'Stone and Soil'

There's beauty in your facade.
you've trimmed yourself so well
and while below me you're far from
beneath; An open hand is met with solid resistance,
yet when I prod with just a finger
I find you're not as stable as you appear.
Treading gently seems the best advice.
So easy on the eyes I can barely take mine away,
though the dusting of red distracts occasionally.
Small pools of blue, crystal clear but icy-hard
offer no answers, despite the ripples
which show you're not as solid as the stony expressions
that dart across your landscape.
Too late I find I've brushed up against ivy,
and the itch is growing.
I grit my teeth, perhaps stop scratching. I pretend it's nothing
and really I suppose it is. You're nature-formed, so my catching this rash is certainly little more than a game to you -- you've
no more attention for me than a passing stormcloud.
Even a lush glade needs a little sting of rain to keep growing.
but that doesn't alter how real a small oasis of nature looks
after seeing nothing but the bland concrete jungle for so long.

Amber

sweet, with a kick
my kind of evening guest!
and a pitch neither too high
or too low, selective about
being heard. Smooth as ice
but pleasantly rough; to have your back
in the presence of newfound company
is a welcome quality- always helping
to find just the right words
for any situation, given some time.
The source of courage when I've
nothing to lose; the silent consoling
for every emotional or physical death.
I suffer otherwise alone. the liquid kiss
I've yet to find an equal to, holding my hand
when the only light is the glow of my laptop
and the streetlamp coming in the window.

Bella voce (older poem, found scrawled in a notebook)

I think the thing that hooked me
was the sound of your voice; a pitch
quite perfect and sweet, I could not help
but pick my jaw up off the ground
upon first hearing you sing.
You'll never know it but voice is
something I looked forward to hearing each night,
somewhere in a place I wouldn't admit.
I mean, sure. you've snagged plenty of sailors
with your siren's-song quality
but I won't let myself be dashed
on those rocks for hearing it.
I think I'll just tuck it away,
smile at the memory,
like a music box relic for a time when I'm old and greying.

Face

Take a deep breath
and step onstage
Deliver your lines command their focus!
But all the while
you can't help but
Look to the crowd gauging their eyes
as one falls asleep
two watch raptly
mouths set in stone seeking the end
an end for which
you've deja vu'd
a thousand nights before
make each night
their treat, not yours.
and when all's said
all bows taken
Peel your soul - for tomorrow night
it's a new dawn
And the post-show exit yields once more
a thousand strangers' faces.

nightfall

Silence is a stranger;
nothing sleeps around me. the floor
creaks, the cat darts about;
A lyric passes through my head,
the ghost of a chord whispers in my ear,
begging to be played aloud.
across the hall, the high whine of a television
pervades the wooden barriers,
the occasional blare of gunfire
emanating from a western film.
on the street, bottles break and
horns honk and garbage trucks grumble,
people plod along, voices come and go at all decibel levels,
people seem to be going somewhere, no matter the blindness of the inky darkness around them,
and ever so softly,
at the end of the street comes the rumble of the rails,
as the subway line rattles on,
just as restless and constant
as I feel right now.