The Neighbor
I stand up on my tip-toes And peek over the wall
An ordinary day at work when he came into my store
I wish I were your mirror
Kept within my silent heart
I wish that I could hold you close
Moments with you are like drops of pure sunshine
The passion of arm loads of brilliant flowers
Passion . . . passion . . . welling up like a spring
Why is it that you fill my mind
The Neighbor
A parody on "The Gardener"
By Robert Louis Stevenson
The neighbor does not love to talk
He tends to keep to his own walk
And when he's finished for the day
He goes inside and turns the key
Away behind the house he goes
He mows the lawn and prunes the rose
Over the wall I see him dig
Brown and serious, (but not too big)
He plants and rakes and trims and weeds
Nor rarely stops to talk to me
He gets in his car and drives away
And doesn't stick around to play
Silly neighbor, our season goes
And old age comes with pinching toes
And like these blooms that now abound
Time will lay us in the ground
Well now, while the sunshine stays
To reap more from these garden days
Oh how much more fun it would be
To revel in the yard with me.
December 28, 1998
© Kizu Kudasai
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I stand up on my tip-toes
And peek over the wall
To where the grass is greener
And one man runs it all
He owns his little house
And tends his little yard
He goes to work each morning
In a little silver car
He's quiet but polite
As he goes about his days
But I watch very closely
And try to understand his ways.
I know he has a steady job
His schedule's quite precise
On weekends he works in the yard
Which I think is really nice.
I really like his garden
Orchids blooming in the ground
A new sort of agapanthas
Six-foot roses blooming 'round
UPS comes in the day
And leaves mysterious things
He stays late in the back room
To work with what they bring
His garage is always tidy
All the boxes stacked just so
His car is clean inside and out
Ready when it's time to go.
He doesn't have a girlfriend,
People rarely come to call
But he's always up and busy
And happy with it all.
But what of him himself?
He's cute, and seems smart too
Hardworking, educated
Men like him are far and few.
But he lives on the other side,
And I live over here
Life like that so far from me
Even though he lives so near.
November 6, 1998
© Kizu Kudasai
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An ordinary day at work
When he came into my store,
He casually looked amongst the shelves
Then we chatted by the door.
To me he was quite different,
So cheery and so smart,
Then he walked away forever,
And with him went my heart.
A hundred more days came and went,
thousands of people too,
Then one day he appeared again,
Just too good to be true
I stood transfixed by his words,
Enslaved by his sparkling eyes,
Electricity filled the air,
I was fully hypnotized.
He came more often to the store,
We'd talk at lunch or on the street.
As he shared the mysteries of his mind,
His company grew more sweet.
He talked about passionate music
And all the things that he had done
The more he talked, the more I liked
Just listening was so much fun
Each night I'd close the door real snug,
And crawl into my bed
I'd pull my pillow close to me,
And savor visions in my head.
I'd dream about my secret love
How my body yearns for him,
I'd close my eyes, unleash my mind,
And indulge my every whim.
Finally I had my chance,
At last we were alone
Throw reality aside for now,
This moment he's my own.
Arms wrapped around each other
I pull him close to me,
Now enjoying all of him
Right here is ecstasy.
"I want to be your fantasy",
he says, but so he is.
Although he said it just for fun
I sure wish I were his.
I feast a thousand kisses
On his face, his mouth, his skin,
His delicious body's mine to have,
To my soul I take him in.
These memories fade into the past
Further every day,
I think about him every night,
But it never goes away.
I wonder what he's doing now,
I wonder what he thought then,
I wonder if it was special somehow,
Or shrugged off like other men.
I wish that I could tell him
How special he is to me,
But things like that don't touch a man,
So it's pointless I can see.
He never spoke a promise
Or lied or led me on,
But just that night of passion,
When it was over he was gone.
I wish there was some way to go back
And talk to him again,
To somehow stay all calm and cool
And have him for my friend.
Being close to him was heaven
But what I miss now we're apart
It's about who he intrinsically is
That breathed life into my heart
August 24, 1998
© Kizu Kudasai
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I wish I were your mirror
and daily beheld your face,
Mesmerized by your beautiful self
Gazing solely on the spot you grace.
I wish I were your bed sheets
wrapping warmly 'round you each night,
to kiss and caress your sleeping form
'till the glow of mornings light.
I wish I were your journal
and held the musings of all your mind.
I'd hide them deep in the depths of my soul
and to my heart each one I would bind.
March 10, 1998
© Kizu Kudasai
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Kept within my silent heart
Your image lies, a treasured find,
Until in dreams you come and then
Nightly fill my slumbering mind.
Going back, I see your smile
Happily we talk about our days,
Again my heart ignites, but wakes
Now life divides our separate ways.
Unknown to you, we meet each night
My heart stays fast until the light
February 28, 1998
© Kizu Kudasai
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I wish that I could hold you close
and make sweet love with you again,
and feel your passion close to me
in a night that doesn't end.
If I could only touch your skin
with the tops of my fingertips,
the softness of a thousand angels
I want to brush against my lips.
I think if I could see your face,
your bright eyes and shining smile,
even if glanced from far away,
it'd warm my heart for a while.
I wish I could hear a word or two
that you might share about your day,
for a moment I'd glimpse into your life
before you turn and walk away.
So every night I close my eyes
and imagine that dreams come true,
from the depths of my mind I go back again
to those precious few days with you.
February 1998
© Kizu Kudasai
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Moments with you are like drops of pure sunshine,
golden and precious in the palm of my hand,
Gifts burning brightly for a second in time,
then slipping into darkness again.
They sparkle and glisten like amber jewels
of pleasure, intangible and shining,
Treasured for their merit alone
and by my fingers enshrining.
I hold each moment so close in my hands
and draw them nearer to bask in their glow,
I taste their sweetness on the tip of my tongue
to savor each one before you must go.
I know one day these treasures will end
one moment will be the last,
Then I will close my eyes in the dark
and dream of the sunshine-y past.
August 11, 1997
© Kizu Kudasai
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The passion of arm loads of brilliant flowers
bought at the corner stand,
Glorious sunflowers, fuchsias and mums,
transform your desk to a garden land.
The passion of speaking a second language,
from over worked phrases unbound,
Each new idea thought thoroughly through,
until the absolute best word is found.
The passion of liquid water colors
laid down on shining pure white,
translucent skies and trees, and meadows and shade,
now stained glass that shimmers with light.
The passion of music breathed by Vivaldi
enchanting in every part,
Each note so wonderfully rich and luxurious
it captures and squeezes your heart.
The passion of gardens glistening with green
jeweled colors in every bloom,
Fragrant breezes, fresh fruit and singing birds,
and night jasmine's inviting perfume.
The passion of a heart open to God
like a prism with a spiritual light,
Sends out a spectrum of blazing colors
each one pure and intensely bright.
The passion of kisses so meltingly soft
that gives way to passionate fun
sensuous caresses and breathless pleasure
so luscious my mind comes undone.
August 7, 1997
© Kizu Kudasai
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Passion . . . passion . . . welling up like a spring,
Passion . . . passion . . . about everything.
Passion . . . passion . . . in the sun, in the light,
Passion . . . passion . . . in the still of the night.
Passion . . . passion . . . it's process, not goal,
Passion . . . passion . . . spilling out from your soul.
Passion . . . passion . . . in all things that you do,
Passion . . . passion . . . incarnated in you.
August 7, 1997
© Kizu Kudasai
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Why is it that you fill my mind
each moment of the day,
You are a man like other men,
yet o'er my thoughts you hold such sway.
Eyes soft and brown like other eyes,
that laugh and wink and stuff,
But they shine with light from within your mind
I can't stare into them long enough.
All poets muse that skin is soft
like petals or silk or down,
But to touch your skin is so enchanting,
no other softness can be found.
So many times I've closed my eyes
and imagined your lips pressed to mine,
Electricity fills every inch of my soul
when I taste your kisses so fine.
Instead of soothing my fantasies
now I am filled with so many more,
At night I pull you close to me
and think of what else you have in store.
July 22, 1997
© Kizu Kudasai
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