“The Writing’s on the Wall”

“The Writing’s on the Wall” © Lissette Alvarado 2017

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“Friscalating Moonlight”

Similar to poem 19, poem 20 harkens back to my past. I offer deep appreciation to my greatest muse and partner, Lissette. We share love, laughs, tears, successes, failures, hopes, fears, and all that comes to us under a sun eclipsed by a moon. Wes Anderson’s character Eli Cash spoke the word that inspired this poem, and although it isn’t a real word, what this poem presupposes…maybe it is.

“Friscalating Moonlight”_originally conceived on 6-21-05

The moon knows what to make of this,

for I know not.

It hovers in the heavens,

guiding confused couples through life.

A labyrinth of passions,

dead ends,

and darkened roads.

Illuminating possibilities, chances, and hopes.

Friscalating.

How it mocks me.

How it laughs at held notions of propriety.

 

“You mortal fool,

can’t you recognize perfection?”

 

Beams directing me to embrace her.

Searching for expression.

Tender silhouette,

stretching against the night.

Remove the hair from her eyes,

and stare into bliss.

 

One moment stolen in the moonlight,

preludes an eternity of satiety.

 

Thankfully, the moon cannot penetrate a roof.

For I know not what to think of other than her,

and in the safety of my hideaway,

the moon can’t mock me.

 

eli

 

“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”

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“Sky is Falling”  © C.P. Hickey 2015

Lying in bed with the kids after story time, and Atticus casually says:
“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”
It hit me like a hammer blow to the gut. I try to comprehend how my little 6 year old boy could harbor such a worry in his heart.
It’s was strange to have the back and forth that followed, and somewhat full of love and grace.
Prior to his question, earlier today, he came to hear Lissette and I talking about the little boy that was killed in Barcelona, in last week’s terror attack.
 
“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”
“Absolutely, not, Atty, that’s why we named you Atticus. And your sister Lenore, and your brother Paul. You will have children and grandchildren, and you will never be forgotten.”
 
Heavy lifting on a Sunday Night. More hugs, more cuddles, more kisses.
 
If you know me, then you know how deeply I reflect on mortality. I just never thought it would be something that my 6 year old child would worry about.
 
The kids surprise me everyday.

“Unrequited Love”

19th poem on the 19th day pulls me backward in time. My life has been full of requited love for some time. There was once a past version of myself that didn’t believe that. A thank you to my friend Mary Ellen G. for reminding me of how we can always appreciate what we have, by sometimes remembering times when we didn’t possess the proper perspective. Please enjoy my take on this notion…

 

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“The Tender Trap” © C.P. Hickey 2017

 

“Unrequited Love”_originally conceived on 6-21-05

There is somewhere I have not been.

Unknown to me,

but certainly sought.

Endless concrete desire permeates my essence.

My limbs quake at the thought of your touch.

Awoken from one dream,

straight into another.

This cannot be real.

Real doesn’t feel like this.

Uncertainty, follows me closer than my shadow.

Thoughts restrained,

words unspoken,

actions withheld.

Just one time,

allow me to grasp your hand,

In fact, will me to.

Want me to trace our hopes and fears into your palm.

Might I kiss it,

and never be able to kiss a hand so lovely?

I should be committed,

for committing myself to the notion of a high road.

How would you love me?

Would you bend to me?

Would you allow me to drink fully from you?

Could I take a moment to sigh,

perhaps, forever,

and for that moment lose myself in you.

Don’t look at me like that.

You have killed me, and resurrected me with that gaze.

I cannot touch you.

As soon as  I do,

I’m gone.

Lost forever.

Lost, somewhere I have not been.