WHEN THE RAINS COME (PLEASE READ)

The rain comes pouring down as I sit by my window,

I envision us just as we once were, when I could 

touch you, hold you and I knew you were mine, all

this before that fatal night I can see it so vividly when

you were gone in a twinkling of a eye.

I can still recall the first one up making breakfast, and 

your plate is always there upon my table, even if I don't eat 

a bite. I have often ate yours since it is so much better 

than mine. I love when you get up from the table and 

thank me for a excellent meal, bush my hair back from 

my eyes and kiss my forehead, my nose, my mouth.

Baby, I know I hold you in such high esteem and

I know there can never be another you. It is not that

you were the best man in the world, but you were my

man and so I guess you will always be the best man

especially for me. 

I know there are others, that I could have the chance 

to be with someone else, to be happy again. But, it is 

not fair to the man that will fill your shoes, your bed

and my heart.

I try to let go. I have put all your pictures away to 

only pull them out of the drawers I have put them in to 

take a peek, yet my heart is weak. I eventually pull

them all out again and place them neatly all over the 

house. I told myself after the first six months that I 

would not have a shrine in your honor since it would

be too much. I often wonder what people must say? 

I find that when I have company I put all your 

pictures up out of sight but never out of mind.   

I don't hide you baby, or the feelings I have for 

you still, but I don't mentioned you to family or 

friends. There are only very few people that I can 

share my feelings about you with. I admit I do blog 

about you, just as I am doing now. 

I have honestly done everything within my power to 

let you go.I have asked you to leave, no I have begged 

you to leave, then only to beg you to stay since you will 

think that I do not love you still. Yes, I have had therapy 

I have blogged about my grief , I have been on

 antidepressants, and nothing has helped. You are the

 first person I think about in the morning and the last person

I think about before I go to sleep. 

There is someone, there has been someone for a long

time but by this point I do not even know if they know 

they can take me seriously. I have never made love

 to them, never kissed them, yet I hold them at bay,

but they are never far from my heart or my thoughts.

I am not even sure that they know how I feel about them. 

They have had women come or go in there life, and yes I was 

jealous. I keep telling myself that I cannot be with them or 

anyone until I am over you for good. But, Baby I have no clue 

when that will be. 

I will not speak bad of Blake, but baby I don't even know 

what that was. I am not one to have a cheap torrid affair 

with someone I am not in love with. I willed my self to be in 

love with Blake. I wanted to be in love with him really, but

 you can't force something that is not there. He said, to 

me on more than one occasion that I was in love with

 a dead man, and a dead man slept between us at night. I 

don't know why? Blake was the last person on the face  

of the earth I wanted to mention your name to. But, I 

know I didn't have to mention you because he felt it. Then 

you would think that someone so upset or having to live with 

a dead man would have given up and went away without

 all the drama. I did care for Blake, I just wasn't in love

with him. 

It is still raining on me. Still raining in my life from the tears I

shed. I am sure that people think I am putting on, that no

one could love someone this much, but that could not be

further from the truth. I suppose I have grown accustom 

to having you in my life, thoughts, mind and heart everyday.

I fill my life with as much sunshine as I can muster, but 

my thoughts always return to you. The life we could have 

had. The life I always dreamed of. The Life I always wanted.

The Fairy Tale.

I think of how God gives us that one special person in life, some 

do not recognize them when they see them, some want 

someone else other than who they are destined to be with.

 But, there are those who just know.They know this person 

was sent from God just as I did with you my love. I hear parents 

saying oh they are too young, and that they do not have any
idea what they want at this age. But, baby we proved them
wrong didn't we? 

I would be with you the rest of my life and we met in middle school. 

I loved that you were shy. I loved that you said I was the prettiest girl 

you had ever seen and you made me feel that way for many years 

until the Lord took you to be with him. You were my soul mate

my one true love. 

But, baby the rain comes far to often, I feel lost and alone and no

one should feel that way. Baby, I know you want me happy. I know 

it is not you holding on to me, but me not letting go. No one was out 

there that night after I found you, as I held you. I once came up with

another story a short and sweet one, so I didn't have to keep reliving

the horror.

But, I do relive the horror everyday, I shed tears as I write this now.

I think if you had died of natural causes if would be better for me. 

I still remember that stretch of road, and when ever I go home I 

have to stop by and look out into that farmers field. There are

flowers up near the road, but not where you died. I always 

visit your parents when I am home, yet I haven't been home in 

over a year now. I still talk to your mama and I know she loves 

me since I was part of you. My only regret is not having a baby

since you were a only child. But, we both discussed it, and it 

was not the time to have a child since we were both in pursuit 

of our careers. But, I will always regret not having a little Jason

Aaron Taylor II. I so wish that you could live on through me.

I will always love you Jason. Please help me set myself free. 

So that I can love again, dream again, and make someone

else happy the way I did you. I do find this personal
yet I want the person I care about to know why I do
not jump at any offers he has gave to me. I know he cares
although, he must believe me to be insane by now, I need
to be a complete, healthy and emotionally stable person
before I can ever take that step again.

HAVE YOU EVER SAW THE RAIN IN A HEART LIKE MINE?

Sappho (by Castor)

SAPPHO, the one great woman poet of the world, who called herself Psappha in her own Aeolic dialect, is said to have been at the zenith of her fame about the year 610 B.C.

During her lifetime Jeremiah first began to prophesy (628 B.C.), Daniel was carried away to Babylon (606 B.C.), Nebuchadnezzar besieged and captured Jerusalem (587 B.C.), Solon was legislating at Athens, and Tarquinius Priscus, the fifth king, is said to have been reigning over Rome. She lived before the birth of Gautama, the (founder of Buddhism, the religion now professed by perhaps almost a third of the whole population of the globe.

That she was a native of Lesbos, an island in the Aegean sea, is universally admitted; and all but those writers who speak of a second Sappho say she lived at Mitylene, the chief city of the island. The existence of a Sappho who was a courtesan of Ersus, a smaller Lesbian city, besides the poetess of Mitylene, is the invention of comparatively late authors; and it is probably due to their desire to detach the calumnies, which the Comic poets so long made popular, from the personality of the poetess to whose good name her own contemporaries bore witness.

HERE IS ONE OF SAPPHO'S FRAGMENTS:

The stars about the lovely moon

Fade back and vanish very soon,

When, round and full, her silver face

Swims into sight, and lights all space.

In The Shadows

strand of moonglass 

bird wings 

incandescent leaflets &

practical bulbs. 

cooling 

drain 

shedding ghosts, aftershave, this topic is smoke 

luminous 

in swirling drags 

perfect 

Fingertips 

three matched,

create light. intimate & short on the oxygen. to

wear 

sleep aim stars 

I was looking for a project, 

light glass inside this breastbone 

sent to me: the inside of a more loved, 

flowering 

diagonally

my days string nights 

wind vines 

Departures crossed. out 

researching

this count 

of perfume and verse weeks of 

tipped-in windows 

and 

candles

glow bulb. vertical 

sensations next to 

burning topic. filament 

tasting 

Its dark, shadow kite 

Four For Horus

1. I've finished weeping the sun and climbing the stairs to a finger immersed in the blue of the city. I can feel my skin stretching over yours again. Music, pure ambrosia to those currents of mine which knowingly, willingly, choose to smother what is golden in the distance between trees. I've a sudden need to flap my leather wings with all the clarity of war on meat-hooked lips, psychological, astrological. And very much a windmill. It begins in the mirror, in the molten wonder of hedonists refused entry to a timeless world.

Cherubim with red hands...

2. They drool a strange kind of thunder, hiss pharoahs in order to persist in their young, particularly fragrant, delirium. Bones of truth without being a single syllable at sunset, memories like purrung from someone's frantic antennae. "Reality is invented by the incestuous," (a favorite maxim of mine) scrawled on the foreheads of habit, riding the bus alongside the many corridors of summer, what survived to contemplate murmuring geometries, the sneer of jazz. I've tapped out thick, foolish beginnings to chaos for gasoline, sold the laughter depicted by thieves beneath angry bridges. But everybody still comes to me for their 3 o'clocks, what I'll do to leave traces of genitalia on pillows wet like trembling strangers I met in slow motion.

Everywhere is hanging in a cave.

3. You are very Christ-like when my veins are thin, quiet, a neutrality nobody cares to notice. Or it doesn't matter to them in the least when my shadow casts off its democratic veneer. I was structured as a series of prefaces to dusty, secret backrooms, waves of light drunk with the power of perfectly-tailored suits and oil-slick ennui. The sorcery, nervous, discordant, wants to analyze the way you slip in and out of my television, leaving me to stare at worn, decrepit pictures of Frida Kahlo and wish I wasn't such a radio for erasures on the cusp of turning into sandy, warm, thighs.

4. I'm determined to be a mysterious rhythm in curves of breath stuck to the cold, hard, facts, little daydreams glimpsed quickly through a freshly-polished bakery window, where the tables are deeply in lust with pools of spilt coffee that drip lasciviously over their edges. Saxophones could grow in that loneliness. It's almost impossible to drive through the screams that persist in my motionless, black hair, Tokyos of young women sent by a notion to paint my empty bottles of rum. They left their individual testimonials scattered on throats bleeding the sorrow of every minute detail, despite the eyelids of earth and air.

I Am The Poem

I am poem scattering symbols across white page

An autumn wind strewing leaves on a meadow

I am a song in the wind

Sweet melody that plays quiet in mind's background

As a poem I shall make sweet rhyme and bold statements

As song I shall sooth you and make you laugh or cry

As creation I shall skip through that autumn meadow

A child at play in the afternoon

As poem I must present to you my underlying structure

Beyond all this free play must be some form

Form eternal a constellation on a dark clear night

Min-points of light on black

Can you tell me what you are feeling now?

So I can know which way to go

Homeward must be my destination

Ever homeward toward the fusing bliss that lies

Beyond the agony of this life

Yet each movement on the way must be perfect

I am poem and song

I can take you from your everyday world

Make you crazy or maybe even sane