The man with a crooked smile and big hands


A long long time ago
Before digital took over the planet.
My grandfather was  an airman in WW2.
He never dropped a single bomb
or even fired a weapon in that war..
He was a bit of a pacifist
live and let live was his way.
Instead he aimed camera lenses
at the Germans snapping their country
on his belly lay on the planes belly.

At the airbase in the UK he printed his photographs.
enough to cover an airfield.
He met an English lady in the darkroom.
They printed their photographs together
mixing fixer and developer.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands
He got used to her being there.
When the war ended he returned to the states
and opened a camera and photography shop.
He built a darkroom by hand
when it was finished he went back to England
on a cargo ship
and found the lady from in the darkroom.
he asked her to marry him
and she accepted.
when they returned to New York
he showed her the darkroom he built for them.
On the door was a note
held by a thumbtack
It said I fell in love with you
in the dark
but I want you to follow the light
with me for the rest of our lives.

A year later my dad was born
with a crooked smile and big hands
and also his love of photography.
He had the eye for
color and shadow and light.
After I was born I did not follow the
love of photography.
But would get into trouble at school
for writing poems in the margins
of my work books.
I found grandmas note that was
pinned on the darkroom door.
She had it in the things
I had clear from her room.
she passed a way a few weeks ago.
And I was moved to tell this story.
Follow the light Grandma love.
look for a big man with crooked smile
and big hands hes waiting for you.

walking across
the damp grass
little acorns poke
the soles
of my feet
fall coming

The world is dancing
shaking and dropping
Heart beats fast
Thoughts become worst
  
High mountain  touch down the earth
Heritage and temple  become the mud
Shouting and running  love of life
Mind and heart seeing ****** site

No fear of height no fear to drawn
Prepare and save  their own
The scary moment
see the death through open eyes
live with sorrow no feel of pain

Those days brings darkness but leave some hope
support of family and care of those
willing to help and blessing of loves
Busy in support and trying to cares

Build the building grow the faith
morning with shine sun that rise
walk with motive fear just tiny
help the other care like mother

Hands for pray, hands for support
heart for faith, hope for best
They said we can do,
They said we will do
know the meaning, show the meaning
We are Gorkhali & love to be Gorkhali

sometimes
beside you
when i should be sleeping
i put my ear to your mouth
and i can hear
the rhythm of your breathing
like waves that roar
inside a seashell
it keeps me awake
when all else is quiet
and i forget
about all the loves
and unloves
all the smudges i tried
to unsmudge
all the things before you
and sometimes
beside you
when i should be sleeping
i imagine myself
to be so much more than i am
i imagine myself
inside a seashell
i imagine myself
as a wave

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

It is still tonight
and the melted moon
sheds a silver peace
on dazzled rooftops.

No distant trains,
no siren streets,
no drunken song
from men too married for their liking.
even small animals only whisper their calls
and all is well.

I am at peace
heavy limbs
ache with joy.
A bed beckons
a soft of sheets
a warmth of stories.

”I will arise and go now”(1)
to the upper room
to dream of seas and shells
and listen all night
to the surf’s soft sighing

(1) From the lake isle of Innesfree by WB Yeats

Kisses
like Japanese paper flowers

opening upon
touching water

blossoming into amazement
to bloom for ever in imagination

your breath
(lace curtains dancing in the breeze)          

carries carefully each word
letting it break

fragile as a bubble
gently against my skin

your voice settling and unsettling my hair

the poem
rising and falling

borne upon your breathing

like petals
upon a stream

cuddled into you
a dream of a dream

forever you
telling

poem upon poem

your heart
beating preciously

against my heart

I understanding completely
your mind

...is my home.

I will wait for the one who feels like baking sugar cookies
For the one that smells like climbing trees
For the one that looks like a morning after sleeping in a hotel
For the one that sounds like smiling before a roller coaster takes off
For the one that tastes like swimming way after the sun has gone down
I will wait.

I need to write
you a love poem.
Not with
chocolates and roses.
But with firey passions
and intensity.

So intense you
Will need to sit down
as you read it.
So strong it burns
with passions you crave.
Causing your face to blush
In secret sinful thoughts.
Thoughts that slow
the time to a crawl
Before you will
share your bed
with me once more.

Words that tear
at your clothes
like an ardent lover.
Words that will
leave us as naked
as newborns.
Burning in fires
that are as
old as time itself.

You will be standing
at the edge
of a pit of flame
so dangerous we will
hold each other
in hard embrace.
So that we do not
fall into its
raging inferno.

All that I know
Of a certain star,
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue,
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird,—like a flower, hangs furled,
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.