Life In Progress

Forever You

It should be a song, your Valentine,
full of laughter and a sweet splash
of all those things the world holds dear

one where you walk on the cusp of womanhood,
radiantly dressed in a sleeveless sundress
printed with fresh-cut, pink roses
from  creation's first Spring.

It should be a song
sprinkled with the croonings of life long love
or the bittersweet riffs of a painfully short romance

one where you step forward out of the moonlight
your unkempt hair in free fall about your face
and your outstretched hand offering a bouquet of dreams -
one where you are forever you.

It should be a song.

Dedicated to Jenny
Copyright © 2004-2009 by the authors

Yellow Jessamine

Some crisp morning -
miles from the workings in town that move the world's freight -
as you canter along the ring of tall Georgia pine 
that guards a grassy glade you fancy as yours,

you'll stop as always beside a splash of musical creek
and loosen your white mare's tack before sitting -
your back firm against the trunk of a sheltering pine -
to watch tall, green grasses dance on the edges of the wind. 

One crisp morning,
he'll come step by step across the glade, stooping haphazardly
to gather daisies and fashion an unfashionable bouquet
mussed and tangled with the wild grasses of friendship and love.

Your heart will quicken as he stills the nickering of your anxious
mare and banishes the ghost of a freight train whistle
rising from its haunt near town. In your bower,
across the threshold of Spring, look for your Valentine.

That crisp morning,
let your eyes climb along the vine climbing the needled skirt
of the sheltering pine and clip the first yellow blossom,
star-shaped and spiced with feisty fragrance. 

Place it in your hair and resume your riding
or loosen the pocket of his tousled shirt and plant
the flower just above his heart as you gather up
the blowzy bouquet and take his hand in yours.

Dedicated to Andrea
Copyright © 2004-2009 by the authors

Night Bird

If some wispy evening you find yourself
among the strand of oak and knotty pine
that secrets the creek along the greenway,

should you slow your steps toward home
and stop atop the arched, wooden walking bridge
to gaze downstream to where the world began,

look for the last crimson petals of daylight
falling on the bridge's weathered, craggy railing.
There, carved with a pen knife, is your Valentine.

Run your finger across the engraved, measured notes
of the courtship song of the world's first nightingales
and you'll muse on mornings of nutmeg and cinnamon.

Trace the heart clef etched beside the courtly measures
and you'll find yourself face to face with a man. 
Handsome or not - his smile will stop the world.

He'll silence the chorus of spring peepers in the creek bed
and conduct a passing nighthawk as she rests her wings
in their rythmic beat and glides into

the dusk and before your heart beats twice, he'll taste
your lips with his.  Turn and make your steps
toward home and return him to the nightingales,

or take his hand in yours down the winding  steps that lead
to the darkling space beneath the bridge where he has gathered
the waters of the creek into a deep, shimmering, mysterious pool.

Dedicated to Elizabeth
Copyright © 2004-2009 by the authors

A Giant Leaf Frog

After dusk, untangle the silver threads of moonlight
embrangled in the patch of silvered birch trees
that lies astride our secret and enchanted lake.

Walk along the water's edge and find the stump of truth
half hidden by the sparkleberry bushes. 
Step quietly! And stoop  to listen for your Valentine.

You must be brave!  All fair creatures someday wrinkle
as they must;  but the ever warty, green complexion
of this leaf like creature is a cursed charm.

Close your charming eyes!  The creature's
stubby horns might blind you to the truth.  Nothing
but your heart can lead you to a royal  Valentine.

Feel for its four spikey feet and coax it toward
the warm, pink chalice  of your outstretched hands.
Weave your insurgent charm into a gentle kiss

and uncharm your handsome prince
or withhold your lips and torment him ever after
as you wish.

Dedicated to the magical Karen - a friend forever
Copyright © 2004-2009 by the authors

Eternal Valentines

As you climb step by step up
the gray, black speckled, granite stairs,
let your left hand brush along
the polished, brass rail that leads upward.
When you reach the broad, double glass doors, turn
your thought from the growling and honks
of the street traffic bound forever south and open
the gift our grandparents, mine and yours, left for us.

Today, don't check out the calendar of events
posted near the check-out desk.  Leave for another day
the workings of philosophers, theologians and psychologists
stacked and ordered to the 5th decimal place.

Don't linger too long beside the cradle of fairy tales,
myths and legends where an eight year old,
red-headed girl, splashed with freckles,
sprawls across a gray cushion and reads.

Follow your heart to the well-planted rows
of eternal Valentines tended by the 
sexy librarian at the reference desk.

Run your fingers along the textured bindings of their stems
until you find the one marked with your name.  There,
for as long as our fine city cares for all its own,
the petals of  love, pressed between the pages of a book,
will wait.

Dedicated to Emma
Copyright © 2004-2009 by the authors