A Blueness I Could Eat Forever Read online

UENESS I COULD EAT FOREVER

  Jeffrey A. White

  Copyright 2013 by Jeffrey A. White

  Cover image by Jeffrey A. White/Pont des Arts, Paris, 2012

  Table of Contents

  SURFACES

  LIKE A DREAM

  THE CRICKET'S SONG

  WHEN

  A BLUENESS I COULD EAT FOREVER

  BEAUTY

  TOGETHER

  ONLY A DREAM

  BIG CITY

  OUR LOVE

  LOOK BACK

  WHAT DO I REMEMBER

  BEES

  LOVING HER

  COLD LIGHT

  WAVES

  MY MIND'S EYE

  FEELINGS

  OLD MAN'S DREAMS

  EARLY MORNING FEAST

  MY PATH

  A COLLECTOR OF SHOES

  READING POETRY

  BETWEEN TWO HEARTS

  WHEN SHE COULDN'T GET UP

  I DREAM MY POEMS

  HUMANITY

  A FEW MINUTES

  LOVE STORY

  ROBBED

  THIN, WISPY CLOUDS

  HOW IS YOUR SOUP?

  LATE WINTER

  STORIES

  MAYBE EVEN ENJOY A SUNSET?

  LAND OF TURTLES

  AN UNKNOWN ARTIST

  DIFFERENCE

  SOMETIMES

  SURFACES

  As I am stirring sugar into my latte,

  I look around the crowded outdoor caf?.

  I don't know anyone.

  To me, these strangers are surfaces,

  flat images,

  hollow projections and noise,

  but nothing more.

  I find the last empty table,

  a green metallic skin,

  spotless,

  rolled perfectly flat and thin,

  smooth and cold

  and glistening like polished glass

  in the early morning sun.

  A man and his two-year-old daughter are sitting

  at the table next to me.

  He lowers his latte to touch the lip of her juice drink.

  She raises her juice to meet his latte.

  As the father says "Salud," the father and daughter

  nod their heads in unison.

  With a glance to the father,

  I say, "When I was in my twenties,

  I rarely noticed children.

  Then, in my late forties, I guess I hit grandpa age.

  I started noticing children everywhere.

  Children warm my heart?You are truly blessed."

  The father smiles at me

  and says, "Thank you."

  And then, he looks back at his daughter

  with a loving smile.

  LIKE A DREAM

  It all seems like a dream, now.

  Gray, old men ambling about a bookstore

  in the old Jewish quarter of Paris.

  As everything is suddenly soaked a dark stain,

  we duck inside a door stoop.

  I gently pull you closer

  and look into your eyes,

  azure pools inviting me to sink

  into their sensuous depths.

  Time slows as everything revolves around us

  and planets, stars and constellations

  slowly turn like clockwork,

  as we dream our love,

  our universe - together.

  As darkness drains from the early morning sky,

  I pull you up to my chest and whisper,

  "Do you remember when we were caught in the rain in Paris?"

  You squeeze my hand.

  It all seems like a dream, now.

  One love, one dream, one universe,

  with only you and me,

  together,

  dreaming our love forever.

  THE CRICKET'S SONG

  I heard a rapid alternation of notes,

  a vibrating staccato of an ancient instrument,

  nearly as old as nature herself,

  a cricket singing

  in my garden last night,

  the first time this year.

  When turning my garden's soil,

  I often uncover crickets,

  curmudgeons that scramble to find solitude

  and cover from the light,

  but I rarely hear their

  ancient song 'till near

  summer's end.

  Although the wind is now lofting the branches

  and rustling the leaves,

  the evening sun

  still warms my face.

  And my garden still blooms full

  with pink-papered hollyhocks

  and blue, green spikes of lavender,

  and roses,

  bright pinks and yellows,

  all glowing from sunshine-swelled canes,

  and zinnias,

  rainbow-shingled orbs,

  and more.

  And yet, I am already dreading

  the coming of fall,

  all dressed in small rags

  of red, yellow, and orange.

  I know that my summer garden

  is nearing its end,

  as hailed by the cricket's song.

  WHEN

  When I hear birds serenading the gift of a new day,

  When I watch the trees sway like fields of wheat

  and feel a warm wind brush my face,

  When I see clouds slowly drift and turn

  like millstones,

  I know happiness.

  When I hear the sweetest notes grace your lips

  and reveal your generous smile,

  When I gently pull you closer and inhale your perfume,

  which harks back wonderful memories,

  When I gaze into your eyes and gently kiss your crimson lips,

  When you are resting your head on my chest

  and we feel intimately connected,

  as if your beating heart is my heart, your body is my body,

  and our souls are intermingled,

  I know love.

  A BLUENESS I COULD EAT FOREVER

  As our Milky Way galaxy

  slowly pinwheels

  across the darkness

  towards some

  unknown

  destination?

  I stop to breathe and look around

  at the plastered houses

  with their rainbow hues

  and swaying trees

  and the immense

  blue sky,

  a blueness

  I could eat forever.

  And, then

  (for no particular reason)

  I look down at the paved path,

  gray liquid stone long since set

  and worn rough.

  Inside a crack,

  I spot a pinprick of color:

  a tiny,

  yellow,

  flower

  with waxen petals,

  all blooming from green-cupped leaves,

  which are slowly

  encroaching upon

  the stony grayness.

  BEAUTY

  Just outside my bay window,

  my neighbor sheared back a camellia

  with pink flowers,

  pretend stars.

  For the first time from my living room couch,

  I could watch wispy white clouds

  slowly drift and turn

  like leaves floating on a meandering stream.

  How like a white cloud you are:

  beautiful.

  And yet, few notice you

  unless you become wild

  and dark.

  Is beauty so common

  that people don't see it

  unless it is extraordinary,r />
  except for me,

  when I wake in the morning,

  brush the hair from your eyes,

  hold your hands

  and drink coffee with you?

  TOGETHER

  As I round the corner, I see a crouching derelict

  with a sagging spine, blistered gray skin,

  bandaged eyes

  and fallen gutters.

  Strewn across the front yard are weedy thickets,

  mounds of toothed vines,

  and sun-bleached bones of forgotten furniture.

  It has been a long time since this old house was alive

  with the music of children and adults

  talking, laughing, singing and loving,

  all making lives together.

  ONLY A DREAM

  As I brush the hair from her eyes

  and gently kiss her cheek,

  I whisper,

  "And what of you, my love?"

  Are you dreaming of white picket fences, cottage gardens,

  and white dresses?

  Are you dreaming of lying on cool grass on a warm summer night

  while the heavens slowly turn like a millstone?

  Are you dreaming of white sailboats skimming across the Nile

  like flocks of white doves,

  my beautiful queen?

  Sleep well, my love.

  And be sure to dream a place for me,

  somewhere between the darkness and the white fires,

  a place where I can cherish you in my arms,

  as we dream our love, our universe,

  into being.

  Sleep well, my love,

  for without you,

  I am only a dream.

  BIG CITY

  Glass-skinned swords,

  soaring out of blackness,

  propped against the sky,

  edges glistening in the sun,

  all casting razor edge shadows

  and deep canyons,

  from which masked strangers

  flow, join and separate,

  write their stories

  and play their roles.

  OUR LOVE

  Stretching beyond the horizon,

  the sea, a lustrous blue fabric,

  draws tight and taut

  over the face of the world,

  tinged orange at its far edges

  by a low-hanging sun,

  a glowing tangerine

  cut wide open.

  Squeezing against the sand,

  foamy waves endlessly surge, retreat

  and weave irregular edgings

  of land and sea.

  Small, stilted birds waltz the surf,

  grasses gently sway in a light air

  and one-legged seagulls sleep like flags

  stuck in the sand.

  We splash and play in the surf,

  laugh and giggle.

  Drops of saltwater drip down her face

  and roll over the curves of her breasts.

  Our hands touch,

  and we slide into each other's arms,

  into the grasses now beating to a sea breeze,

  now beating to our hearts,

  into the grasses, where screeching seagulls

  are now lunging into clear air.

  LOOK BACK

  Several years ago,

  I visited a friend who had built a country cottage,

  surrounded by a vast rolling garden of sunlit meadows,

  rainbow blooms, shaded glens,

  streams and ponds.

  It was impossible to see

  the entire garden all at once.

  The only way to imagine the wholeness of the garden

  was to walk through it,

  follow the winding path

  and view the garden from different perspectives.

  Invariably, secrets revealed themselves

  around each bend.

  And sometimes, I chose to step off the winding path

  and follow the contours of the land

  and my heart.

  In my youth, I imaged my entire life

  planned out before