'Kissing' (trg,6/30/03)
My first at six,
she was seven.
I fell in love with kissing that day.
Petting, making out, intimacy --
these are only inviting
if the kissing is good from you kisser.
Only thing worse than a poor kisser,
is when you're dreaming of passionate kissing,
only to be awakened by your dog licking your mouth.
Some of my kissers over the years
would do well to take lessons from her.
This morning I awoke
to find my cat asleep on my face.
Let the metaphors begin,
but not by me, at least not at this present time.
Valentine's Day 2008 part I
on a dark day, light comes
we bury the reposed,
then recline in our own anticipation;
here we sing together,
not a song of darkness
but one with darkness in light;
here our hearts meet,
greet,
and say something sweet.
Happy Saint Valentine's Day
Love always matters.
Valentine's Day 2008 part II
a daystar sings
spring not here,
can you hear?
a morning star dances
no stage but space,
can you see?
brother sun, sister moon
father sun, mother earth
sons, daughters
nursing babies, sleeping grandpa/ma's
watch the little ones,
they hear,
they see,
they invite us,
'Come join the fun.'
We walk,
step over step, into another's steps,
through the Looking Glass.
Hell yes, we see,
we hear.
And we only thought that it was a mirror
showing us more than we wanted to see,
revealing one speck too much.
The fairies, the imps, the angels,
the fallen now revived too,
here we all sing,
we all dance,
we all hear,
we all see.
Here the Glass is always full,
overflowing.
smiles, laughter,
all true, real
i do weep because this is what you do,
and, for what was, is,
children who weep too.
love seeks solace, and finds hurt
wrapped in more of the same;
yet smiles,
a repose is a recline,
where lovers and friends meet,
no need to explain,
just be.
love is.
Love does always matter,
knows no cessation of being,
only transitions,
why it hurts like hell when moved;
alas, but free
she flies, love with Beauty
and knows no lies
save for with us to lie.
Valentine's Day 2008 part III
Hymns, poetry, painting, prose, then
dance and all art,
Icons into what we know
but is so beyond adequate words.
The attempt to do so,
though,
is what affirms that love is.
Beatrice does dance with Dante'
Mary no longer weeps
John's head is on his beloved's chest
Dostoevsky's gentle creature sits up
Virginia walks up out of the lake on the other side
Van Gogh is painting with Gauguin
Gustav's Kiss is no fantasy
and Dali's resurrection's myth comes alive.
Four leaf clovers are not an anomaly.
'More than, kisses' timothy r. gates, 01/01/2006 *
A simple hello.
Look.
Smile.
Smirk.
Frown.
A little pissed off glance.
Silhouette is pressed into my mind's eye,
like an old copper print negative,
browns and darker brown hues,
if you knew the picture you know the picture.
That, 'Damn, look at those legs,'
(If I had looked for this I'd been blind.)
resonates as well as any word from on high,
only blasphemy to someone who's,
'Well, I never,' is the closest thing to their ever.
Sometimes I pray,
'Lord, I'd love to be her pillow,
chair,
couch,
bed,
hair,
clothes.'
Better,
I'd like to be the omnipresent breeze,
saying, 'Hi there,'
from tickles at her ankles,
swirling up around her knees,
not too quickly, but,
relaxing around her face,
close enough to her ears to whisper,
'Damn lovely.'
'Kisses' timothy r. gates, 12/31/2005
hugs, are great
pats, too
winks, flirt with our thirsts
thirsts filled get thirsty, again
Soft stokes, better
between the index and middle finger,
on the top of your hand, up towards the wrist,
this works.
In the upper middle, inside of your palm,
slowly caressing the crescent moon, holding your thumb,
can be unnerving, unsettling.
Touching, but not nearly a caress,
full hands moving up and down our frames,
not daring to grab at any point,
no leverage needed,
breathing is more like chanting,
we know what we know when we pray:
what we do and do not know,
matters not at all.
Kisses are not met a second time
unless the first one's an invitation for another.
The aroma from love-making,
varied as it can be from one to another,
still is the sweet smell of sex,
one plus one, times more of the same,
till well spent, I pray.
A kiss's allure
asks for less and more, at the same time,
this I do not desire from just anyone,
or everyone.
The one's lips I covet,
I envy,
I lust,
I want,
I need,
I pray for
--help me see beyond the mirror,
--the place of illusions, allusions.
These lips I hear,
when spoken through,
when nothing is said aloud,
when tight,
when quivering, holding back tears.
These lips, I know,
are for kisses.
Pressed against mine,
we'd laugh and well up.
We'd kiss.
'Hello' (trg, 8/26/03)
Hello.
A soft kiss on a cheek, or both,
suffices for an intimate greeting.
There are friends who may barely brush up against you,
who teach you the meaning of gentleness.
who help you smile,
who are baptized by your tears,
who share in your good and bad.
An amorous glide into each other
is more than a casual gift,
no accident here.
I bow at the waist and say, 'Thank you.'
A soft kiss on a cheek, or both,
not so much a goodbye as a see you next time.
Hello.
'dark kisses' timothy r gates, 11/09/2007
Dark kisses,
like black roses,
so red, beyond crimson,
appears to be black,
purple perhaps,
an so it bleeds,
as Lovecraft would've had it
in anything that he'd write;
i smile and say,
'thank you for the kiss
that leaves a mark
someplace.'
'eighth grade lovers' timothy r gates, 8/21/2008
Right outside the window
under three stories
behind an overgrown
shrub
eighth grade lovers
kiss, kiss, kiss
as fresh today, eye
I
smell the fresh cut grass
under the bush, too.'eighth grade lovers' timothy r gates, 8/21/2008
Right outside the window
under three stories
behind an overgrown
shrub
eighth grade lovers
kiss, kiss, kiss
as fresh today, eye
I
smell the fresh cut grass
under the bush, too.
My first at six,
she was seven.
I fell in love with kissing that day.
Petting, making out, intimacy --
these are only inviting
if the kissing is good from you kisser.
Only thing worse than a poor kisser,
is when you're dreaming of passionate kissing,
only to be awakened by your dog licking your mouth.
Some of my kissers over the years
would do well to take lessons from her.
This morning I awoke
to find my cat asleep on my face.
Let the metaphors begin,
but not by me, at least not at this present time.
Valentine's Day 2008 part I
on a dark day, light comes
we bury the reposed,
then recline in our own anticipation;
here we sing together,
not a song of darkness
but one with darkness in light;
here our hearts meet,
greet,
and say something sweet.
Happy Saint Valentine's Day
Love always matters.
Valentine's Day 2008 part II
a daystar sings
spring not here,
can you hear?
a morning star dances
no stage but space,
can you see?
brother sun, sister moon
father sun, mother earth
sons, daughters
nursing babies, sleeping grandpa/ma's
watch the little ones,
they hear,
they see,
they invite us,
'Come join the fun.'
We walk,
step over step, into another's steps,
through the Looking Glass.
Hell yes, we see,
we hear.
And we only thought that it was a mirror
showing us more than we wanted to see,
revealing one speck too much.
The fairies, the imps, the angels,
the fallen now revived too,
here we all sing,
we all dance,
we all hear,
we all see.
Here the Glass is always full,
overflowing.
smiles, laughter,
all true, real
i do weep because this is what you do,
and, for what was, is,
children who weep too.
love seeks solace, and finds hurt
wrapped in more of the same;
yet smiles,
a repose is a recline,
where lovers and friends meet,
no need to explain,
just be.
love is.
Love does always matter,
knows no cessation of being,
only transitions,
why it hurts like hell when moved;
alas, but free
she flies, love with Beauty
and knows no lies
save for with us to lie.
Valentine's Day 2008 part III
Hymns, poetry, painting, prose, then
dance and all art,
Icons into what we know
but is so beyond adequate words.
The attempt to do so,
though,
is what affirms that love is.
Beatrice does dance with Dante'
Mary no longer weeps
John's head is on his beloved's chest
Dostoevsky's gentle creature sits up
Virginia walks up out of the lake on the other side
Van Gogh is painting with Gauguin
Gustav's Kiss is no fantasy
and Dali's resurrection's myth comes alive.
Four leaf clovers are not an anomaly.
'More than, kisses' timothy r. gates, 01/01/2006 *
A simple hello.
Look.
Smile.
Smirk.
Frown.
A little pissed off glance.
Silhouette is pressed into my mind's eye,
like an old copper print negative,
browns and darker brown hues,
if you knew the picture you know the picture.
That, 'Damn, look at those legs,'
(If I had looked for this I'd been blind.)
resonates as well as any word from on high,
only blasphemy to someone who's,
'Well, I never,' is the closest thing to their ever.
Sometimes I pray,
'Lord, I'd love to be her pillow,
chair,
couch,
bed,
hair,
clothes.'
Better,
I'd like to be the omnipresent breeze,
saying, 'Hi there,'
from tickles at her ankles,
swirling up around her knees,
not too quickly, but,
relaxing around her face,
close enough to her ears to whisper,
'Damn lovely.'
'Kisses' timothy r. gates, 12/31/2005
hugs, are great
pats, too
winks, flirt with our thirsts
thirsts filled get thirsty, again
Soft stokes, better
between the index and middle finger,
on the top of your hand, up towards the wrist,
this works.
In the upper middle, inside of your palm,
slowly caressing the crescent moon, holding your thumb,
can be unnerving, unsettling.
Touching, but not nearly a caress,
full hands moving up and down our frames,
not daring to grab at any point,
no leverage needed,
breathing is more like chanting,
we know what we know when we pray:
what we do and do not know,
matters not at all.
Kisses are not met a second time
unless the first one's an invitation for another.
The aroma from love-making,
varied as it can be from one to another,
still is the sweet smell of sex,
one plus one, times more of the same,
till well spent, I pray.
A kiss's allure
asks for less and more, at the same time,
this I do not desire from just anyone,
or everyone.
The one's lips I covet,
I envy,
I lust,
I want,
I need,
I pray for
--help me see beyond the mirror,
--the place of illusions, allusions.
These lips I hear,
when spoken through,
when nothing is said aloud,
when tight,
when quivering, holding back tears.
These lips, I know,
are for kisses.
Pressed against mine,
we'd laugh and well up.
We'd kiss.
'Hello' (trg, 8/26/03)
Hello.
A soft kiss on a cheek, or both,
suffices for an intimate greeting.
There are friends who may barely brush up against you,
who teach you the meaning of gentleness.
who help you smile,
who are baptized by your tears,
who share in your good and bad.
An amorous glide into each other
is more than a casual gift,
no accident here.
I bow at the waist and say, 'Thank you.'
A soft kiss on a cheek, or both,
not so much a goodbye as a see you next time.
Hello.
'dark kisses' timothy r gates, 11/09/2007
Dark kisses,
like black roses,
so red, beyond crimson,
appears to be black,
purple perhaps,
an so it bleeds,
as Lovecraft would've had it
in anything that he'd write;
i smile and say,
'thank you for the kiss
that leaves a mark
someplace.'
'eighth grade lovers' timothy r gates, 8/21/2008
Right outside the window
under three stories
behind an overgrown
shrub
eighth grade lovers
kiss, kiss, kiss
as fresh today, eye
I
smell the fresh cut grass
under the bush, too.'eighth grade lovers' timothy r gates, 8/21/2008
Right outside the window
under three stories
behind an overgrown
shrub
eighth grade lovers
kiss, kiss, kiss
as fresh today, eye
I
smell the fresh cut grass
under the bush, too.