Exploring the Intriguing
Category: Poetry
Moonrise comes early tonight
The sky filled with bright dancing lights on either side
This holy, heavenly waltz brings coolness
and the west wind
A comforting breeze
Billowing, pillowing clouds hold the sun
And lay it down to sleep
While the silent armies of stars guide the moon
on the way
to its throne
© Gayle Force Press 2013
Last night
The sky filled me
With dread
I wondered
How I could matter
My thoughts
These words
But now
That I feel
The power
Of these ancient
Generous lights
I feel warmed
And certain of my place
Even if beyond
Space and time
For some great wisdom
Dictated long ago
That these lights be
And allowed me
The chance
To bear witness
So I will
© Gayle Force Press 2013
Every year there’s a new one
A Diallou, King or me
Clamoring loudly
Faces on TV
We ask so many questions
But no one’s forced to answer
With sympathy’s short half-life
Soon most are hoping for the noise to stop
And the questions to disappear once again
Just like us
In our lives
And our deaths
© Gayle Force Press 2002
Floating through a crowded wedding reception
We never discover the dance is a game
Focused on age or longevity
Not questioning but celebrating it,
Giving it a privileged place
Other couples fade from view
Just when they’re supposed to
While we keep dancing
Oblivious to the predetermined competition
That’s captured everyone else’s attention
The music’s still playing
Which proves to be enough for us
To continue holding each other close
While we keep on dancing
© Gayle
Force Press 2007
I didn’t remember his name
No, that’s not true
Mark Linn-Baker
What a funny, unforgettable name
I didn’t care to remember it I
suppose
He didn’t matter to me
Really Mark Linn-Baker was just there
Archived in my brain
Alongside Tracey Gold and Ken Kercheval,
Todd Bridges and Lisa Whelchel,
Roxie Roker and the rest of the litany
Of not quite stars
That worked so hard to barely input themselves
On my consciousness
The lot of them hardly identifiable
As individual entities
Only who they pretended to be
Which for them, like me,
Was the only important reality
The masks we wear for better
And for worse
Define us and allow us
To define each other
Whether the me you think you know
Or Mark Linn-Baker
You remember him, right
Cousin Larry
The other half of Balki
© Gayle
Force Press 2002
The last train from Overbrook is leaving today
I suppose it’s about time
But this has come to feel like home to me
Here in my special private room
My tiny windows give me just enough light
To see the stream across the bridge;
This really is a gorgeous view
I know that Dr. Baylor was right, now
Rest and some down time made the difference
Thankfully everything is fine, now
This winter will be wonderful
I already can sense it,
I’m just doing so well
The snowy days will be peaceful
With laughing kids reminding me of my own childhood
Not like last year’s taunting jeers
Those little cretins were awful
And Christmas, wow,
I can’t wait for Christmas
Even though I won’t get any presents
It will still be thrilling
Maybe I’ll go out some night
Just looking at the store windows and houses
Decked out so lavishly
My apartment will be nice
With so many little things that I like
Some books, my clocks
Maybe a couple pictures too
Not the sad kind that make me feel lonely
But happy smiling photos
Filling empty frames and spaces
Some with people I used to know
The last train from Overbrook is leaving today
I know it’s the right time
Even though this has become home for me
My private room isn’t that special
© Gayle
Force Press 2007
Potato chips and pills share grease
Trade color and occupy the same space
In the little wooden bucket
Perched in Gerri’s kitchen
Her anchoring protection from the world
These two disparate, precious fixations
Keeping her from drifting
Too far into either the ether
Of her madness
Or newly opened earth
I watch sickness and pain
Turmoil and sadness reaching around
Her infantile waist
With taut, tender embraces
Crushing and comforting simultaneously
So we buy more chips
Lauding the sodium, laughing at the colors
Then look away when the pills are popped
Ignoring the wooden bucket
As much as we can
© Gayle Force Press 2007
Fools gold is a misnomer
I feel fairly certain
The gold we claim as our own
Without thought to its purity
Is exactly what we need it to be at that moment
And without another’s eyesight
And judgment
The gold remains
Perhaps it’s only our desire
To please others
That reveals us as fools
© Gayle Force Press 2008
It’s heart touch time again
For me, now watching you
Attending to your smile
As you comfort the crowd
Of open throated mouths
Straining for ‘notice me’
With every different word
You always share that smile
And gentle, listening ear
Graciously, without pause
Holding on to their griefs
And sometimes shared delight
Dearly close to your heart
Warming them for return
It’s heart touch time once more
At night, when none can see
You always seem to know
In speech or by silence
What my words fail to say
And how you can heal me
With the gift of your smile
©
Gayle Force Press 2011
There’s one more candle
To blow out today
Growing older
That’s fine
Adding wrinkles, pounds
And pressure
For it means little
To age another year
As long as you can pretend
You’ll always be granted another
© Gayle Force Press 2003
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