Author Jay Sturner

Each day, life plants seeds, waters them alive with souls; flowers bloom like love, love wilts like flowers. Each day, the sun does its best, earth keeps intact, keeps spinning on track; the cycles turn, we continue to yearn, we grow towards the maker: We, with our winds never landing. We, with our branches ever-expanding. We, the trees outstanding. From the book Kairos (print version only)

When storms unleash a thunderous might across the urban scenes of busy life and our neighbor cleans his grill; when warblers pass and the air smells like grass I know it is spring again. When leaves shine healthy green across woodlands where robins sing and the flowers return to glory; when the sun warms our cheeks and the chipmunk peeks I know it is spring again. When lovers create sparks across blooming city parks  and we run through fields simply to run; when bitter cold has gone away and warm days resume our play I know it is spring again:      And all of nature rubs its eyes,      stretching an eager frame. (From the book Kairos )

December air, cold sky alight with flickering stars. I’ve gained this night, at least a bit of its glory, by sharing it with no one but myself. So I wander, as I wonder, Where am I this night? And I begin to weep, like an orphan growing old. When a man’s days seem irrelevant and uncollected, it’s like a stale dream, a lifeless story. But then I think, Maybe I’m missing the point . There’s always a reason for things—maybe, anyway. Anyway, why question it. December air, cold sky alight with shooting stars. I’ve made a few wishes, I’ll be the first to admit, and I’ll share them with everyone but myself. From the book Kairos (print version only)

Tonight, wanton moonlight. Stars cold and listless. Angels take human form to vent their sorrows— Imperfection. Stillness, bowed head of a goddess. Gold sobriety stained with sour wine. Sugar-coated flawlessness now full of cavities— Imperfection. Fervent dreams trapped in a subconscious box. Shiny green lizards dancing on clouds full of rain: Imperfection rears its beautiful, exotic head— and we are all sublime again. (From the book Kairos )

A dimness has poured over the bright of her day, where dirty light tightens around the body, squeezing bitter truth from lemon-flavored karma. An infant’s voice bounces and plays inside her head, where love is a pale, frozen rainbow; shining just faintly above an empty playground. The choice came with the crystal air of a cruel winter. The day was cold—unforgivably cold—but heat danced through it. No one would come close to understanding this. Now, she is rigid; severely pensive beneath falling white. Acrobatic thoughts dissolve within her stillness as winter coils around her, ready to strike: And in the icy wind, a baby cries. Tiny footprints in the snow fade away. Where once was a life is now empty space— empty space with a fading lullaby. (From the book  Kairos )

Since you went away, I’ve been exploding all through my body. I’m a catastrophe. Since you went away, I’ve only got the world to blame. Isn’t it a shame? It’s such a shame. Since you went away, life is dizzy and earth is spinning. Electricity fills my alcohol, but it never jolts me happy. Since you went away, I’ve been bitter and complex. A mind drifting through space unable to face its artistry. Since you went away, I have lost me. (From the book Kairos )

(I sometimes watch) I think about her every day of my life, although I haven't seen her in almost a year. Everything around me has become a shade less light; the sky, its stars, even my vision of heaven burns less bright. (people in love) I still have her picture. Sometimes it stays too long in my hands, and "too long" means when tears come. I don't need to torture myself like this anymore, but for some reason, I still do. (it reminds me) I'm still waiting for that day when I'm drinking coffee at the kitchen table, and she walks right through the front door like she'd only been gone to borrow sugar. (of a time) From the book Kairos (print version only)  

Eyes, her eyes and green, like meadows green. To see those eyes… I’ve seen. Lips, her lips and red, like wine stains red. To kiss those lips… in bed. To know this woman— To be her man— To live my life— To have this dream— Skin, soft skin and white, like satin sheets pulled tight. To hold her with love… by candlelight. Perfume, her perfume and breeze, like wind through summer trees. To inhale her being… I truly breathe. To taste her colors— To adore her scents— To know such beauty… it’s all a gift. Love, our love and life, like a world without strife. To kneel before a girl… make her my wife. From the book Kairos (print version only)

Talk to me in the comfort of fresh morning when a bird's song I may enjoy as the cold of night surrenders to the warmth of dawn and there comes no sound from the telephone or door. Hold me close as the sun plays with shadows when the curtains of our room blow wide as our hearts beat ever so quietly to the pulse of day and seagulls scavenge across the falling tide. Know me when the day is newly born, my love when the spirit within this aging body is content as I steal gentle kisses from your soft lips and inhale the subtle fragrance of this moment. (From the books Kairos  and  10 Love Poems )

I see more than you know about all you are, and through my observations and from my analysis I've concluded that I love you. Not a theory quite simply a fact— I love you, and that's that. From the books Kairos  and  10 Love Poems . Also a Best of the Web winner at Love Life Poems in 2012.

A silky aura surrounds me when I . . . Lavender dreams visit me sleeping when I . . . Golden extravagance fills my every moment when I am loved by you. My nerves come to ease My tensions are of no attention My heart beats with subtle integrity when I am loved by you.     (From the books Kairos  and 10 Love Poems )

There's a batch of romance now simmering in the heart— add red wine and it's very sweet, the degree of love determines its heat. There's a pink perfume sunrise waiting patiently for its turn— its rays are bright, though bittersweet born, a thread for mending hearts torn. There's a book of poetry blown open by the wind— a million words the poets have said, always a favorite: Roses are red… There's a day reserved for love bearing cards and cliché— the candied tradition our hearts know as Valentine's Day. From the books Kairos (print version only) and 10 Love Poems

We do not need thoroughfares when love seeks the heart Such is the way of love— always destined, never sought We do not need gold coins when love comes without cost Such is the value of love— always priceless, never bought We do not need a wise man when love speaks through art Such is the beauty of love— always instilled, never taught And we do not need a ruse when love surrenders to us all Such is the enigma of love— always mysterious, never caught ( From the books Kairos  and  10 Love Poems )

Sitting by a thicket thinking of you. A place full of peace people cease to know. A place where flowers grow wild and unfold untold. A place I often go to be alone. Birds sing in spring and I follow their wing. Sadness seems to fade as I wade through shade. Times like these are what bring me peace— alone with my thoughts when I feel alone. A quiet blue river shimmers in the distance, I’ll walk to it and explore it today. The walk’s not far, I won’t use a car, too much I’d miss along the way. The beauty of a river is said to soothe. Motion of current a deterrent for the blues. So here I’ll sit and smile for awhile— just a little while till I tire of being alone. From the book Kairos (print version only)

Becoming twilight softens another midsummer day: stars spark up, the moon pulsates, oceans flinch, day aborts, night reclaims dignity; everything sleeps and everything awakens— the sun has pulled away my shadow. Blushing dawn ascends the misty green hillside: stars flicker out, the moon hides away, night departs, day reclaims strategy; everything awakens and everything sleeps— the sun has tossed back my shadow.       (From the book Kairos )  

I feel like a stranger to myself; passionate for answers— ones I may never know:   The bee gathers nectar; he knows! The bird flies south; he knows! The poet documents his soul; he knows! that he knows nothing.       (From the book Kairos )