Here is a poem from Myths.

 

When I was a kid

My favorite store had an escalator ride

The magic of which was its mirrors

They were stationed both port and starboard

Encouraging me to look more deeply than I knew how

Showing me a new way of seeing myself

My own face reflected infinitely

Now that I’m sharing the escalator

I find myself looking at

The two of us

Gazing forward and behind

At the future and the past

At the one and the two

Holding both in a single present gaze

When two souls combine

Our identities can shift

Our foundations can be moved

Abruptly, permanently, perfectly

By this new experience of love

This partnering of souls is always greater than 

The elementary math by which we are numbered

Indeed the base choices should be altered

For addition generates only the vertical plane

Of one above another

We should speak instead of multiplication

Since it embraces the horizontal plane of relationship

That’s what marriage is

And the reason for the multiplication

As well as the meaning

It’s us noticing we

Behind and ahead

The like become love

The one become one with another one

Leaving a brand new one with two mouths

Sharing one voice

Two souls sharing one breath

The secret multiplication of love

One times one equals one

 

 

© 2008 Gayle Force Press

A poem from Myths

It’s been years

Since I’ve been so desperate

For morning to come

Counting minutes takes hours

And each brief burst of sleep

Is startled away by a glance

At the slow moving clock

I’ve grasped at every light

And turned the clamor of wind

Into you at my doorstep

Still, none of the tricks

My mind needs to play tonight

Can replace the moon

With sun

Or bring you back to me

Until night has finished

Allowing morning, and you,

To truly arrive

© Gayle Force Press 2004

It took me some time,

A little too much really,

To recognize that my dream

Was horribly broken

Of course the faces weren’t quite right

But that’s to be expected

This time though

Some of the faces

Were dead ones

An old friend’s father,

I saw him interred,

just after saying his marriage vows

ready to dance with his widowed grandma

Who can’t really be alive

Somehow I knew

That if I’d dreamed a little longer

My favorite dead friend,

Smufus, would have interrupted,

Doing his chants

Or a crazy little dance

Very inappropriate

For the wedding

Of a friend’s dead father

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2004

Christen me gently

Wet me with your dewy drops of joy

Bathe me in the cleansing purity

Of holy ecstatic love

Drench me deeply with your pleasure

Then allow me to do the same

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2005