Robert (Rob) has been a long term resident of Lakeside. For fifteen years he wrote Focus on Art as a monthly column in the Ojo del Lago. He has a Master’s in Fine Arts degree and a Doctorate in Spirituality. But poetry has been his life time love. He was one of the founding members of the Not Quite Dead Poets Group at Lakeside. He continues to search for the metaphorical center of poetry as a critical form of communication of truths that can not be expressed in other ways.
A marriage
when we married
we never got down
to the distances.
I think of it now
as a rift, with
bridgework unfinished,
we stood – each
on our very own shore.
though near in sight and sound
there seems no way to touch
the recesses of our hearts
which remained
just beyond our reach.
Perhaps our hands touch
but hearts, it seems
must rest breast to breast
to beat in harmony.
*****
Altered dimensions
as her hand grasps mine,
then holds,
as her smile emerges,
a blossom faint and pink
a nuanced creation,
revealed and understood,
I touch her lips,
as a ripple of wind rustled
and swirled
across the surface of the
lake with a whisper of sound,
as her infectious smile
passes through
the closing space
between our mouths,
and spreads full-blown
on my awakening face.
*****
Apostles
and we
we forget to be white American in order to hope
no longer will we wage war to fill our gas tanks
ravage nations and peoples to enlarge our homes –
Its sworn —
enough of this hate in our lives.
we will no longer live to enslave others,
to deplete, to destroy
and we
we forget to be white Americans to save the world
*****
Bantling
I wish for a moment
I could be a woman,
interconnected,
cherished, even excluded,
to feel the pain of childbirth,
to be pushed aside by men,
to breathe the air of a schoolyard
where my children play,
to see the face of my child’s
painting,
to touch the swing and push,
to hear the trill of laughter,
the song of love
that fills the air.
I wish for a moment
I too
might give birth.
*****
Breath
Your lithe form
enchants as you move
wistfully about me –
like slender angels
your fingers cast
mystic spells
before me
your eyes close and
reveal silken lashes –
your essence shatters
barriers that bind
my hidden soul –
as your breath engages
and heals my wounds.
*****
Flower song
she took my hand and placed it cupped
above the bell like bloom.
listen now, quiet and patient,
and she will speak.
her movements in a language
all their own
will tantalize and awaken you.
if you answer, she will stretch up to you
and call your name
in words you have not heard before,
in ways you never understood.
*****
Mulled awareness
was it the soft cloth,
or the way her head turned,
perhaps a dream forming
taking and shaped within us,
or more solid rock truth
firm as her body,
alert and attentive
as mine?
We – part of the stars,
joined with the rising moon,
blended with
the long sweep of the lake,
the soft, even saturated light
which gave form to what
settled full upon us,
open to love?
was it
more inner, mulled
awareness within her mind –
formed, and formed again,
by cultures, languages and
visions of worlds, and ways
distant, beyond horizons seen.
more a thing of substance,
of being,
and human wholeness?
*****
Silent embrace
not available,
line closed, door locked,
email silent.
he did not know
she was dead inside,
inside behind the wall,
behind the garden,
behind the wooden door.
he saw her running
along the beach,
walking in the soft evening light
along the malecón
drinking coffee
in the early morning
at the donut place.
she was quiet now, sealed
inside her safe space,
so much to be done,
choices to make,
in death’s embrace
*****
Storm
A tornado raged within, as
emotional-winds threatened
my fragile mental state.
I became a leaf tossed
in a gale of uncertainty –
whose turbulence clouded
my vision and awareness.
Each thought, a frayed thread,
unraveled by contradictions,
that fell softly all around me.
Entangled, I became a prisoner
trapped within the arms of fate,
amidst a tornado of confusion.
Suddenly, beyond the storm,
lay a glimmer of sunlight,
a flicker of blue sky, just
visible outside the inner core.
a peace filled place and time
where my will reached out and
grasp freedom from my frailty.
Then the strong winds calmed,
as the sky opened her arms,
and I surrendered to her beauty,
*****
The Feast
final meal
with friends,
the twelve of us
in supper conversation,
drinking beer –
the cans – toxic waste
piling up within a canvas,
stretched thin, with
holes along the edge,
hung
like a splayed cross.
*****
After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
- Poetry Niche – June 2025 - May 31, 2025
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- Poetry Niche – April 2025 - March 30, 2025
