RAY WHITAKER

 

Breath And Water

 

I think most of us reflect on

those deeply personal

and meaningful

stretches of time

that posthole our existence.

 

They are signposts

along the sometimes rocky path

pointing us into that expanse of memories

within this place,

the broad lake we call life.

 

Those many of us can only dip our hand into it

for a brief moment, as if trying to catch the fish swimming by

removing our hand, that water drips back

making ripples, ever expanding rings

stretching out on the lake until they are no more.

 

We cannot live there

or dwell on it either

there is an unconquerable divide

residing there,

it is hard to breathe under water.

 

Not Gunna

 

Not like propping your bare feet

on the hearth rocks, too close to the campfire

or not like putting your finger

on the stovetop burner

 

I dreamt of you

In it, seeing your face

feeling your soft warmth next to me in bed

spooning in each other’s nakedness.

 

Saying to myself I wasn’t going to fall

in love with you again

there is every good reason

not to be handy to you

 

all those reasons why, fly in the emotional face.

 

Yet I see you still

thru the dim half-light of whispering dreams

of a love confused by the rational, and

confounded by the lavender of Love.

 

The steady wind, colorless, moves leaves in agreement.

 

To All The Narcissists

 

Not like you have anything

to offer

please don’t come around

my place again.

 

Not like you have something

of give

never expecting any return

for whatever you’re looking for.

 

What are you expecting to see?

What do you want from me?

 

There’s never something freely

given, ahhh

I see you searching

for something to take

 

Stop running down here

gaslighting

fly off your flying monkeys

somewhere else

 

What are you planning to steal?

Your needs, have a leaking keel

 

you tangle up everyone’s emotions

why must you give that pain

stop stealing my purple dreams

those are mine not yours.

 

Stop driving down my street

it’s not here,

take your mental disease somewhere else.

Hey! Its not like you have something to give.

 

With my eyes open its easy to see

those are my cornflakes on which you want to pee.

 

What It Be

 

She had her skinny jeans on

a soft grey top to go over it

long hair up as if a lovely Irish lass

with blue, blue eyes like the sky.

 

We waited for each other, smiling

my brown eyes sparkling, grinning

so nice to see her standing there

blue eyes looking back with excitement.

 

I reach out, knowing it makes no sense

please talk to me, only with your eyes.

 

Her skinny jeans had purple flowers

soft grey top the sort a real woman wears

turning       talking        hearing      feeling it

eyes meeting,  looks held so.

 

In the moment of two words

more to intuit out into the open

a close smile shared with a warm touch

a sideways look, happy

 

I reach out, knowing it makes no sense

talk to me only with your eyes again.

 

How many time did we

enjoy those moments of that great time

shining seconds glowing flowing

together in a stream, wet, rippling

 

we reached out, knowing it made no sense

more said with the eyes than out loud

we reached towards, knowing,

sensing that which was never named.

 

Blue Moon, larger than ever,

shines down.

 

RAY WHITAKER

 

RAY WHITAKER “Ray has been writing both prose and poetry since he was seventeen. He has three books published from NEWNESS TWONESS BOOKS: “ACKNOWLEDGMENT: Poems From The ‘Nam,” a two volume set [2019, 2nd Editions available on Amazon]; and “23, 18,” [2020, 2nd Edition, available on Amazon, and “For The Lost and Loved.” [2021, available on Amazon]. A chapbook, THE SCUPPERNONG WORKS” was published last fall, also by Newness Twoness. His fifth poetry book now at publishers for consideration, THE TAVERN ON OLD LOG CABIN ROAD, Ray has done readings around the state of North Carolina, now in Colorado as well, and is a member or the North Carolina Poetry Society, and has been a member of The North Carolina Writer’s Network. He has thrice been a ‘Writer-in-Residence” at the North Carolina Center For The Arts and Humanities, at Weymouth, in Southern Pines, NC. He is the father of two daughters, and lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Active in the poetry scene in Colorado, Ray is available for readings state-wide. Ray, an American poet, has participated in the International Poetry scene as well, published by literary journals in Bali, India, Belgium, Pakistan, United Kingdom, Greece, Ireland, and the United States.”