Love sparks

it happens in a flash, a brief
encounter, two people meeting
on the street, online, a coffee shop,
and they engage in conversation,
talk about the weather and where
they are from, it deepens into what
they do for a living, how they were
raised, what their hopes and dreams
are, they order a second cup, one
without cream and move from the
barstool to a booth, laughing at this
moment, this unexpected invitation
into each other’s life, though brief it
is heartfelt, passionate, and inside
visions of the near future begin to
arise, to come into light with color,
seeing hands being held, soft kisses,
playful moments in the park, with a
dog, and then a wedding, she’s in
white lace, seams adorned with gems,
her wavy hair falling on her shoulders,
as he stares, not afraid but frozen in her
presence, his vows memorized, they
walk the aisle together, into the
parking lot and the horse drawn
carriage, she steps in, he follows, they
embrace, her cup is empty, his still full,
she smiles at his silence as he comes
back to reality, he shivers, his hands
moist, but he knows, without any
doubt, right now, at this very moment,
what he must do, or fear losing
the magic she created in him.

                                          Jaymes Ian Woode

soulful concoction

an ounce of sadness,twenty warm tears
rolling off red cheeks, dripping into a 
splash of blended grief, heartache jarred,
seasoned over time, a teaspoon will do,
not a drop more, roomy enough so
to add a lonely sigh, a fiery spice,
and pour, slowly, upon glacially
chilled blocks of life’s artic ways, 
abandoned as they crack open,
cold to hot, like a hug after winter’s 
storm, yet no one’s around, to hold, to
warm sluggish blood, the work is
unfinished, move, step forward,
include sprinkles of passion,
purposeful reason, I will, I will,
toss in a shrig of desire, to float 
above all that aches, a chasm,
then stir, gently with care, shake not, 
avoiding slight releases of nauseating
aromas, be gentle, finishing off
with garnishments of hope, drink,
that I will be remembered, embraced,
and renewed, that love’s arms will 
find me, before the glass runs dry.

                                             Jaymes Ian Woode

Lonely

My ears tune-in to the sweet sound of the sparrow,
whistling high pitched songs just o’er the rocky ledge;
and the wind blows a howling reminder of a life
grown cold, blowing away memories; my body
lies still, the once spirited wheat now flattened
beneath me, matted down by the heaviness
of my burdens; my eyes stare up into a sky of
emptiness, a fitting resemblance of my soul; to
wonder if there really are others stirring about,
in a time when I feel so alone; tree branches
sway above my resting place, a single leaf
falls to the ground; there is silence as I watch
even the sun fade away, running from me, afraid
I will reject its warmth; I am smaller than imagined,
surrounded by much taller things, like the wheat
that escaped my burden; what is life without the
pleasantries of greatness, an existence known
solely to one; it is hollow, relying on external
influences, to fill it, to comfort it, to make it whole;
yet, so many, as I, oppress such fields of beauty,
of whom don’t have the hands to hold us up; and
the ground, cold and damp, reminds the fallen, the
defeated, we are warmer still; where is my rabbit
hole, my heart is heavier than my flesh can bare
and needs to fall deeper than what I can offer, it’s
weight, like I to this bed of strangled wheat, takes my
air, my hope, to stand tall once again.

                                                            Jaymes Ian Woode