Wayne Allen LeVine is a writer, poet, philosopher, storyteller, and author of two books of poetry – Forgiveness for Forgotten Dreams and Myths & Artists, (both published by The Center Press), Wayne’s latest book Insights of an Ordinary Man, (published by Spirit Wind Books), a collection of autobiographical vignettes, inspired essays, and delightfully spiced with but a few scattered poems – was officially launched in mid-December, 2011, becoming an Amazon.com Best Seller, securing a top-20 spot within the top-100 in the nation. A Windy City native born in Chicago – moved west in 1980 to live his dreams in Southern California, dreams which are lived, honored, and fully shared with his wife and their two sons. 



Entrenched in the sense memory
of evening gowns and crystal
goblets – half-filled with ruby
liquid, half-empty, simultaneously,
with youthful drunkenness.

One might say: It was the night
that followed the full eclipse, the
majesty of those elaborate costumes,

and the sensuality of a naked
masquerade – wherein, everyone
wore the lively spirit of another.

And the air was thick with laughter,
and the tensions of summer love . . .
Amour – moist kisses dripping from
airy pedestals, promises meant to be

broken – softly spoken, with quivering
voices, aided by undulating tongues.
One might say: It was a sticky world,

like caramel dreams melting through
a poets utopia, painted with panting
heat clouds above moist air aglow with fireflies.

One might say: It looked like a liquid
universe – lakes of morning dew,
clinging luminously to everything, making

it impossible to sleep, while being
covered in those passions that want to wake us.
Like the rising tide that meets the
edges of an invisible blanket near the shore –

soaking the threads of a late night fantasy,
inextricably mixing with the salt of the sea,
and growing stronger with the
tenderness we dare to express in moonlight.

from Myths & Artists


In Honor of Spring

I see this as the sky of triumph –
brilliant blue like a new beginning.
Winter was but an icy dream –
the chill of hibernation,
isolation and surreal expectation.
Those frozen ice drops, weighing
down the twigs of true connection . . .
they are melting – giving way to
what must burst now for the sake of spring.
We are bursting too, for
the very same reason; opening up
to what we resisted long enough.
It hurts to hold back – to hang like
an opaque ice drop . . .
afraid to melt into the auspices of spring.
It hurts to resist our true magnificence –
denying the gift we
now know we were born to bring to others.


Who Knew Then

Who knew then? 
while I danced the
edges of four story
rooftops, or when

I ate my lunch out
on the ledge of the
30th floor of a
downtown Chicago

skyscraper, or when
I hung by one hand,
from the branch of a

tree, growing out
of the side of the
southern rim of the

Grand Canyon . . .
staring down at a
2000 foot drop onto
ancient layers of
multi-colored rock,

while my brother
stood in terror,
pleading with me to
climb back – where

it’s safe, behind the fence.
Who knew then,
that of the two son’s
born of different mothers . . .
he was the one closer to the edge the entire time.


Wayne Allen LeVine





2012 Wayne Allen LeVine

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