Letters to Dandelion (5 page)

Balancing out in your creative life:

A Potter, a Writer, a Photographer, an Artist, a Visionary,
a Manager, and I’m sure,
there is so much more.

I perceive that there is no end to who you are,

or the sources from which you draw.

Of you, I stand in awe;

as someone so intelligent can only be admired.

And desired.

Can you tell me, have you never noticed, our in-step pace?

(As we walk …)

This makes my heart want to trace;

the detailed true timing,

in hopes of finding,

an equality that we have a world and more so in common;

this already proven, by our intricate conversations and
personal interaction.

In every way, you are not what I expected.

And everything, I ever wanted.

Phenomenal Love

Woman of my dreams…

It’s in the dark, sparsely, but this I could see,

Your ocean deep, brown eyes, glistening softly back at me,

and a smile which wraps around to the sides of your face.

Creating furrows in such baby mettle skin, of lines to
someone

who could totally win, my completely, deeply buried heart.

I know this isn’t smart, because of the game that we play.

But I can sit for days; thinking about other ways,

and wishing and pour forth hope,

but the feeling never goes,

from the curve that reality throws,

against the odds of me having you for my own.

What a day, the next day for me feels;

like a drone spinning my wheels,

in thoughts of just a few hours before,

Of You walking through my door, mysterious, strong and

Just - Oh, so effervescently beautiful.

It’s not typical, not all physical, could never be temporal,

it’s quite more emotional and sensual

– in your presence of confidence.

You know what you do - intimacy,

but in-to-me; see, What you would find –

A world divine

of candy cane children playing atop a cool mint iceberg

about to break off into the glistening mouthwash sea.

An ocean of swirling passions, a Sargasso,

which I can only allow to drip so lightly slow

during the moments with which when we engage.

It produces such a rage; barring danger, never in anger,

but a quiet quivering waver of my defenses.

Damn, where did they go?

Maybe they retreated back to a time, when I knew you not,
but meeting you filled my hopeless heart,

in times of mind, through hopes of dreams,

to the construct of fantasizing your deep brown eyes,

looking back into mine.

Did I foresee the future?

Maybe, Yes, I’d say, every day,

as my emotions played,

and constructed the perfect woman within my heart’s desire
to meet.

So who says dreams never come true?

My dreams did,

…………………………...... the very first moment,

I ever touched
you.

Seal

She
complained a little,

as I lay behind her.

Her butt sunk into by stomach,

with the length of my leg

covering her entire side,
then, bending in at the nape
of her knees.

My chest was steamy with

the sweat off her back, and

my left arm was submerged

into the puff of her belly,

coiled under, in a grip that

I knew couldn’t slip.

My other arm, pillowed her

head perfectly, with my fingers dangling far out of reach,
of
her

tiny little hand.

She inched for some space,

which I allowed, knowing

that before, an old pillow so

square and cold, once lay

in her place.

That thing was famous.

Known to me by so many names,

and now it just lay on the floor.

As I held her so tight,

little did she know, that

I had been holding her,

that way for all my life.

And I wanted, nothing now

to come between us.

The Masses, a Few, and then there’s You…

I can count the amount of people, close to me, on pretty
much one finger.

So my mind when doing this, tends not to linger.

But a finger bends in three places,

Allowing three spaces,

for special graces.

As for the masses,

My concern over passes,

Because they are way too intertwined with the daily grind

And see very little to do in creating an ounce of
spectacular vernacular

for their own.

It’s no surprise ninety-five percent are controlled by five,

And the masses are also commonly referred to as, drones.

Then there are the few.

Who come along just as they do, at the right time when life
is full of strife,

Able to throw off the concerns of the gimme, gimme, get, get
world;

to see someone standing there, maybe gasping for air, with a
butcher

knife snugly dug into their chest, and reach in and stoutly
pull it out.

These people, these few, at the time appear to know exactly
what to do,

and it can feel as though they had saved your life. (It so
seems.)

They must be the answer to your dreams, and time goes by; –
until,

It’s so long ago, that you’ve forgotten the original pain
that clouded

your brain, and drenched your world with rain.
Why, remembering that, actually comes at a strain, and that’s a good thing.

But now, the stress has been replaced with a new.

The one who you thought would always be there for you - 

Call it time,

Call it boredom,

Call it simple youth –

Why not just call it the truth?

The one who you thought was so “for you”,

The one who you perceived was endlessly true,

The person who was narrowed down by the category of “few”,-

May not be whom they appeared to be.

It’s such a rough awakening from a dream.

Don’t take it wrong –

There was true love shared.

Don’t think badly of them, or yourself, you both still
cared.
But now the same feelings just aren’t there.

One small argument; which lead to overnight thoughts.

Maybe an infidelity,

Or, maybe things have just run their course.

Now you are older, wiser, and can push on without remorse.

I say you – because, now, I have met you.

Fictional as this passage may be –

Speculative as it is –

Far from the truth, or right on the head,

This story has happened to someone.

Maybe you, maybe me, in some point of time, it has set
someone free.

Hurt; but what changes there?

Wiser; for the entire better.

And, open – for something, or someone new.

My life was harrowed, as the sinews to my priorities grew.

Thoughts have become narrowed, but my focus is now trued,

And then in a blessing – I finally met you.

In short,

I am so very happy to have met you.

Should these words become a pyramid, the very top would be
you.

The pretentiousness of my life in unrealistic loves have
been burned away –

And in my heart, there is standing room only for --

You.

Oddities …

Are what makes many people unique.

Though – there are some who would

scoff  at the thought and apply another

labeling word, and that word is --

Freak.

So, to round out my exposition,

Pease review some famous oddities

for this lesson.

POE – Pound for pound was the greatest wordsmith next to
Aristotle.

            A tortured soul, who carried love for the word
and love of a woman

to an unmarked grave. A master of
writing, who created many times

inside, the singular mind. Poe
never truly made it, but he was a legend

in his own time. And because I am a
writer, he is never far from my spirit.

MARTIN LUTHER KING – Was a tender heart, wrapped up in a
Man’s skin.

                                                A visionary
of peace and justice,

Of love for all.

And a voice,
silenced, by the fact, that he was a pure

heart, wrapped up
in the skin of a Man.

MOTHER TERESA – Saw no need for fame, comforts or glory.

                                     She extended her knotty
hands, and brought

                                     forth mercy, to those
who needed desperately,

                                     a touch from God.

There are so many others, Gandhi, Jesus, Buddha – People of
peace, vision and reason.

One other existed though in my tiny world:

DANDY – You’d never know her. To me, she was a spectacular
lover,
                   and a short whisper of pleasure, in my often painful life.

                   I wanted to make her my wife, and grow
with her, but, fate sees things

       so very different.

       She was an oddball,
beautiful, colorful, under duress from her life like
       so many. Yes, an oddity, just like me.

But, then again, what do I know?

When I’m just a freak.

Flowers in the
fissures

I can
feel the seeds take root,

growing
inside the rows of folds,

the
billowy cotton of my brain.

Sprouting
tiny thoughts of her,

when
shined upon from her

beauty,
and rained upon by

the
ambrosial archipelago

the
sound  her voice brings.

The
spring of my love dawns,

like a
long morning’s yawn,

to the
taffy-oranged eye, of

the sun
in the deep-blue sky,

as she
pads softly through my mind;

naked,
hair a flow, through many

flowered
rows of all my thoughts

that
are planted-rooted about her.

She is
the garden, the water,

the
air, the breeze, the light,

the
energy and the gardener.

I am
just a lucky observer,
for seeing her could never be

sweeter,
smelling her work

no more
rewarding, and

experiencing
her –

A
blessing, only one that time

and
chance could hope to bring.

God knows, so many things,
could have been so different.

As I
imagine the wonderful

pains I
have, wanting for her,

loving
her, wishing for her,

waiting
for her, yet a coda

gone
by, could have thrown

that so
far awry.

And
what is it like, when you meet?

Someone
so very truly unique?

That
you feel there just one chance,

of a
one in a million romance?

And
luck seems to stand as the sole