Wednesday, July 24, 2019

Marriage: An Epic Poem

I've been working on this for a while. This section is somewhere in the middle of the poem. I'll likely continue it indefinitely.

Today we celebrate
our being husband and
wife for fifteen years.
Every day I love you
till I'm more into
your aura. Our color
will soon be violet
I'm blue; you're red.

Passion told me
my life is ending
tomorrow. I told passion,
"I begin again." Lovin'
is easy. The cousin
of "hating" is at the opposite end
of the spectrum. Indifference
is the enemy. Hints
are clues on how to be
together. I can't see

without you. I've
told you that striving
for the sun can lead
to Icarus' feathers in the
sea, but if the sun

"could change to a
softer hue of blue,"

never mind, I've begun
to change myself for
you. You know, cutes,

the emperor penguin salutes
no one. The male protects
the egg all winter, protects
the answer to the equation
of love. We've had abrasions.

We've weathered waves
that've crashed brave
couples into the sea.
Mermaids may believe
saltwater can breathe
sailors to life or death;

I believe we'll see
each other in heaven's
lament. Rilke said heaven
has a greater heaven, created
by Orpheus' lamentations
for Eurydice. Execution

could not quiet Orpheus'
head from singing. With us,

nothing will stop my
poem. Nothing. Sigh
a little. Smell the magnolias.
I promise I will never leave ya.


Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Senses

This poem is by my mom, Dawne Erickson.

I know what invisible is
because I can no
longer see you. My fingers
feel as though they
are callused, when your
skin is separated
from my touch. A song?
What is a song,
when you’re not here to bring
the melody? Deafness
closes in on me,
because your laughter can’t be heard. Light?
Have I gone blind without
your smile to light
my way? No taste
or smell gifts me now,
without you, the umani
of my soul. All my senses
now collide. All my senses
now have died.


Saturday, July 13, 2019

Joe

There’s more than a few
people I know, but Jose
is the best. No way
can anyone compare to blue. 
I mean a “Kind of Blue.”

Time takes its toll
on others, but not my
friend. Every tear cried
with joy brings a bowl
of fruit. Let’s stroll. 

Near the end is where love
is. T. S. Eliot “arrived where
we started.” Your hair
is your flair. Look above. 
“All you need is love.”


Friday, July 12, 2019

Mr. Miracle

You write the truth more
than you know. Floors clean
themselves with dirty, lean
words. If those who adore

you, read your work aloud,
you’d be in their consciousness—
around the world. Blessedness
is a gift not given. I’m proud

to know you. Keep your
Texan privacy. Cheap are
words said in vain. Bar
talk goes down drains. Bore

no one. Heap love on
mercy needers. We all
need mercy. Above all,
a greater heart beats on.


Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Gary

Friends for life are hard
to come by. Birds, especially 
blue birds, have to gently
sing their songs. Shards

of hearts litter sidewalks.
I know a mate named Mark
who’d give crumbs, not hearts,
to these kind creatures. Talk

to me and you’ll see
that a poet can hear
what many others fear
to see—life can be

forgiving, even for kind
fellows. The best finish 
first, occasionally. Fish
and that’s what you’ll find.