Last night in my lover’s arms

I began to feel again

Intimacy started as play, sprang to familiarity

In communication of minds and bodies

As we breathed deep each other’s secrets.

Last night in my lover’s arms

Our sexual quenching and thirsting

Gave us a child with no name

Its growth a rush as we learned to trust

Old hurts’ powers blunted tame.

Last night in my lover’s arms

The tidal sway of Luna’s charms

Opened wide the gates long shut so tight

Those many years of fear and shame

Fell wet upon my face as she shielded me

From the demon who stalks my night.

This morning in my lover’s arms

I awakened first.

The weight was gone

As I gazed upon

Her sleep-filled face.

My heart so full it nearly burst

My soul now strong anew

Once more in its rightful place

My searching days are through.

                                                                                                        - Brooke Babineau

RADIO DAYS
 

Gold-strewn rays of radio plays,
Memories bright from childhood's days.
Thrilling tales of colossal whales,
Adventures brave and bold.

Enchantments were, with ease procured
Found just inside the spoken word.
Through forests deep where evils creep
Round mountains bleak and cold.

Whistler, eerie and Shadow's theory;
Of victims sad and so world-weary.
Of a gunshot's crack, or blackjack's smack,
As secrets dark unfold.

Dreaming awake, delicious shivers shake
At the mysterious magics of Mandrake.
Beneath young knees churned waxed-wood seas
A carpet now, a ship from days of old.

Stretched far—amazed— those too short days;
As window’s traced raindrops endless maze.
My eyes now old, memories still unroll
Imagined treks to climes untold.


                                                                                       - Brooke Babineau
 

YOUTH'S EULOGY


Tears come too easily now,
A scald I once welcomed
That lay unspilt
In my man-child's heart.

I bore the pall
And saw it all
And heard the Latin drone

Will I be forgiven
For not forgiving him?
No longer here to teach
The way of a man among men.

I brook the load
And walk the road
yet turn my eyes around

My soul's weight
Heavy with regret
For his life stolen
And buried on my eleventh year.

I hear their words
The ravening birds
As they glut and posture and prate

Laughter is a hollow handshake,
Fitting in, pretending
Not to see the lies
In the mirror of their eyes.

That day wears still
a bitter pill

I am grateful too seldom
The things I want are out of reach.
Emptiness a constant companion
My hopes are a thief.
 

                                                                                          - Brooke Babineau