Conjuring

I am too early;
you have not met me yet.

I am isolated from my future
where you live.
I am too early;
you have not yet
learned to love me.

You don't know my smile;
I am not yet
even born
in your eyes;

but I still want you to love me
Is that silly?
Perhaps.

But, maybe it can be;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Dreamer's Poet

Dreamers dream
dreaming that
all their dreams are dreams;
and is reality then multiple-shaped
or itself a dream?

If dreams are things not real or true
or don't yet exist
then what does it mean for dreamer to
act upon the dream and bring it forth
into reality?

Was the dream just reality
not yet existent;
in waiting so to speak?

Or was it live
always there
waiting to be discovered?

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Dreaming Need

I lay down my heart for you
useless, beat-less
it will be
if you do not come back to me.

My eyes too
I'll place in my treasure box
I have no need to see
another,
ever.

No need now for locomotion
I lie stlll
having no destination
if that destination
does not include
you.

My brain succumbs
to hiatus;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Eternal

I take these moons-necklace them
to string in your hair
combing them in
with black velvet night;
blue green and red stars too
sparkle there.

I taste your mouth of Fiery Sun
lay before you galaxy mints
which you taste as
whispers of love flow-

word streamers flying from heart
to heart
eye glances
white hot-
the soul's messengers.

We each exhale
blow Soft Summer

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Shriveled

Craft me here a perfect lie
for I
am ravenous even for this.

Touch me here with hands
second hand
from touching the other;
sunk this low
I still crave
your eye's regard
because I am
not your slave
but the slave of love
and with you I practice
the Devotion
I'll need
for that other
who will truly deserve love mine.

I will avoid the infection of rage

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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When We Dance

When we dance
I take your hand
and dizzy you round-
your eyes flash by-
each twirl a twinkle light,
now here
then round
and twinkle again.

When we dance
my hand settles round
the neck's nape
and gentle falls
to your shoulder blades
meandering then
to the magic
spot
in the small of your back,
where time stops
from that simple touch

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Book, Trees and Leaves

The book
at the used book store
had a leaf pressed between its pages,
its veins showing;
pressed flat
and brown;
an unwilling bookmark-
the pages of the ages.

The tree
its mother,
died for those pages

her offspring
flattened out
upon mother's page breast
tiny lines and squiggles
between the veins;
no tree can read
no leaf can comprehend.

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Copy Machine and I

I have a copy machine romance
where the machine's heat
contributes
to my losing my senses.

Our arrivals
are timed
each day to maximize
and synchronize
to intensify
the chance encounter
we both seek.

'How are you' is
the morning entree;
the sounds of the staple and sort routine
and just a brush of finger tip
warmed by the sweeping green glow
as you help
position

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Day Time Stars Shinning

Take me,
Take me,
on the soft wind;

scatter what I am
across the tiny time
together we've spent.

Paste upon me
angel wings;
let Joy
dance with us
winging..

Lift me,
Lift me high
til giddy
til my eyes gleam.

All this

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Soul Singing

These lips parted at first look at you
painted red and awestruck
they felt the hot breeze of my lungs exhaling.

These lips murmured incoherently
sunk by small talk
halting quiverings and my feverish brain
frying;
their first butterfly brush with that mouth of yours
an electric spark surging across the bridge and gap between us;

too close for retreat not yet touched.

My mouth opens shyly
lips searing
the two now shocked by the moistness of it
the warmth
the urgency
the need
the fire and desire

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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