THE DANCE of love

THE DANCE OF LOVE

 

Silky and smooth,

Her skin is carved from alabaster,

Very soft to the touch.

As they dance he is very much aware

Of her gown clinging to every inch.

The pressure of his hands guides her,

Taking her on a journey across the universe.

She responds to his touch,

Gliding and sailing over the marble floor,

Becoming more and more

A part of him.

Slight dips and spins become movements of love,

Her heated body melting into his.

She wears nothing between the outer fabric and her skin,

And he struggles to keep focused.

A few quick steps and he lifts her into the air,

Triumphantly, aware of eyes watching admiringly.

He lowers her, and she touches ground gracefully.

She whispers into his ear and they disappear into the night,

Dashing the hopes of those who were watching.

But at the same time encouraging them to dream,

To dream and love and create their own fantasy.

 

June 15, 2017

 

 

Older

Another birthday, hip, hip, hooray!
I get to face another fine day.
A birthday cake I make for myself,
If I want to blow out candles
That have been hiding on the shelf.
I’ll be careful not to burn my house down
All the candles represent all I’ve found,
The truths about love and hate
My life I’ve denied and blaimed it on fate.
one candle for others I’ve hurt on the way
Another for loved ones, too many to say.
Candles for all the debts I need to pay.
A giant cake, with candles galore,
My heart is melting, and yet there is more.
Another birthday, and I’m all alone,
Wait! Is someone calling on the phone?
Someone’s knocking on my door,
It seems my life is not quite as bad,
I still have friends and I’m not so sad.
Another birthday to cheer and celebrate,
But I don’t want to leave it up to fate.
Tomorrow I’ll visit family and my friends,
Get out of my house and make amends.
Everything I have is more than I need
I’ll share with others and plant the seeds
Of love and hope.
Another birthday? one more way
To love others and make their day.
.

BUZZARDS ARE GATHERING

BUZZARDS ARE GATHERING

I’m moving slowly this morning.

My back hurts as I do the Parkinson’s shuffle.

One foot, now the next,

Not too fast, I warn myself.

This dance is not for the weak.

The buzzards are gathering.

I’m not dead, but I haven’t had my coffee.

Usually I pour the hot steaming liquid

With finesse and flair.

But today the smell of death hangs in the air.

I’m too tired to put the little container

Into the coffee maker and push start.

I’ve lost mastery over that art.

My muscles have been cramping,

My hands have been shaking,

Neurons and glial cells shrinking,

Nothing I can see, yet it’s happening to me.

I continue to function

Learning and memory gain as my goal.

Regeneration of brain cells.

I search for some research

That offers me a cure,

Or a reason for hope

Or a reason to laugh

Or a reason to live and love.

I look around.

The buzzards are still gathering.

 

April 20, 2016

Dan Roberson