Primordial
Love is throwing your heart in the burning fire
and being willing to see it come back a frozen hulk;
and doing it again
time after time.
Love requires that we set fire
to our brain,
and watch it burn
all in Love's Name
and Passion's Call.
Love is heat;
Love is fire
and we
are Mashmellows
of the Flame.
Love is time lost.
Who can remember
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Human Seeds
She didn't have the best mind in the class
she knew that;
nor the prettiest face.
She couldn't play the clown-make people laugh
and she was not the one to understate
thoughts and feelings
on specific things.
She moved among her contemporaries
unseen, untouched
not noticed
nor scorned
but not given either
much respect.
She didn't dance-
too much exposure there-
and her body often betrayed
her lack of balance
and too
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Palmed Heart
I knocked on the door of her soul
peered into its window
tried to see her there at the table
where she sits each day;
I listened for her heart beats
tried to divine her secret place
her mystery needs.
But no;
my trek and voyeurism
came to naught;
she kept all her secrets in her pillow keep
and I had at last
to knock her door
and wait for her to turn the lock
peer out
and ask
'Hi, do I know you? '
She did not; but my eyes had fixed her
many times
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Devotion Eyes
She fixed me with those large Devotion Eyes
my psyche paralyzed by those liquid lights
which twinkle-flash into me.
They read deep
until I have to reach to see
where inside those eyes have touched me
physically.
She moves toward me
never looking away;
I'm hypnotized and she knows
I'll not be able to move or breathe
until she reaches my inside personal space
inches away
from her juicy mouth,
apple-red
and satiny.
My insides plead
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Orange Dunes
Even if there were no sun,
no moon in the night-time sky
the shine of these two
by any measure is
not surpassed by the light in each
of your eyes.
Even if I did not love you
Love itself would gladly take my place,
its enchantment a testament
to the lily-fire which resides there
beneath that peaches and cream skin,
that furnace mouth,
that wild hair
which flies on its own
independent
of summer breezes,
as ocean breakers
throw themselves upon the beach
for you,
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Fire-Time
He walked toward her
a fire-stick in his hand
and spoke softly.
'This is fire
my gift to you.
It is safety from wild animals;
heat for your food;
romance for your life;
Igniter of Passion;
The Secret Furnace
which fuels the Sun;
the Starry Blanket
which covers the night;
the Milky Way which burns
hot-blue.
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Mounting Fiercely
At fifteen I met her and knew
she could have blown out my candle
with a single puff,
but I'm sure the thought never crossed her mind
that was the mark of her-
such was her total immersion
in being
not in judging herself
against others
that made me want her
her beyond wanting
even as she
grappled with
those 16 year old hormones of hers
in which she saw
18 years olds as fascinating
while I languished
in the cute-but friend-zone
looking to free myself
from that prison
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My Backyard
He was digging deep into my back yard pages
using questions for a spade;
the over-turned soil started to pile high
deep dead flowers unearthed there
and who, and what phrases came from him in clumps
of queries
and gripped I was with how much
I can, could or should reveal.
'Was he your boyfriend.? How long were you two together? '
These kinds of soft queries come with hidden barbs and sharp edges
if the answers lead on to more spade queries and deeper digging into my
backyard history.
Each clunk! into that deep soil just might dig up memories long buried there with no time for censorship to dust off the dirt and clean them up and evaluate what he had found there.
I was not trying to hide but I was frozen by not being able to see in advance what lay there before I was presented with it and hesitant, had to instantly think about what to own and what to conceal.
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Love and Combat
'I've had my sip of tainted time, ' she said
'wasted hours of questions
asking if you love me
perched in some Pity Pub
on hard benches
listening to old country tunes
red dress on
heart like a fist
my best face in the bottom of a glass.
And yet you still had a hold me
like grandma's faded crystal
you held me in your hands
and drank so deep of my youth
drained it to the very last drop,
spilling lots
And now you back sitting here looking for another sip.
Call me stupid
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Right
She would lie down in the blizzard snow
to make snow angels-
her arms stretched wide-
her legs spread.
She walked up to the robber
and touched his gun
and said 'don't.'
She stopped a bar fight
by getting up on the bar
whispering 'stop.'
She made the three point shot
at the half-time 3-point contest.
Still cries in movies;
has all of her stuffed animals
and her blanket from childhood.
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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