I've been way too busy to post here for a while. We're in the process of moving to Canada (for my work) and, in parallel, I'm migrating my online presence to another more capable location - Apple's me.com pages.
I'm moving my blog for a number of reasons, on is because I didn't really have a blog, but rather used it more like a place to highlight my poems for Meegan. Second, I'm sick of all of the spam comments that blogger.com allows to ruin the blogging experience here.
Anyhow, enough of that - go here: http://web.me.com/meegansman/Stevens_Website/Welcome.html
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Gigging for Flounder When I Was Twelve
I'm posting this poem because I just realized that it wasn't here anymore. I posted it shortly after I wrote it, but I must have accidentally removed it back when I was having problems with the blog.
Although most of my poems now are centered around Meegan, I do write about other things on occasion. The occasion of this was my son's twelfth birthday. He's almost fifteen now, so I'm sure he's forgotten all about this.
Gigging for Flounder When I Was Twelve
- by Steven for Clayton
I went gigging on calm nights
off the beach in Mississippi
in late summer
when I was twelve
I had a lantern - the old Coleman type
that you can turn up ridiculously bright –
and a Styrofoam cooler tied to a little rope.
For my gig,
I had a stick
with two prongs on the end of it.
Sometimes I went alone,
But it’s best to have a buddy to pull you to shore
if something takes a little bite
or a sting-ray pops you
or the worst - the jellyfish.
I waded out barefoot.
Gig in one hand,
lantern and the rope towing the cooler in the other.
I shuffled along –
waist deep for a twelve year old.
I had to shuffle and not pick up my feet.
Because it’s hard to spot a sting-ray
and painful to step on one,
but if I pushed them up from below,
they just swam away.
I’d see the flounder –
sometimes just the eyes –
hiding
flat
on the sand.
I’d spear it with my gig,
wait until it settled down.
then pull it up and shake it into the cooler.
The best gigging was way out on the sand bars.
Most people wouldn’t go out there at night.
I’d stick the lantern,
and some matches,
into the cooler
and swim out to the sand bars.
I didn’t just gig flounder out there.
I conquered fear.
I marveled at the horribly beautiful
rainbow-colored malevolence
of a jellyfish floating by.
My skin became electric.
My eyes sharp as broken bottles.
My heart pumped hard enough to make the waves.
When I swam
away from the safety of the shallows to the sand bars,
a charge flowed through me
at the contrast
of the cool deep water around my legs
and the warm water at my neck.
Then, standing chest deep,
far from shore,
in the moonlight,
before the lantern was lit,
I could feel in my chest,
the pulse of the ocean in the waves.
I felt small and insignificant,
like driftwood.
I felt intangible,
like the billions of moonlight shimmers on the water.
I felt triumphant
and primitive
and humbled.
Then I'd light the lantern and start gigging.
Although most of my poems now are centered around Meegan, I do write about other things on occasion. The occasion of this was my son's twelfth birthday. He's almost fifteen now, so I'm sure he's forgotten all about this.
Gigging for Flounder When I Was Twelve
- by Steven for Clayton
I went gigging on calm nights
off the beach in Mississippi
in late summer
when I was twelve
I had a lantern - the old Coleman type
that you can turn up ridiculously bright –
and a Styrofoam cooler tied to a little rope.
For my gig,
I had a stick
with two prongs on the end of it.
Sometimes I went alone,
But it’s best to have a buddy to pull you to shore
if something takes a little bite
or a sting-ray pops you
or the worst - the jellyfish.
I waded out barefoot.
Gig in one hand,
lantern and the rope towing the cooler in the other.
I shuffled along –
waist deep for a twelve year old.
I had to shuffle and not pick up my feet.
Because it’s hard to spot a sting-ray
and painful to step on one,
but if I pushed them up from below,
they just swam away.
I’d see the flounder –
sometimes just the eyes –
hiding
flat
on the sand.
I’d spear it with my gig,
wait until it settled down.
then pull it up and shake it into the cooler.
The best gigging was way out on the sand bars.
Most people wouldn’t go out there at night.
I’d stick the lantern,
and some matches,
into the cooler
and swim out to the sand bars.
I didn’t just gig flounder out there.
I conquered fear.
I marveled at the horribly beautiful
rainbow-colored malevolence
of a jellyfish floating by.
My skin became electric.
My eyes sharp as broken bottles.
My heart pumped hard enough to make the waves.
When I swam
away from the safety of the shallows to the sand bars,
a charge flowed through me
at the contrast
of the cool deep water around my legs
and the warm water at my neck.
Then, standing chest deep,
far from shore,
in the moonlight,
before the lantern was lit,
I could feel in my chest,
the pulse of the ocean in the waves.
I felt small and insignificant,
like driftwood.
I felt intangible,
like the billions of moonlight shimmers on the water.
I felt triumphant
and primitive
and humbled.
Then I'd light the lantern and start gigging.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Cap De Creus
Meegan and I didn't get to take our Cancun vacation. At the last minute, I had to travel to Germany for work. So instead, Meegan went with me and we took a week of vacation in Spain. We flew to Barcelona and drove down to Sitges then up along the Spanish coast to the Costa Brava region until we reached Cadeques. One morning while we were in Cadeques, we woke up early to drive out to the Cap De Crues (Cape of Crosses) to see the sunrise. Cap De Creus is the eastern most point on mainland Spain and marks the end of the Pyrenees mountains. Rising above the sea cliffs is an old lighthouse. This lighthouse was the filming location for a 1971 movie called "The Light at the Edge of the World". I liked the sound of that, so I took a little artistic license and tweaked it a little and made this poem for Meegan.
We'll be back in Cancun soon, baby. I promise!
You are the love of my life! (And you know I can't wait too long to see you laying on the beach :-)
Cap De Creus
- by Steven for Meegan
I was there with you -
as unbelievable as
the living shape of you
from the water of life
and the ashes of stars -
yet,
I was there with you
We walked.
The silk wind
fluttered over our skin
Your dress a happy sail
My heart a stowaway to Shangri La
At the dizzy speed of laughter,
we walked.
I saw
the light at the end of the world,
the jagged edge of the old continent,
a coral sunrise in your eyes.
In a land with no trees,
I found a tree to climb.
From the edge of the sea cliff,
I gazed up at you
and I saw
the light at the end of my world.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Father's Day
Despite the name, this was not written for Father's Day. I just liked that name for it.
Father's Day
- by Steven for Meegan
I figured out everything about driving
while riding in the front seat with my father
while trees and side streets slid by
I watched his weathered hands
on the wheel
and the shifter
I saw the sacred rituals that made the metal monster go
His right thumb pushed the shiny cigarette lighter in
then back to the steering wheel
left hand twirled the window down
then back to the wheel again
right hand to the lighter - just as it popped out
curved hand cupped the lighter to his face
then clicked it back into place
right hand grasped the wheel
left arm raised to rest on the window seal
Then he would squint at me through the smoke
to see if I had all of that figured out
I figured out more than just how to drive
I figured out that most people are idiots
and my dad could make a car go faster than anyone else
I figured out that adventure was out there waiting
on the curvy backroads
where the trees covered the road
and out on the crunchy gravel roads
where we would stop and wade into the cold water
and look for buried treasure
and stick smooth stones that must be as old as the world into our pockets
then get back into the car
and rumble off
just before the Indians could sneak up on us
I don't know what my father thought of me
when I was a goofy kid
asking too many questions
What does this button do?
What does that light mean?
Are we gonna see Indians today?
Can I build a raft when we get to the big river?
I don't know what he would think of me now
He was gone long before I started to really figure things out
Sometimes, the little boy inside me hopes,
that on some Father's Day,
he'll come driving down our little backroad
and pull his midnight blue Ranchero into our driveway
snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray
step out
and squint at me through the last of his smoke
to see if I figured it all out
I would shake his hand
and bring him inside to meet you
And when you met him
and smiled
and gave him a kiss on his cheek,
he'd smile
and he would know
that I finally did figure it all out
Father's Day
- by Steven for Meegan
I figured out everything about driving
while riding in the front seat with my father
while trees and side streets slid by
I watched his weathered hands
on the wheel
and the shifter
I saw the sacred rituals that made the metal monster go
His right thumb pushed the shiny cigarette lighter in
then back to the steering wheel
left hand twirled the window down
then back to the wheel again
right hand to the lighter - just as it popped out
curved hand cupped the lighter to his face
then clicked it back into place
right hand grasped the wheel
left arm raised to rest on the window seal
Then he would squint at me through the smoke
to see if I had all of that figured out
I figured out more than just how to drive
I figured out that most people are idiots
and my dad could make a car go faster than anyone else
I figured out that adventure was out there waiting
on the curvy backroads
where the trees covered the road
and out on the crunchy gravel roads
where we would stop and wade into the cold water
and look for buried treasure
and stick smooth stones that must be as old as the world into our pockets
then get back into the car
and rumble off
just before the Indians could sneak up on us
I don't know what my father thought of me
when I was a goofy kid
asking too many questions
What does this button do?
What does that light mean?
Are we gonna see Indians today?
Can I build a raft when we get to the big river?
I don't know what he would think of me now
He was gone long before I started to really figure things out
Sometimes, the little boy inside me hopes,
that on some Father's Day,
he'll come driving down our little backroad
and pull his midnight blue Ranchero into our driveway
snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray
step out
and squint at me through the last of his smoke
to see if I figured it all out
I would shake his hand
and bring him inside to meet you
And when you met him
and smiled
and gave him a kiss on his cheek,
he'd smile
and he would know
that I finally did figure it all out
Only You
It's been too long since I posted. I've just too busy with life. No good excuses really, just poor prioritization. Anyhow, here's another poem I wrote for Meegan. I love you, baby!
Only You
- by Steven for Meegan
Only you know
that if my soul has blades, they are blue.
Sharp blades -
turned blue by the heat of lust,
quenched for strength in the cold blue water of sadness,
polished by the soft blue horizon of dreams,
- cut to the surface
and emerge in my eyes.
Only you can see
the glowing edge of a long-silent soul
shining like a beacon
to guide you close to my whispered love.
Only you can speak to me
with the touch of fingertips
and lips
and skin
Only you know
the tease that makes me giggle
and the one that makes me growl
Only you can know
what mysteries,
what wonders,
what adventures,
what joys,
these eyes will see
before the ever-marching darkness dulls the blades
and drains the blue hope from these eyes.
Only you.
Only You
- by Steven for Meegan
Only you know
that if my soul has blades, they are blue.
Sharp blades -
turned blue by the heat of lust,
quenched for strength in the cold blue water of sadness,
polished by the soft blue horizon of dreams,
- cut to the surface
and emerge in my eyes.
Only you can see
the glowing edge of a long-silent soul
shining like a beacon
to guide you close to my whispered love.
Only you can speak to me
with the touch of fingertips
and lips
and skin
Only you know
the tease that makes me giggle
and the one that makes me growl
Only you can know
what mysteries,
what wonders,
what adventures,
what joys,
these eyes will see
before the ever-marching darkness dulls the blades
and drains the blue hope from these eyes.
Only you.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Natural Beauty
by Steven for Meegan
Sunrises pass by
as glimpses through car windows
Sunsets exchanged for streetlights
Misty morning trails unwalked
A world of trees waves
without a friendly wave back
A universe of stars spins by
without notice
without music
without applause for an encore.
Red columns of ancient sand
stand nameless,
stained by the bloody rust of eons
defying armies of wind and rain –
stone Spartans
against Persian Time.
Here is a great mystery –
why do I see this beauty?
And a lesser mystery –
why do I turn away from it?
When her smile
or the curve of her neck
is all I long to see,
when her touch
is all I long to feel,
why do I go away from her?
Because beautiful nature bites,
chews on flesh
and gnaws on bone
Hear Her cold claws scrape the door?
Feel Her frozen breath around the seal?
Stones must be stacked against the wind
Cover pitched against the rain
Wood must be made to burn
or money
Yet even as the storm approaches,
we marvel at Her beauty
Sublime and terrible
Lightning and thunder
Our awe is our most archaic worship
Her beauty
is our recognition of our ambivalent Mother,
Creator, Destroyer
The marrow of our bones hums
an ancient song of the sun rising and setting
The moon pulls our blood out to sea
Generations rise and fall like
waves in the ocean
In our hearts we know
we are just the same
and nothing more than waves
We are born of the deep blue
turned red by the gasped breath
a whispered verse
in a song She writes
another verse follows
and another
and another
in a song with no beginning or end
(© 2008 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Sunrises pass by
as glimpses through car windows
Sunsets exchanged for streetlights
Misty morning trails unwalked
A world of trees waves
without a friendly wave back
A universe of stars spins by
without notice
without music
without applause for an encore.
Red columns of ancient sand
stand nameless,
stained by the bloody rust of eons
defying armies of wind and rain –
stone Spartans
against Persian Time.
Here is a great mystery –
why do I see this beauty?
And a lesser mystery –
why do I turn away from it?
When her smile
or the curve of her neck
is all I long to see,
when her touch
is all I long to feel,
why do I go away from her?
Because beautiful nature bites,
chews on flesh
and gnaws on bone
Hear Her cold claws scrape the door?
Feel Her frozen breath around the seal?
Stones must be stacked against the wind
Cover pitched against the rain
Wood must be made to burn
or money
Yet even as the storm approaches,
we marvel at Her beauty
Sublime and terrible
Lightning and thunder
Our awe is our most archaic worship
Her beauty
is our recognition of our ambivalent Mother,
Creator, Destroyer
The marrow of our bones hums
an ancient song of the sun rising and setting
The moon pulls our blood out to sea
Generations rise and fall like
waves in the ocean
In our hearts we know
we are just the same
and nothing more than waves
We are born of the deep blue
turned red by the gasped breath
a whispered verse
in a song She writes
another verse follows
and another
and another
in a song with no beginning or end
(© 2008 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
This Woman
by Steven for Meegan
By the faintest magic,
you found me
there in the corner by the window
Outside, the cold December wind
whispered around hard corners
to lonely hearts,
go home
Inside, I almost didn’t wait,
but did
a little longer
tied down with the merest tendril of hope
Then suddenly, at last
you were there
this woman
this walking smile
this summer sun
In that moment, I wondered
if I could fly in your blue sky
or if I dreamed too high
and, like Icarus
I would fall away from you
into liquid blue
loneliness
Two years later, now I see
I never dreamed high enough
The deep blue sea, a forgotten friend
fades away below me
and I soar
my wings stretched out into the vastness of everything
in your blue sky smile
(© 2008 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
By the faintest magic,
you found me
there in the corner by the window
Outside, the cold December wind
whispered around hard corners
to lonely hearts,
go home
Inside, I almost didn’t wait,
but did
a little longer
tied down with the merest tendril of hope
Then suddenly, at last
you were there
this woman
this walking smile
this summer sun
In that moment, I wondered
if I could fly in your blue sky
or if I dreamed too high
and, like Icarus
I would fall away from you
into liquid blue
loneliness
Two years later, now I see
I never dreamed high enough
The deep blue sea, a forgotten friend
fades away below me
and I soar
my wings stretched out into the vastness of everything
in your blue sky smile
(© 2008 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Am I Your Water?
Water is a blind and reckless,
beautiful and restless traveler.
Am I your water?
If I evaporate into the sky,
if I land far away,
if I trickle through the tall grass
and tumble over stones,
if I carve valleys out of mountains
to return to you,
will you drink me in?
Will you pour me over your skin?
Will you melt whatever's frozen
and launch me to the sky again?
beautiful and restless traveler.
Am I your water?
If I evaporate into the sky,
if I land far away,
if I trickle through the tall grass
and tumble over stones,
if I carve valleys out of mountains
to return to you,
will you drink me in?
Will you pour me over your skin?
Will you melt whatever's frozen
and launch me to the sky again?
Trees Have Crazy Arms
Trees have crazy arms -
Some bent, some broken,
patiently resilient,
desperately persistent,
maniacally, haphazardly hopeful.
If I had crazy arms like the trees,
would you be my sun,
so that my fingers can always
reach for you?
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Valentine's Day Poem
What would Valentine's Day be without love-struck goofballs like me writing corny poems for their Valentines? Probably just a day to make chocolatiers, florists, and card-makers rich. Here's my strike against the commercialization of everything sacred!
No, really, it's just my corny little poem from my Valentine, Meegan. I proposed to her last Valentine's Day. So there was no way I could top that.
I love you, baby!
Forever My Valentine
What filled this year -
this arrow stretched between two Valentine's Days?
What treasures to share -
memories only we can know?
Joy
and more joy.
Days that close with smile-aches
and tummies tired from laughter.
Love
and more love.
Kisses so tender the earth quakes
and trembles with the sighs that come after.
Through your ears I whispered
my love to your soul.
Through your eyes you answered
you love to mine.
Promise me, my love
that you are forever my Valentine.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
No, really, it's just my corny little poem from my Valentine, Meegan. I proposed to her last Valentine's Day. So there was no way I could top that.
I love you, baby!
Forever My Valentine
What filled this year -
this arrow stretched between two Valentine's Days?
What treasures to share -
memories only we can know?
Joy
and more joy.
Days that close with smile-aches
and tummies tired from laughter.
Love
and more love.
Kisses so tender the earth quakes
and trembles with the sighs that come after.
Through your ears I whispered
my love to your soul.
Through your eyes you answered
you love to mine.
Promise me, my love
that you are forever my Valentine.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Shipwrecked
I wrote this poem for Meegan during our second honeymoon. We loved Cancun so much that we returned just three months after our honeymoon. We can't wait to go back. I am tempted to blather on about how much more in love with Meegan every day, but that's what the poems are for. So, for my true love, here is a little poem.
Shipwrecked
She blossoms in sunlight
vibrant
her toes curled into the sand
her hair swaying in the ocean breeze.
My hands caress her dunes.
My eyes inhale her landscape -
wet with sweat and shimmering
like a sensual, golden El Dorado.
An artist
with the wind for hands
and waves for fingers
sculpted her curves into a beach
upon which my shipwrecked heart has crashed.
I smile as my burning ship
floats past the horizon.
I toss the torch into the waves
and turn to watch her
blossom in the sunlight.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Shipwrecked
She blossoms in sunlight
vibrant
her toes curled into the sand
her hair swaying in the ocean breeze.
My hands caress her dunes.
My eyes inhale her landscape -
wet with sweat and shimmering
like a sensual, golden El Dorado.
An artist
with the wind for hands
and waves for fingers
sculpted her curves into a beach
upon which my shipwrecked heart has crashed.
I smile as my burning ship
floats past the horizon.
I toss the torch into the waves
and turn to watch her
blossom in the sunlight.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Sunday, October 21, 2007
My Wedding Poem for Meegan
We're married!
We had a fantastic wedding and reception on Oct. 13th! We're humbled and thankful for all of our family and friends that came to celebrate with us.
We just returned yesterday (10/20) from our honeymoon on the Mayan Riviera in Mexico. It was absolutely the best honeymoon imaginable - all because of Meegan. She is truly unbelievable. I am so proud to be her husband. She is the most beautiful, intelligent, funny, touching, sweet, exciting, and sexy woman on Earth - and she's my wife!
In keeping with the complete transformation of this blog into the official Poems for Meegan Blog, I'm posting the latest poem I've written for her.
I wrote this as a wedding gift for Meegan, but it will never be a finished poem.
Love is an infinite mystery.
My life with Meegan is an endless adventure.
I will always find more of her to know and love.
I Didn’t Know
I had no doubt,
when I first saw you,
given the chance,
I would love you.
I knew
I would love your body,
your skin,
your hair . . . your hair.
I didn’t know
I’d love to hear your sleepy, southern voice
stretch your a’s into sexy curves
and rub smooth your r’s.
I didn’t know
I’d love the taste
of coffee and cream
in your Saturday morning kiss.
I didn’t know
I’d love the little girl
who giggles, “Kitty cat!”
when she spots one nearby.
I didn’t know
I’d love the feeling
of falling backwards into the sky
when I see you smile.
I didn’t know
I would get dizzy watching you
while I walk toward you
and dizzier still when you walk toward me.
I didn’t know,
before your touch,
that my soul was spread out thin
and inhabited my skin.
I didn’t know,
before you,
that I could be this loved
or love this much.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Could You Find Me?
Posting this for Meegan. Final version, baby.
Could You Find Me?
Could you find me?
In the early morning
drifting between the pines
with the smell of loam and salt
and pine needles
crunched beneath my steps
Could you find me?
On a dusty barefoot trail
between pecan tree shadows
at the edge of a scorching Georgia cotton field
where mysteries shimmer, silver-blue on cotton leaves
and dragonflies
and the ghost of a dead snake
hover around me.
Listen for me.
I'm tripping along the train tracks,
curving through the darkness,
with a penny that my father gave me
warm and flattened
in my hand
in my pocket.
Look for me.
I'm floating in the gloaming
on the big muddy river
past the island
where my father's white stone
fades to gray.
Do you see me out there?
I'm rustling through the saw-blade corn leaves,
covered in pollen and smelling like
grass and honey.
I might have been difficult to see
quiet in German forests
covered in green and brown like all the others
You may not have noticed me
a speck of sand
in an African desert
my boots worn
and white with salt
Could you find me out there
like you found me
in my blue shirt
in the coffee shop?
It seemed so easy,
but I had to travel so long
so far
so alone
to get to where
you found me.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Could You Find Me?
Could you find me?
In the early morning
drifting between the pines
with the smell of loam and salt
and pine needles
crunched beneath my steps
Could you find me?
On a dusty barefoot trail
between pecan tree shadows
at the edge of a scorching Georgia cotton field
where mysteries shimmer, silver-blue on cotton leaves
and dragonflies
and the ghost of a dead snake
hover around me.
Listen for me.
I'm tripping along the train tracks,
curving through the darkness,
with a penny that my father gave me
warm and flattened
in my hand
in my pocket.
Look for me.
I'm floating in the gloaming
on the big muddy river
past the island
where my father's white stone
fades to gray.
Do you see me out there?
I'm rustling through the saw-blade corn leaves,
covered in pollen and smelling like
grass and honey.
I might have been difficult to see
quiet in German forests
covered in green and brown like all the others
You may not have noticed me
a speck of sand
in an African desert
my boots worn
and white with salt
Could you find me out there
like you found me
in my blue shirt
in the coffee shop?
It seemed so easy,
but I had to travel so long
so far
so alone
to get to where
you found me.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Blue
You guessed it. Another poem for Meegan. Written to cover her coffee on June 27th.
All of the poems I write for Meegan are connected to conversations we've had and have references in them that only she will recognize. Sometimes they refer back to earlier poems. This one has both, including a reference to the first poem I wrote for her, "Heart-Shaped Parachute".
For any of my friends that read this, we have a wedding date set! Finally. October 13th. I know it's not cool and all to be a single guy looking forward to getting married, but I truly am looking forward to it. I love her more everyday. On October 13th, I just get to tell everyone about that. Well, everyone that's there that hasn't already read it here.
This was inspired by a theme from a Lucinda Williams song by the same name. No resemblance to her sublime work of art, however. On to the poem . . .
Blue
You are blue
not sad
but sometimes that
No, you are the blue
of morning twilight
and new horizons
enchanting, exciting
hopeful and mysterious
I am still falling
into your blue sky smile
so full of hope
stretched out by more love
than a man can fathom
You are my blue
infinite, oceanic
yet as delicate as the blue in shadows
and raindrops
You are my blue
and I am yours
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
All of the poems I write for Meegan are connected to conversations we've had and have references in them that only she will recognize. Sometimes they refer back to earlier poems. This one has both, including a reference to the first poem I wrote for her, "Heart-Shaped Parachute".
For any of my friends that read this, we have a wedding date set! Finally. October 13th. I know it's not cool and all to be a single guy looking forward to getting married, but I truly am looking forward to it. I love her more everyday. On October 13th, I just get to tell everyone about that. Well, everyone that's there that hasn't already read it here.
This was inspired by a theme from a Lucinda Williams song by the same name. No resemblance to her sublime work of art, however. On to the poem . . .
Blue
You are blue
not sad
but sometimes that
No, you are the blue
of morning twilight
and new horizons
enchanting, exciting
hopeful and mysterious
I am still falling
into your blue sky smile
so full of hope
stretched out by more love
than a man can fathom
You are my blue
infinite, oceanic
yet as delicate as the blue in shadows
and raindrops
You are my blue
and I am yours
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Everything
Another poem for Meegan - written to cover her coffee in the morning on June 4th. Meegan likes these posted here. I'm a little hesitant about posting them because these morning notes don't get polished up, but she enjoys them. Maybe someone else will also. Although, as I'm sure anyone can understand, that's not important.
Everything
I watched you sleep
your hands
clutching the blanket beneath your chin
your cat-eyes closed
your face relaxed
beautiful
You
so small there
in our bed
in our room
at the edge of the forest
on this spinning blue marble
in the vastness of nothing
You
impossible that you are mine
I cannot contain you
You grin and stretch
like a cat
out into the universe
your warmth beats back the cold
your smile brings the dawn
your touch churns the oceans
your whisper stirs the winds
here you are
the vastness of everything
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Everything
I watched you sleep
your hands
clutching the blanket beneath your chin
your cat-eyes closed
your face relaxed
beautiful
You
so small there
in our bed
in our room
at the edge of the forest
on this spinning blue marble
in the vastness of nothing
You
impossible that you are mine
I cannot contain you
You grin and stretch
like a cat
out into the universe
your warmth beats back the cold
your smile brings the dawn
your touch churns the oceans
your whisper stirs the winds
here you are
the vastness of everything
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Yesterday
Ok, so my blog has turned into the "Poems about Meegan blog". Sorry, but Meegan likes it that way.
Anyhow, I have a morning routine that I follow most mornings. Before I leave for work, I grind some premium coffee beans and leave them in a filter and cone on a coffee cup on Meegan's dresser. Then, to make sure nothing floats into that fine preparation (she has a beautiful, but sheddy cat), I place a piece of notepaper over the filter. On the paper, I leave a little note. Yeah, sappy stuff. It's ridiculous and embarrassing how sappy I've gotten. I'll write the blog about how to synchronize your motorcycle's carburetors some other time.
So, here's a poem that I wrote on one of those notes. Meegan wanted it posted. Thus, it is so.
Yesterday
Yesterday, I held
my woman in my arms
and she was there
in skin
in warmth
in muscles pulling tight
and relaxing
in softness
in soul
and mind
and heart
and every fine moment
I have ever known
summed together
could not equal
yesterday, I held
the love of my life
in my arms
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Anyhow, I have a morning routine that I follow most mornings. Before I leave for work, I grind some premium coffee beans and leave them in a filter and cone on a coffee cup on Meegan's dresser. Then, to make sure nothing floats into that fine preparation (she has a beautiful, but sheddy cat), I place a piece of notepaper over the filter. On the paper, I leave a little note. Yeah, sappy stuff. It's ridiculous and embarrassing how sappy I've gotten. I'll write the blog about how to synchronize your motorcycle's carburetors some other time.
So, here's a poem that I wrote on one of those notes. Meegan wanted it posted. Thus, it is so.
Yesterday
Yesterday, I held
my woman in my arms
and she was there
in skin
in warmth
in muscles pulling tight
and relaxing
in softness
in soul
and mind
and heart
and every fine moment
I have ever known
summed together
could not equal
yesterday, I held
the love of my life
in my arms
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Thursday, February 15, 2007
She said, "Yes!"
For my friends that have been keeping up-to-date on my blog, I asked Meegan to marry me and she said "Yes!" So, I am now the happiest man in the world engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world - inside and out. She's the love of my life.
Here's the poem I wrote for her for Valentine's Day.
In the Moment
In the moment our arms embrace
In the moment your nakedness covers mine
In the moment your hands cup my face
In the moment our legs entwine
I am still
and quiet
like in the forest
when the trees are whispering
You breathe
rhythmically
you become
the waves
the tides
the day and night
the seasons
life and death
In the moment my love surrenders,
your love captures me
In the moment my love aches,
your love destroys me
In the moment my love breathes,
your love resurrects me
In the moment my love
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Heart-Shaped Parachute
I am posting a poem. I never intended to put anything like this up here when I started my blog, but I've recently been inspired.
I've always considered myself the luckiest man in the world. I've lived an adventurous or fool-hardy life, depending on perspective. I am now convinced that all of my adventures, all of my risk-taking, was to prepare me, to give me the courage, to jump into my life's greatest adventure - my life with Meegan.
If you read this post in the next few days, whisper a wish of good luck for me. I will be asking her to marry me.
Heart-Shaped Parachute
Even the bravest men
rush toward the door and hope
that the momentum of the line
carries them past their fear
and shame of fear.
Then, before it can be real
I am out
into the dizzy, noisy, weightless waiting
for the very hand of fate
to yank me upward.
Just the same,
carried by the momentum of the kiss,
the touch,
the deep impetus of things said with lips,
but without words,
I pushed past my fear
into your blue sky smile
falling toward the warm earth and amber sunlight
of your eyes.
In the dizzy, noisy, weightless waiting,
I asked you,
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything”, you replied.
I wanted to ask,
but lacked the courage to ask
or maybe, to know,
“Will you take it from me
or share it with me?”
The trust I have placed in a parachute
is so small
compared to the trust I must have
in your heart.
(© 2007 SPH. All Rights Reserved.)
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Good Motorcycle Roads in West Tennessee - updated 8/8/07
In Tennessee, we’re blessed that our state superbly maintains its smaller state highways and backroads. You really have to get onto a small county road in Tennessee to find a marginally maintained road. Although the state seems to be working inexorably to straighten every one of them, some of the winding backroads that give Tennessee its character still remain. In east Tennessee, some of those roads have gained much deserved fame – 129 (Deal’s Gap), the Blue Ridge Parkway, or the Cherohola Skyway. West Tennessee can’t claim roads with the drama or the vistas of those roads. However, if you’re a restless bike rider with a soft spot for curved asphalt, West Tennessee has some roads you should get to know.
I want to share some of the wonderful roads I’ve found and ridden frequently in West Tennessee. They’ll be identified by their state highway number and, sometimes, a nearby town. You’ll still need a good map to find some of them. I’ve tried to provide some simple potential hazards to look out for. I sometimes start with a chauvinistic description that compares them to a fictitious female stereotype. That’s intended in good humor and to impart a sense of the personality I think the road has. If you don’t like such devices, just skip the first sentence and don’t throw a fit.
I have 3 preachy things first:
- I don’t encourage you to exceed any posted speed limits. Any comments about speed limits or traffic cops are simply my opinions for me and my riding habits. Don’t ride like me. I have a defective sense of mortality. If you do speed and you get caught, stop and face the music. The police officers are just doing their job and don’t deserve to die trying to catch you before you kill yourself or someone else. (If you caught the reference about me running from a sheriff in another post, then just so I don't sound hypocritical, I didn't know he was a sheriff.) You know you’re breaking the law, so once caught, pay your fun tax and call it even. If you’re really stupid like me, go to the race track. It’s more fun and much, much safer. Last, I mean no disrespect to any policemen. I’ve ridden with many of them, and to a man, they’re good guys and highly recommended riding partners.
- Treat the locals with respect. If you piss them off, they’ll call the local sheriff or the highway patrol and you’ll have ruined a good thing for yourself and everyone else. That’s not just with respect to your riding behavior. If you like loud pipes (and what rider doesn’t?), then keep in them in mind whenever you’re close to homes. You and I might want a home beside a race track, but, believe it or not, most people don’t.
- If you ride, wear the best gear you can get - helmet, gloves, riding suit (leather is best), boots, back protector, etc. I'm alive today because Arai makes the best helmet you can put your head inside. I can still walk because a plated back protector can provide just the margin you need to beat the harsh realities of Newtonian physics. I still have all my skin because Vanson Leathers puts stitches to the most beautiful and tough cow skin you can wrap around your tender epidermis. If you don't have the money or the sense to wear some gear, get a go-cart and stay in your driveway.
128 (Savannah-Clifton-Linden)
A bombshell that starts off mild, but will bite you when she finally gets you alone.
Old 128 is left just past a Shell station if you're headed east through Savannah. The new name is Clifton Road (actually, this has changed, but I didn't catch the new name). Go north out of Savannah on old 128. It begins as a very nice smooth road full of good sweepers and pretty scenery. The speed limit is a completely ludicrous 45 mph. The fact that this is no longer a state highway is a blessing - little traffic, no cops.
You'll eventually intersect the new and boring 128 less than 10 miles from Clifton. New 128 is an unimaginative, flat road that starts east of Savannah. (I don't know the exact mileage). Slow down in Clifton - you will almost always see a cop trolling for revenue.
128 north from Clifton is much better than the section to the south. A perfect repaving job on the northern half of the north section makes this a road for serious grins. Light traffic, fantastic curves – it’s a delight. Just as a side note, it's also a road for serious hurt if you get carried away. Watch for gravel where small side roads intersect 128. Some lead to gravel pits nearby and that is a bad thing. I was painfully reminded of that hazard when I low-sided my CBR954RR into a tree at about 70 mph. A particularly good loop is the triangle formed by 128-13-228.
There are a few good side roads off of 128 that you’ll see along the way. Explore them, but carefully, they’re smaller and less well maintained and that’s where the houses are located. T-boning a minivan leaving a driveway will screw up your riding plans for the day.
228 (Clifton)
Girl-next-door sister to 128.
Just on the north end of Clifton, turn right at the sign. The pavement is good, but watch out for a few broken patches. I've not noticed any problems in critical areas. Blind turns abound. One right-hander in particular will sucker you when headed back toward Clifton. Because the trees practically cover the road, fallen leaves can be a problem in late summer and fall.
13 between 228 and 128 (Bisects TN)
Homecoming queen with lots of big protective brothers. She’s fun if you can get her alone.
At the end of 228 turn left on 13 and hang on. It starts out calmly but has some curves built for lean angles. For the next few miles, it's sweet, particularly the section between 48 and 128. Highway patrol is frequently spotted on this road, especially in this section. 13 is a generally good road for laid-back touring from 64, north all the way past I-40. You'll see flocks of Harley's and Goldwings on 13.
48 and 230 (South of I-40, north of Centerville)
Very naughty, very sexy, very dangerous roommates.
I almost left these two off the list. They’re too good and too close to I-40. If you ride one, you ride the other. They’re joined at their sexy hips. Just be careful or you’ll be sorry. 48 is the sick one. Probably because of their proximity to I-40, I have seen the occasional trooper on them. Update: 48's bridges are under construction as of the end of July.
104 (Lexington to Milan or Lexington to Reagan)
A wild girl turned mom, sweet curves, but not racy anymore.
Way too popular with local bikers on the weekend - citations are common. It’s best on a weekday when traffic is light. Was once great, but now too many houses along the road with the expected gravel and slow car traffic. A county sheriff lives on the road. What a shame. Take it easy.
438 (North of Linden - east from 13)
Farmer’s daughter. Cleans up real nice.
Fun, but can be unexpectedly hazardous. Apparently, Mennonites live in the valley. Beware of horse crap on the road. There is actually enough to be a hazard. This is turn-around-and-do-it-again road when conditions are good. Little sections with great side-to-side transitions are very entertaining.
232 (South of Land Between the Lakes)
The nymphomaniac gymnast gone bad.
South off 79E from Paris Landing, it was an absolute giggle-fest of a road. However, now it's not. A couple of marina's were built out on some side roads and now the traffic on the road is too heavy - both in terms of congestion and weight. The pavement is in poor condition. Several areas where shadows hide broken spots and pot-holes are truly dangerous. Gravel from cross road used to be non-existent, now it's plentiful. Watch out for pickup trucks towing boats on the wrong side of the road. Usually several bikes will be there on the weekend, but it’s not crowded. Saw a sheriff there the last time I was there, but he was talking to the riders and not acting like a tax collector - that's an increasingly rare thing now.
That’s it for now. If you know of others, please comment below. Once I ride them and find them worthy, I’ll add them.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Just sharing some of the beauty I've found
I've been too busy to add to my blog recently - buying & moving into a new home, work, travel, dad, chauffer and that pesky, unproductive sleeping habit I keep trying to break. However, in the midst of all that, I met two artists, both specializing in visual arts, that I wanted to share with anyone that stumbles across my blog. It's just a part of the sweet, serendipitous mystery of life that I crossed paths with them.
Links to their websites:
Kathy
Luis
My profound thanks to both of them for the beauty they find in and the beauty they add to the world . . .
Links to their websites:
Kathy
Luis
My profound thanks to both of them for the beauty they find in and the beauty they add to the world . . .
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