gentle love song lyrics for the last evening

I love you still
I always will
You mean a lot 

Sandra

I love you still
I always will

Sandra

new moon crescent

That little moon is there, 
a barely opened eye,
like a child pretending to sleep
while watching me.

In the first waxing days,
I listen for the theme.
I want to hear the thesis of the month. 

this one so far is
"Tend to what needs tending,
and then continue with the plan."

Venus hangs above brightly,
a beauty, the first beauty, 
She is our first kiss. 

I am feeling determined, 
the grit given to those
locked into their fate
like an arrow flying from the bow. 

 

Poem a Day

Poem a day

Yesterday afternoon

I cried, feeling you wane,

Because I really needed you this month

I really needed you this year

and you were there for me!

Yesterday there was a thin cloth of pain in my chest 

So I cried it alive

Until I was crying in a pained wonder

For our maintained space

Like a secret garden

Of shared feelings

Lost each year 

And found again

Like clockwork 

Like literally as the hand goes from 1 to 2

Poems flow

Like the tree down the street 

that blooms pink blossoms 

once a year in April

Out of nowhere I poured myself into a shared space

With no realization it would continue

Until it continued and continued 

And waited for me to stand back 

in awe and in pain

From My Living Room Window

after Denise Levertov

Olive paint of a neighboring bungalow,

white paint of the windowpanes,

sunning their bones as they frame foggy

rectangular panels of glass,

the top two reflecting,

the bottom two opaque. 

                                        Always a window

gazed through toward, gives

a reassurance of other, re-

defining solitude: our great isolation

not so fated, though sounded and sounded

by our thoughts —

    

Country song

Pain branching out from my lap
   as I sit
     and drink tea.

A thunderstorm is wracking 

 the bowl

  of my belly

like a tornado whipping apart the midwest.

Travel  

  further   

     South

        for a clime

of snowy cold 

white 

feet. 

All clear, calm, and arid in the chest, 

and my head, the West Coast,

mild and mediterranean. 

A whole country of weather. 

A whole corpus of discomfort.

Beautiful bells tingle

outside my window. 

They are rolling over the sound 

of clothes turning in the washing machine, 

and over the traffic, 

which streaks like a white smear of paint 

across my consciousness 

as it has my entire life as an Angeleno. 

A child raised beside the freeway

that reminds her of the ocean. 

She is happily

listening into the bad seashell

for the truth, and hearing it. 

I can't live here anymore, it seems,

But that doesn't matter.
I have no choice,

as much as that isn't true. 

I'm so crushed I can't raise myself up

to be reasonable anymore. 

This is when the angels typically step in,

and maybe they will. 

But they have to believe me, 

and they know me better 

than I've ever known anyone.

Would it be fun to go back to doubt?

To cry in a dark room of life

helplessly and hopelessly

believing in nothing but the dark?

The awareness of the lightswitch makes it all seem silly.

Just flip on the light. 

It's a shame it's so binary.

Some have dimmers.

Oh well, whatever. I don't even know

what or who I'm talking to

anymore or why I write 

what I feel so passionately

I must write. It has something to do 

with recording the weather of my pain. 

That if I can get it down, 

then yes, it can be seen as a system

worthy of a report. 

That all I feel has an effect

and an impact on my body

and other bodies like the weather

does on Earth. 

Spiritual run-through

May I be a pure, uncut, simple chunk.

May I speak luck.

May I be a sheer brick of love

hurled through a window made of love.

Each shard plunges into the body of a fixed sign 

and melts into their flesh

and into their bloodstream

and may they throw their heads back 

and scream!

Serves you right. 

Hmm. Let me re-orient. 

May I create so much space within

That I cannot be complicated

Because I have injected 40 feet of space and time

into the minuscule spaces 

between the tangles 

of each knot!

Oh — and can you please 

Make my beams juicy and delicious

To all who get hit with them?

Want to breathe in the toxic air 

and release fresh energy 

into the atmosphere.

Like Christ did, yes? Did he breathe in shit,

and breathe out heaven?

I don't remember him doing that.

I must return to my wavelengths I have chosen. 

When all else fails I must return to my discipline. 

The reason for a rock-solid discipline

with foundations that resonate down to the bones

is because when all else fails

you can return to it and hang on tight.

Yea — so I recall — I upraise you discipline —

I raise you up!

I rear you Love!

LOVE,  so you said you were. 

So you claimed to be! 

I connect with you, Love, 

              yes,

    I'll flow into you, and you flow into me,

let's rock the water back and forth

      until everything gets back into equilibrium

and all the sediment settles.

Yes, let us do that. 

I'll take a deep breath now

and get back to my to-do list. 

Thanks. 

Some days

Some days I feel like a tired old dog,

Turn my head toward wherever my name gets called,

Lower head down to eat what I’m blessed to be fed,

Seek company desperately, moth to the flame,

And start running whenever the people start running.

No title today

Back home, I feel uplifted.

I can feel myself smiling even 

when I am not. I picture myself 

smiling. Something's shifted. 

Not to say I'm not zapped

By zagging bolts of panic.

Sitting in the car freaking

Like my shoulder got tapped

By a reaper. Aside from that

I'm staying high in my head.  

You know — the headband area?

At 3AM I heard a new cat

Start arrrrrrr-ing loudly. 

We caught a glimpse of her. 

Fluffy and furious. I'll feed her. 

There's so much to do proudly

in my city right now. What a wonder. 

But it can all go up in [redacted]

in a minute. I can't think about it. 

I'm flying high to not get sucked under

Water. They can't drag me down, 

can they? Can they drag me down?

Is it impossible to stay moisturized?

I picture myself smiling. I frown. 

Outer Richmond?

I saw the bison and my eyes teared up.

I saw the baths. I saw the *bath,*

I saw the large undisturbed pool of water!

I saw the ruins. I saw a man standing on a ruin,

He was nothing but a shadow. A man-shaped shadow.

He made it look fun so I climbed up. Beautiful. 

Climbing back down I remembered I’m afraid of heights.

When the hell did that happen?

I feel the fear and try to remember, when did this start?

Did something happen to me?

I loved the bison — I was excited to see them,

Told myself not to get excited in case it was disappointing 

Then decided I would be excited and if I was disappointed at least I had felt this excitement!

And then I saw them and I teared up immediately!

Are bison my favorite animal?

I walk with a thousand programs running at the same time.

The program of excitement at the bison 

The program of happiness in the woods

The program of thinking about LA and that is a deep, deep one and it stretches out long and wide. 

The program of anger at my stupid friend who said something stupid and we aren’t friends and why did I think we were friends and why did she say that to me and how could she say that to me and how could I have been so stupid as to think she cared about me or respected me and how could I have been so stupid and how could she have been so stupid 

The program of ecstasy sitting at the sutro baths watching the disc go down bye sun 

And many more — I don’t have to tell you twice 

You know the way it is, the rivers all flowing within

Many many many many waves the many tides this way and that way like the ocean waves sorry the BAY waves

I saw flowing and I saw the sun touch them as they rolled.

Like a gold blessing. The dying sun blessed with a long golden orange finger the strong young waves. They carried the light forward as the sun died. The light shone right down the middle and the waves rolled on carrying the light. And the depth was dangerous and the people were happy. There was a woman in a wedding dress held by a man in black. Her train looked hard to hold onto as she stepped over the graffitied rocks.

I have taken the sunset into my arms and created it into myself so I can take it back home to Los Angeles and be assured of the truth of beauty. As I ran back to the bus the trees looked so beautiful I raised my arms like an airplane like a child and ran as if I was flying. A core memory unlocked and I retrieved an old joy stolen from me. An owl called out in the dusk and I stared at her. She was an owl shaped shadow calling. I’m realizing now I can recognize something even when it’s nothing but a shadow. What a blessing.

It’s my right

My landlord’s house burned down!

What the fuck? We are standing 

Around wondering if he is going 

To evict us so he can live somewhere

In the gardens I fell asleep on a bench

With my legs splayed I wondered 

If anyone took a look at me and thought 

“Is that bench all she has”

Oh I have a lot baby… I have too much 

Unwanted abundance is all around us

The donation bins are overflowing 

There is a lot to go around hope everyone 

Has been practicing receiving but 

I know you haven’t and I know you’re ashamed

Shame is flowing through the city 

Guilt fear anxiety but also a gentleness

And a compassion that feels normal

And not striven for. Amazing stuff.

It’s not over and more winds arrive

Tonight, or tomorrow, or Tuesday, or…

Imagine how goofy it feels to be afraid 

Of the wind “what even is wind” 

Well we are afraid of it and bearing down

On our days and nights like horses on bits

I am looking for a safe wavelength 

I am discouraged by the way 

We will have to lilypad and hop and fix

And be nimble and loving and serious 

And funny and smart and lucky 

For the rest of our lives and if I had a gun

I don’t even know where I would aim it 

I will punch someone though I think that 

Can often get the message across though 

People don’t take punches by women seriously 

Isn’t that crazy like my violence only symbolizes 

Me that is so wild to have projected onto me

So I won’t punch anybody I guess I could cry 

People take women crying seriously 

Isn’t that crazy like my tears are as effective 

As a guy socking someone in the jaw 

Anyway how did I get here I’m just writing 

Bad poetry as is my right as a person

In the midst of a disaster and all my friends

I know would be happy to agree

Safe

I have evacuated to San Francisco the ash 

was everywhere the orange was everywhere 

Ashley’s house burned down I haven’t spoken 

To Ashley in years Doug’s house burned down 

I love Doug I love Altadena it is a great place

To raise a family which is why so many families

Lost everything a great place for families 

I am strained like an orange I don’t have the juice

I don’t think anyone knows what’s going on

And when I hear from people I tell them it’s bad

I’m tired and I want to go to sleep and when 

I saw the sunset in San Francisco John said 

Oh look at the pretty sunset and all I could see

Was the orange and I got scared 

Three poems to catch up, after Emily

I can't describe a single dream
I ever had— but one—
And that— defines me
As a Horoscope defines a Sun—

++

I am Alive without you.
But I love you— how alive is that?
A life in Eden?
Show me then
that Eden— loved Adam—
As I— love you—

++

I never won as much but once,
In love in New York City. 
We napped in a hammock on your roof
Three stories above the pitied!

A devil— once arising—
Melted the time away.
Thief! Destroyer— Lover!
I'm a winner every day!

reason for a fire

the forest is green

so you can see red blood easily

and remember danger.

and the forest is green

so you can spy the blue 

sky through the branches

and let yourself dream. 

the forest is green

so you can see the green forest

and take a deep breath 

and enjoy life.

the options in the green forest are:

remember, dream, breathe, enjoy. 

yes. until the sun goes down. 

after that you're on your own. 

Loved one

In my darkest mornings 

I rise like a ghost,

wandering with a candle

searching for a bit of silk 

to rub between my fingers.

In my haunted face

my fear is drawn like a bag,

the flame lively in my pupils.

You see my pain 

and my searching.

It must be hard for you

to live with a ghost half the time.

When I warm up

you see me smile throughout a thousand lifetimes.

Whether dead or alive

you're still there, 

still seeing me,

throughout my longest nights 

and my very best days.