A Necessity of Blankets

You asked me to weave some time with you
And as the days created colors we created conversations
Each of the hues presented my life with something new
And I couldn’t help but wrap up in the quilt made of you.
I pulled it around me close, embracing the loving warmth,
Convinced myself that the threads would weave into eternity

But the moths of time ate at your heart
And you couldn’t take the effort it took to create
Leaving me here to cling to a holey patchwork unaided
Where I used to cling to you, knowing you held me just as tight
Know I cling to strands, afraid to let go, unwilling
Losing a best friend hurts like loosing a quilts threads
The holes left leave spaces
Void of anything but ache.

~DaLe 3/29/09

For I Will Consider

(An Imitation, and amusing poem) DO NOT TAKE SERIOUSLY!

For I will consider the fantasy nerd.
For he is the pinnacle of all geeks, nerds, or junkies.
For at the first glance of a light saber or winged dragon his heart beats faster than if he actually exercised.
For he has too many languages to learn, magical terms to memorize, and maps of made-up places to absorb.
For is this accomplished by wasting time with social skills and hygiene?
For when he is done with his studies he begins to write an epic of his own.
For he thinks he has skills.
For having way too much time, because of his unemployment, he must do something worthwhile like picking up a medieval sword-shaped pen.
For this Tolkien-like book is written with ten necessities:
For first, there must be elves. No fantastical story ever created was with out them (except Star Wars, which is understandable for the Jedi would have to kill them.)
For secondly, there must be strange names: names such as Samantha or Zachary are not acceptable, but must be Samoneena and Zachortia.
For thirdly there must be stupid non-existent creatures. It is best to take the ones made by Tolkien or Lucas and to alter them slightly—no one will know.
For fourthly battle scenes must splash across the story like the detailed descriptions of beheaded beasts that…
For fifthly must be described in their triumphant goriness: the gluttony of carnage is vital.
For sixthly there must a woman who’s hair blows in the breeze like a thousand changing sunsets, and who’s eyes burn like an ebony sword of dark night. (She may be elfish or human).
For seventhly, a map must be inserted in the front of the story so that the fantasy nerd has endless opportunities to make up stupid-sounding words and place them over a geological feature and thus, sound intelligent.
For eighthly, there must be a break to play World of Warcraft or Halo.
For ninthly nothing must be said in a concise manner. For example, he can not say “ a new day came”, he must say “the dawn of the new day arose with a stillness in the air, and a light casted on the shadows insuring that time had indeed forced the calendar onward.
For tenthly, there must be at least three installments, but in the case of dragons over forty books may be acceptable.
For having finished his work of quill and ink penmenship, he goes up stairs to see what his mother has made for dinner.
For he refuses to get a real job to pay for the love of his life, his Macbook.
For he uses it to discuss his favorite fantasies in chat rooms.
For there is much literary quality to discuss.
For when he puts it down, he memorizes footwork for Jedi battles, and fights with Ring Wraiths.
For every Friday his cyber friends meet him at the park to have these battles.
“For there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.”
For he is too scared to go out into the world and see what it really has to offer.
For his imagination is a much safer place.
For his status as nerd has brought him many black eyes and bruised ribs.
For the orcs of 2009 use their fists to destroy.
For no matter the age, evil will exist.
For if he, the fantasy nerd, can not fight this evil in the present day, he will fight it in dungeons.
For he will fight it with dragons.
For someday he will conquer
For he will make millions with his best-selling book.
For then he will get the last laugh.
For nerds rule the world.

~DaLe 3/22/09

The Whiteboard of My Mind

Seize the day or seize the death.

Another day passes,
But this one is different than others,
Like brown sugar molasses
I’m slowing to see breath's colors.
I’ve stopped holding it, hoping
That it would rush on the spring,
Gray air full of feigned coasting
Revives wind: forgotten lines to sing.

I herald in the blazoned golden gates,
Each choppy wave of change they bring
The triumphs and troughs each crest creates
Glinting with great wisdom’s offering
Hours fly, and I sail with them
Towards destination’s uncertain land
Treasure not found in finite goal’s gem
But in today’s bypassed fruitful hand

Another day passes
But this one is sweeter than others
This one is today

~DaLe 3.11.09

Se Réveille et Se Tombe

Une autre fille tombe
Le soleil trouve la lune
Nous, simplement, sommes
Et je ne vois aucune
Mais les moments eux-mêmes
Sont l’or dans les yeux
Tu me manques et je t’aime
Et je ne veux pas demande à Dieu
Pour le ciel ou la terre, mon chère,
Parce que J’ai les deux à la main
Maintenant, tout que j’espère
Est la, dans cette moment, je suis saine.

~DaLe 2.19.09

Ice Sculpting

Glances are forgotten luxuries
Reviled emptiness embraces space
I embrace pillows soft enough to harm
Responsibility clogs the days
But in night, your presence tarries

Miles are paved with words
That stretch far enough to intertwine
Holding promised smiles in their arms
Loathing the constancy of time
Our emotion pushes days onward

So airwaves and sounds will suffice
While aching is hidden in hooded stances
Confiding solace tangible in the dimming stars
Weight felt in the snow-covered branches
Fingered solace freezes memory like ice

You are etched into my soul

~DaLe 1.31.09

Handprints

For the people in my life, two in particular, that have made a difference to me


I plaster five-year old handprint in a circle
While pencil-finger scribbles my name
Present it to you like an ancient fossil
Make little girl love the frame

I paint adolescent handprint on scholastic wall
The swirls have stretched like the soul they’re sewn to
Elongated fingers self-discovery in sharpie scrawl
Placing me only brush strokes away from you

I place grown girl handprint in the air
Hoping somehow to leave one meaningful mark
A personal part of me that I can share
My lighted candle in the dark

~DaLe 12/30/08

Arctic Postcard

I count button holes as if they mattered
I’m always one off despite my efforts
Sitting inside bundled up and tattered
It’s November and I’m wearing shorts

Wood floors remind me my feet are cold
My favorite socks now have holes
Humanity’s story is being retold
I can feel run-down emptiness in my sole.

I read captions now because I can’t hear
As the sounds fade to a whisper in the wind
I’m transfixed by my portrait in the mirror
Leaving my postcard to you never to send

Dear nobody I’m writing to you
Wishing you’d listen to my song
Who you are I wish I knew
I’ve been counting button holes for far too long

~DaLe 12/28/08