the worn knob on the door, gently turns, then pushes, light momentarily floods the street and is quenched by the closing of the door. A brief conversation inside, two flashes of light, the door opens out walks the young man, who slowly, deliberately shuts the door walks down the sidewalk to the bus stop just as the next bus arrives. Discreetly he places the gloves he was wearing in his backpack beneath the money and gun already there, zips it closed boards the bus, takes a seat by the window as the lights of the city blur by.

the music, heard from the distant pub up the street filters down to the young man. The music brings forth barely buried memories of the dance. The dance that began when a group of friends were hanging out at the pub and an angel appeared in the doorway, of course she wasn’t, but she must have been graced by the hand of god the young man thought to himself. Too shy to say anything he could only smile as she and her friends moved to a corner booth. His friends elbow in his ribs brought the young man back to what was going on, blushing at the laughter by his friends.

“West 57th Street”

Sitting here in my studio apartment on west 57th street I look out the window down to the street below and toward the children in the park across the way who build snowmen to man snow forts, soft music on the stereo, a cup of hot tea in my hands. I watch a world away. Looking, seeing, but not seeing the wonders that play before my eyes. Trapped in memories of yesterday a different scene plays before my eyes.

You stand next to the kitchenette laughing at some joke I made. Your smile and laughter brighten the room. You were so beautiful when you smiled. Idle conversations and innocent flirtations which always led to more , whiled away those hot summer days. Walks in the park where I’d push you on the swing, a picnic or two next to the lake would bring the ducks closer for their piece of cake.

That was our summer in the sun, our springtime of love then the winds turned colder, you had to return to school. We kissed, hugged and said goodbye wouldn’t do. Said we’d write and for awhile we did, then the letters slowed to a trickle and finally stopped, mine were returned unanswered as snow fell outside the window.

Our pictures still hang on the walls next to the paintings made by hands full of love. Papers of unfinished poetry lie scattered about the room, forgotten memories too painful to remember.

So I sit here in my December, tea in hand and I remember that I held summer.

the young man awakes, his body clenched tight cramped from another night of pain, his breath ragged, he forces himself to relax, to slowly let go of it all, release tensed muscles. In pain he climbs out of bed and goes through his morning routine of stretches and exercises, push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups from the bar in the hallway, a few miles on the treadmill a jump in the shower. He doesn’t know why just goes through the old motions. ( trying to block old emotions ) No one expects him anywhere, no schedules, no deadlines to meet, no lunches on pseudo-wall street.

"In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer." -Albert Camus

"The tears that you spill, the sorrowful, are sweeter than the laughter of snobs and the guffaws of scoffers." -Kahlil Gibran, "A Handful of Sand on the Shore"

I stepped off the plane and into the pouring rain welcome home again no one to meet me this arrival I have made discreetly, no fanfares, no signs, no welcome home hugs. Just a single shoulder bag to lug. I stroll on into the terminal, no need to stop at baggage claim, a minor hassle at customs and it’s out into the rain again. A long taxi ride to an empty one bedroom apartment, no surprise, no one home it’s empty inside, all alone. You wouldn’t think anyone lived here and no one still does. The emptiness mirror images of whats inside. Some towels in the closet follow the warm shower inside. Low lights turned on for the first day in a long time. Refrigerator empty, problem one, solved easily, a quick run to the corner, a six pack and a few things to eat a local paper provides local stories. Under low light a newspaper is read. A bottle opened, tilted to pillowed head. The long trip takes its toll, eyelids droop slowly close, this weary soul so long from home finally rests in his empty home

He dreams this weary soul of a time long ago when this one bedroom apartment was occupied by two, her laughter, her bright smile the pillow fights that always turned into something more, those rainy September nights spent holding each other close. Those sunny summer afternoons spent frolicking in the park across the way. Down by the lake or a tour on the bay, these great adventures would take all day.

As the young man dreams tears slowly fall from his eyes like the gentle rain outside