Tag Archives: love poem

Little Red Lies


I grew up by a railway track

And often little me was woken up by primal tension

as the power of the brakes reined in

the weight behind the engine.

Surprising then to find out, as I grew to venture past the fence

That scream and grind

adrenaline  beyond my ken to handle

wide eyed in my bed at night;

depended on a very small red light.

My dad said

“Driver’s gotta to see the light, to make it home intact.”

Despite the thrill of riding the momentum

or dreaming, drunk, distracted

by the gleam allure of onward tracks

or dulled out, too familiar with the sight

‘The driver’s gotta to see that red light every time and pull the engine back’.

Then later on I learned that sophisticated railways

can compensate for human frailty

Or override a will for immolation.

I hear a higher power comes to save the day

with scream of brakes on auto slam; the driver wakes.

So if I seem a little distant, dear, these days

It’s ‘cause a silent screaming

in my cells, a gripping  tension is

demanding my attention.

Despite how much I want to just dissolve into your eyes

The brakes are sliding on.

So many small red lies,

how easily you tell them,

and I’m alarmed how carelessly

you put me in complicity.

And if I daily pray to higher forces, as I do,

I have to waken when they try to save me.

And I can cry or sigh or

wish the journey had gone different.

But it didn’t.

And woken in my adult bed, the primal forces raging:

the magnetism of your midnight skin

against my indignation.

I must choose another destination,

and I don’t think you’ll mind,

it seems you’re fine to glide on your own rails.

And I’ll remind myself; to you, be always kind.

I loved you once,  without a reservation.

But it’s really not your train,

if it don’t stop at your station.



Written in Raja Ampat, Indonesia

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For more photos of this area, please see my Facebook Album: Indahnesia




With current rivers fluttering the mirror sea

inpouring on the tidal surge till

lapping in surrender to the white and tender sands,

I climb up on a twisted tree

to call you, distant man, and sit awhile

amid a grey green crown of graceful strands.

And grateful for this place- so less entangled

than our town- and gentled by the empathy

of waves, wish you were here.


Not for my sake. But for you, I wish

this vision of a vast and silver blue

where sky and water never parted

where light  refracts to motion

where each day ends more glorious than it started.



Tonight, above the spangled hills of Ambon,

nestled in an old man’s song of telling truth in love

there came a line, just one, in my own tongue.

I recognised it instantly, and felt a flooding

sympathy of rhythm in my blood

sting of salt tears on a tiny tide.

Oh, if there comes a time, my friend,

your resilient enduring trunk is crowned again

with green and graceful tendrils of desire,

and if you want to climb the stairs

to call someone to meet you there;

in that sweet resting place where elements combine and free

Let it be me.

Everly Brothers reunion version of Let it Be Me, sweet as the music of Ambon …