I don't want your fingerprints ...
(Work in progress)
(Sorry for the inconvenience)
Sou lay upon the warm wet earth
ripped from limb to limb.
Your present shape denies the girth
of your form in its prime.
Cut short in life denied your worth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes the hearth
a fire which knows no end time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
reminds me of grand times.
Soon, I too will go beyond the earth
recalling passion's prime
through the veil of life unearthed
my heart returned to thine.
you write your words and they make me cry
you write those word and you know i die
but i've died so often now
i held you in my arms while you smelled my hair
i saw that pretty little smile you saved for me
we always ran
too wild to walk
it takes two to tango
only one to pirouette
when you did your round about
turned over every single leaf
left me out alone
in the dead of spring
was it winter,
it must of been
'cause i know i almost froze
you kissed me
back when we first met
we kissed a lot
way back then
how you loved my lips
the touch of my skin
your thick black mane
how you'd whip it back
exposing yourself all bare
we never turned off the lights
or ever said hush
do you still own those dice
the ones in gold
with embedded gems in black
you use to love to roll them
rolled those snake eyes that bit
i'd swallow the poison like lemonade
handcuffed and whipped
your ceramic nails
tearing at me
my flesh on them
the blood on my back
i didn't know
wore my white shirt
'till someone screamed
from behind it was red
i dripped on the floor
like a lit candle
melted like a witch
drenched in Dorothy's water
you clicked your ruby heels
and you were gone
i wasn't in Kansas anymore
walked around with a briefcase
in my Armani suit
i never shed a tear
bedded woman half my age
they lined up in droves
to be with this broken man
i would yell like a cowboy
riding a bucking bronco
and i never fell
i was the man
everybody told me so
i would smile shyly
thank them their praise
but i knew who i was
make no mistake
every rodeo has its clowns
I wasn't the matador
even though I spoke fluent bull
the only knifes i carried were in my back
do you remember my white shirt
the whole time i justified me to me
by not thinking
by not talking
by not listening
by not wishing
or even dreaming
we both knew there was a gun in my briefcase
we both knew I would never use it
didn't own any bullets
still i pulled the trigger
some joy in that
pointed to my head
and when I saw you yesterday
and I held my breath for longer then I ever had
i thought the room would never stop spinning
i remember we spoke
how i saw it in yours eyes
as plain as day
you knew of my success
how fine i looked
in my silk woven garb
but i looked at my watch
asked for a raincheck
you'd have none of it
and i think your teeth fell out
when i walked anyways
I didn't understand your look
you knew i had a backbone
you know i never flinch
that's the story of life
take it when you got it
with some guys there are no be backs
my legs were like led as i walked away
and i could hear your tears
but i don't care much for phonies
you threw it all away
when you decided
to look the other way
it broke me inside
i'd never be the same
i never turned to look
slept the same as always
four hours tops
i'd give my right arm
for one pass of your breath
against my lips
but my soul?
never!...i'll live with the pain.
and other man stare
and other man wish
quietly yearning to be me
you know i want to laugh
success is like a flashy book cover
the cover is what sells the book
nobody bothers to read it
but they know the jacket by heart
set up a turnstile in my house
watch the ladies come and go
never let them get close
never invite the nice ones
the good ones the real ones
never want to hurt anyone
never want them to hurt like me
to hurt like me
hurt like me
i'd give my right arm
for one pass of your breath
against my lips...
Dadirector's Free Style Uncut
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.
We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.
Seven! I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.
Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race. I entered with Lisa.
You gave me that look. Oh that look! And you left without a word.
At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically. How it made you giggle to make fun of it.
It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance. You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.
Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.
Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.
At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.
Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.
Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.
Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.
I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke.
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.
Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?
Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice.
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.
Not everything is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.
I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!
i think of you.
March 29 2015
I went home for lunch,
I never go home for lunch.
When I got to our apartment
I don't know why but I didn't reach for my key.
Francine was at work and I always leave last in the morning.
I was sure I had locked the door but I didn't reach for my key.
I reached for the door knob and turned.
The door was open.
I don't know how I knew.
The moment I entered I knew.
I could feel it,
hell I could taste it.
I started walking but my muscles wouldn't move,
my lungs were grasping for air
for some oxygen
some sweet, sweet oxygen
but I could barely breathe.
“Leave!” I told myself but I kept walking.
Not really walking,
it was like moving through mud,
like a slow motion scene in a movie.
But this wasn't a movie.
This was my life and I could feel it slipping away
from my grasp.
I heard noises!
I had heard those noises a hundred times before,
they were the sounds of an Angel
but this was no heaven
this was my own private nightmare.
The moans traveled through the muck in the air
amplified like the hiss from a distorted speaker.
It mocked me over and over again.
Climbing a mountain might have been easier
but I finally reached the bedroom,
and there they were,
and there she was.
I knew the moment I entered the apartment.
Why hadn't I just turned back?
I could barely see, my eyes were blurry,
covered in layers of my own tears.
I could see her
I knew I had never seen him before.
They were naked and in our bed.
Naked in OUR BED!
How do you that?
How do you cross the line to that extreme?
You'd think the green eyed monster
would control my actions from here on in.
I did see green!
I was insanely jealous but I didn't want to
end up the morning headline in the newspaper.
That monster jealousy was by my side but I took
I'd have to keep him at bay, at least for now.
You'd think I would be mad,
You'd think I'd curse and call her whore.
Being cut open alive must be lest painful than this.
This hacked away at my spirit,
tore away at my self worth.
I felt like a pile of worthless shreds.
I mean my lips moved and words came out...
I think I said,
I'm not sure it all happened so fast,
she never spoke.
I could see the shame on her face
she didn't need to speak,
but I think I said 'Sorry...
I said Sorry and I left.
I wandered for what seemed hours,
it was minutes.
It wasn't like I was meandering to a different drummer;
there just wasn't any music anymore.
I was moving to the rhythm of the beating of my own heart.
Like a broken record it was skipping,
like a broken record it played
in a loop of repetitive monotony.
I suffered in my circled steps
until I couldn't stand it any more.
I found just enough strength
to return to the apartment.
I knew she was gone
I already felt the emptiness in my whole.
We'd never see each other again.
We had been so much.
She was a big part of my life.
She was the love of my life.
I would never love anyone like that again.
So much of her was me.
I thought she was my soul mate.
We let go of all of it.
There is a feeling of betrayal.
A feeling of disgust.
A jealousy that takes over.
I'd never look at her the same again.
Everything she ever did from that day on
would always make me suspicious.
Jealousy would rule me.
Jealousy should never rule anyone.
If you can't trust the people in your life,
friend or lover, you need to remove that
person from your life.
You have to remove that person out of your life.
Trust, is the only gift we can offer.
Friend, lover or stranger!
People can trust me.
My word is my bond.
I let her go,
I really didn't have a choice
I would never be the same again.
She was gone.
She had left a note.
It said Sorry!
We both were.
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Contest Name: The Green-Eyed Monster
A lone moth flits around my front porch light
as wind blows through my window, luring me
to step outside into black velvet’s night.
I search the sky, but no moon can I see.
It seems it’s disappeared, just like my love.
The moaning wind plays havoc with my hair
as that old bulb sways crazily above.
In solitude, I simply stand and stare
at the fool insect! How can it not know
the falseness of the light that it’s drawn to?
fluorescent doom replaces moon’s sweet glow.
I know this well because in losing you
I lost love’s gleam; I lost my everything,
and still that silly moth is fluttering. . .
For the Chopped II - Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish
They had fought.
He left without a word...
...while she was sleeping.
She threw on the gown she had worn for him the night before,
pushed off the china vase and blooms he had given her.
She watched them fall in...s l o w...m o t i o n,
listened to them crash to the floor...
...sat on the window sill,
where the bouquet and container had been.
She proclaimed to the world "c'est la vie!".
She was alone
but at least...
...she was the only flower.
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest Name: c'est la vie
A perfumed breeze with summer lavender
Shapeless smoked clouds had come and gone
Through verdant valleys I strolled along
Honeycombed hues warmed the new dawn
A golden butterfly glided in the distance
I just stood still and watched his flight
From one flower to another
His flapped wings fluttered
I could not let him out of my sight
I wondered 'bout this blissful beauty.
Towards the riverbank
I watched him roam
If I could only fly away with him
to destinations always unknown
Imagine what places he has been
what many glories he has seen
A perfect waterfall tumbling
into a clear blue pond
Wet dewdrops glimmering 'pon the grass
as the sleepy sun starts to rise
A doe with her fawn
taking those fragile first steps
bees buzzing by
swarming back to their hive
I watched in amazement
in awe of his grace
I floated along
as he flittered away
We hovered together through
a path between twin lakes
then and there I kissed him
before he silently slipped away
That's the last time I saw him
cuz now stone towers have been built
Nature's been destroyed and
the butterflies have been laid to rest
I do not know?
Closure eludes my clasp
Love wilts, somehow lasts
The destination beyond my grasp
The dream decays day by day
Your light, which never fades
Simply stopped shinning my way
Castrating chains of second chair
Faithfull, I wither for you there
Sucking stale stagnant air
Barely beating beneath my breast
My heart, now a hospice
Gently lays it all to rest
Lightly felt faintly heard
Pumping, pain-numbing words
Its over…its over… its over
On cold evenings
Surrounded by friends
I could stay up forever
From the blackness
Feeling that I could float upward
And walk with the stars
On their lonely journey
There was a girl
I was with then
When I first saw her
I wanted to feel her softness
Her breathe on my cheek
Brushing against my thigh
When I held her close
And even closer
I wanted her
To say she loved me.
Had a perfect balance
Teasing and challenge
A subtle change
That I never understood
The closer we became
The more anger
And resentment followed
When she smiled I was envious
When I laughed she was angry
We broke up
We were young
It was my fault
Or blame it on the times we lived in.
Outside my room
In a long and empty hallway
And like an undeliverable letter
A message scrawled
To no one in particular
Haunting visions are
Returned to me
The slenderness of her waist
The way she arched her back
The touch of her hand
The way she kissed
I feel her presence
Yes, I relive all that.
It hovers here, a moon opaque,
obscuring mountain trails I take.
No other living things appear.
A moon opaque. . . It hovers here.
I follow on along a ledge;
below a swirling river’s edge.
In front of me, the canyon’s yawn.
Along a ledge, I follow on.
I see no hue when fog congeals.
Oh, doom of one who no more feels!
The moon has fled, as so have you.
When fog congeals, I see no hue.
Now all is dim; it matters not.
My dear one’s heart I have not got.
No use in living without him.
It matters not. Now all is dim.
At peace I’ll be if I should fall
to murky water from this wall.
Oh, yawning canyon, swallow me.
If I should fall, at peace I’ll be.
'for the Gothic or Romantic (old/new) Contest of Giorgio Veneto
and now for the contest of PD
Is to remember
The touch of your hand
When you called me cariad
My mouth remembers your kiss
The feel of your lips
Sensual touch of your tongue on mine
The closeness this brings
Is to want to be with
Man woman or child
To love them
to want them near
To take in their being
When you love
It tugs at your heart
Making your chest swell
With unknown pleasure
Spreading to a smile
your eyes lighting up
The feeling of love
Keeps you young at heart
Helps you want to face another day
Yet no more
That love has lost its way
Floundering in the brink of destruction
Searching, for the exit of depression.
Needs to see the light once more
Yet all there is, is the heat of hells fire
The internal hell, that goes around and around the brain
Looking for answers, for the reason.
Memories try to flood the senses
Memories of the hope that once flourished
Now is smouldering in the no mans land of waste
Is there love ever after?
This is the third writing with letter L. As suggested by Jan..
On her terrace where she once had viewed a crimson field,
she stands recalling heroes who were battling their foe.
She still can feel the terror! How her poor heart reeled
thinking of her lover fighting on the field below,
with others on that plain bathed red as the sun dipped low.
The brave men lie in caskets which now are concealed
beneath a plain that ran with blood, where bright irises now grow.
She thinks of her own strong brave man, draped in white and sealed
forever in a casket too. He was her Romeo.
The sorrow flooding her she had never thought to know.
She looks down from her terrace with a heart that won’t be healed.
The mighty dead now lie in grassy fields. . . and lo!
Around the graves are swords, which are green blades revealed
with *purple flags that softly wave as a May wind starts to blow
and she is bathed in red again, there in the sun’s last glow.
* Purple flags refer to the name of the purple iris that resembles a flag
On every tenth of June
The sea waves splash upon the moors for years
and shadows draw along the walls festoons
unspoken verse, conceived on silent piers,
the advent of our loneliness attunes.
That day of June remained our only fair
and minds' ascension to the astral reign,
blooms' multitude and fragrances’ affair
a purple thistle on the field and rain.
Remember me, a windy song and laugh,
our holding hands and young, the Summer’s call,
we celebrated then, upon the wharf
and acanthine of solitude's dance hall.
On every tenth of June my eyes embrace,
above the summer moors, your lines of face.
© G. Venetopoulos, 06-14-2013, All rights reserved
She briskly walks in January’s rain,
which drums the endless rhythm of her pain,
pulling closer round her shoulder in the downpour
the leather jacket he so often wore.
Another day like this she can remember
when he had worn the jacket, and against her
he’d pressed as they stood kissing in the rainfall.
The world could wash away; he was her all!
No storm could stop their loving as they raced
with great anticipation to his place.
Before they’d even reached the bedroom door,
they’d flung their rain-soaked clothes along the floor.
Underneath the sheets, though cold and wet,
they madly kissed. He was as passionate
as winter’s storm away from which they’d run,
and yet he warmed her like sweet summer’s sun!
She‘s almost home; the rain has nearly died.
She thinks of all the nights she lay and cried.
While thinking how the rainstorm’s cold still lingers,
inside the jacket’s pockets she moves her fingers.
In the lining of one pocket, her fingers meet
a crumpled piece of paper - an old receipt -
its date from when, without a word, he’d left their town
and in the city, by a drunk had got run down.
The piece of paper gives her now a revelation-
A high class jewelry store had been his destination.
He’d planned to ask her very soon to be his wife.
and bought a ring there on that last day of his life!
His parents gave his jacket to her, yet
she’d always guessed the worst for why he’d left.
What happened to the ring? She cannot know.
But now her tears with bitter sweetness flow.
I sit here and ponder the days that have past
The many loves that I had, that just didn’t last.
One really sticks out, wish I had another chance
Treating her so differently, I’d show her romance.
I loved once a man, who just wanted to play
At being romantic .life was just foreplay.
Thought a kiss would be enough for his turtle dove
Not thinking about feelings, whether I wanted love.
We would start a family, having a baby or two
We’d live on the hillside, with a beautiful view,
We’d grow old together in the home that we build
Giving my life meaning, I’d be so fulfilled.
He now thinks that he wants me, I am the one
to fill up his heart to make me his own.
Promising me a home on a hillside with a view
Yet he hasn’t vowed that he would be true.
I’d hold her and cherish her til the day we depart
I’d profess to her my love and give her my heart
Romantic nights on that hill gazing up at the moon
Our days filled with laughter, frolicking in the lagoon
Sure he now promises me love for ever after
A life of joy, happiness and full of laughter
On that hillside we’d sit, watching the world go by,
A family, two dogs at our feet, kissing loneliness goodbye.
Penned by Tim Smith and Seren
I can't watch a happy ending,
Guy gets the gal,
Girl gets her pal,
I can't do it with out crying.
Maybe I'm like you,
maybe you cry too.
I'll tell you why I do,
will you tell me too.
I never got mine.
Said I'd be fine.
That was just a line.
I feel alone...no sign!
I've heard nothing from the sky
that somehow I'd get by,
survive until one day I'd die,
without my piece of the pie.
I never drop a tear or two,
it's much more like a bad flu.
Flows out of me without a clue.
My pain has never left, it just grew.
That's why I cry when I see love on the screen,
it's love I crave, that one woman and no screen.
That's why I want to have the love I've never seen,
love that lasts a lifetime and not just on the screen.
when my wife and i were in love...before
she became my ex...every moment of
every day i would live her... i had the wings
of pegasus the strength of samson...i had
the conviction of ghandi...the vision of
van gogh...i was different then.
love anchored me...both feet on the ground
i was rooted...focused...i was...
but enough of the hyperbole...
i was happy!
real love does that...links us to the better
part of life...
i was naive...
it didn't last...
she cut my hair...
took away my strength...
while i was thinking forever...she was
thinking it's over...i was all in but she held
the better hand...i lost everything!
i would draw hearts with my finger
on black tinted glass on rainy days
or nights...a contract i should have
i was a mythological character...everyday
the crows would feed on my flesh...on my internal
organs...slowly...painfully i died...
than every morning once again alive...
and again the crows would feed...
sometimes things are so transparent...
they don't need proof...they are self evident.
it is better not to challenge the heavens
...i accept my fate hold tight to my faith.
I can't watch a happy ending.
Maybe I'm like you.
I never got mine.
I've heard nothing from the sky.
I never drop a tear or two.
That is why I cry when I see love on the screen.
Like violets were her eyes when first I spied
the lady with a sweet child’s face who peeked
at me from bushes that she stood beside,
alluring Lilah, beaming, apple-cheeked!
And so it was that more and more I found
myself among the lilacs in that place
where first we’d met, that I might hear the sound
of Lilah’s laugh and glimpse her angel’s face.
On fragrant garden paths we knew the thrill
of blossoming affection. Poetry
was time we spent! But when my love fell ill,
the autumn of our bliss was not to be. . .
I visit Lilah now where she’s at rest
nearby the lilac blooms she liked the best.
For the "One of Your Best" contest of gautami phookan
Your love touched me. . .
As a butterfly softly alights on a flower.
I didn't notice until you flew away.
*Note: This poem is about not realizing you love someone until it is too late.
Thank you for suggesting I put this under "light poetry" Doris.
She met him in the interim,
that space between endings and beginnings;
a summer fling;
a sowing of her not so wild oats
was all that it was meant to be.
But he was so much more.
She found herself languishing
pool side on his patio
as long June afternoons
dripped like molasses into nights.
Sometime in July,
her illusion that she’d had of independence
burst like pyrotechnics in the sky.
And oh, those nights they imbibed!
Her nights with him ran
like the blood-red wine
in the goblets
by the trembling hands of two inebriates.
But the stems of those goblets
slipped quickly from their fingers,
and love’s elixir
spilled much too quickly
Along with the dry protracted days,
she - like desert grasses -
withered as she waited.
always thirsting for the nights!
But by the time August had arrived,
she also had come to realize that,
like the yellowed grasses,
she needed more than passion at dusk.
The nights, in fact,
had brought her
no less scorching than the sun.
And what she’d thought
was more than she could want
became much less
than he could ever give.
Some essential thing was lacking,
some need deep inside her
not being fulfilled.
In those long afternoons
as she'd waited for him,
she'd come to realize what was missing.
By September - back in school -
she knew her ardor for him
had barely waned,
yet still. . .
she knew what she had to do.
And so, she looked to autumn's advent
for October's cooling winds
to sweep away
of ashes in her soul.
FEB. 25, 2015
For the Hotsy Totsy Contest of Rachel Firmin
Back to back
on their solemn brass bed
Facing shadows on the wall
as the chilled air lingers
between their silent breaths.
On an old wooden dresser
an antique lamp reflects its light
on the opalescent glass
of a tiffany vase, a mantel clock
and a family portrait collage.
The light is slowly flickering,
dimming over the years.
Once radiant and dazzling
it is now relegated to a mere
...................glint of light.
Their love has gone as the light.
Ardent, glowing, and promising
The perils of life have worn it's luster
It's future is unclear
Feelings gone cold ......
Cold as winds on Summers gone
Their spirits sleep in different places now
Their hearts lost not to be found
They still stand to watch the sunrise
with their eyes fixed upon the ground
Just within reach - if only I could dare
to pluck that fruit! A luscious peach or pear?
No, not one of these! Metaphorically
I’m speaking! Like a bauble on a tree,
he brightly sparkled, beautiful and rare.
His eyes and lips were tender, and his hair -
smooth onyx framing one sweet face so fair!
That precious night I found sheer poetry
just within reach.
To think I touched that face and loved to stare
at it, imagining the life we’d share
perhaps one day . . . but it was not to be.
My fondest dream had possibility
till circumstance replaced what had been there
just within reach!
Written 4/14/2015 for the Contest of John Lawless
I look to the Moon, hanging aloft
Among the clouds so milky soft.
How must it feel, so high above?
So chilled and bleak and void of love.
Collapsed and sunken are his eyes,
Dark and deep as the onyx skies.
As the Moon shies from the sun,
I share no love with anyone.
The Moon is alone, without affection.
In its grim face is my reflection.
Inside my heart, the longing grows,
And rots my soul, a sickly rose.
While I look beyond this cage,
I clench my fists; they shake with rage.
I desperately stare above,
Wishing to fly, free as a dove;
For release from the troubled heart I claim,
To be finally rid of the madness and shame.
Although reprieve is found in song,
To no one does my soul belong.
In music, may the pleas be spoken,
But all in vain; the heart is broken.
The Sphere returns, begins to sigh.
We are not so different, You and I.
So twisted and fractured is the White Stone.
We both have no one; We are both all alone.
The day I left Madrid, I waved goodbye
to someone dear to me. I still can see
his dark brown eyes that could not tell a lie,
those same eyes I’d beheld so tenderly
each day when he would show up at my door.
Where is my friend Eduardo, whom I left
behind so long ago and never more
would see again? I know he was bereft
from letters that he sent, and I replied
that we would meet again. I could not know
how wrong I was or if he ever cried
for me. How easily I let him go!
How innocent and beautiful was he!
Unbearable the beauty of my memory.
For the Soulful Words Poetry Contest of Kim Morrison
I lay down
A lazy Sunday afternoon
The first winds from the north
Blowing snow like a blanket upon our souls
I fall asleep, in a haze of dreams
Where there she appears and forgive the obvious
The woman of my dreams
Never undressed, mind nor body
Here, in my delusion I beg for her heart
Tears roll down upon her chest
I whisper softly, tell me, tell me
You are my twin, in coldness and the dark
Entwined, we breathe slowly in silence
Words have flowed like the tears of the past
I hold on, in love, in desperation, in ecstasy
I caress her hair, and whisper be mine
Then I awoke, another sad day
Never used now
Down to silence
Soulless to hide
Turns to fury
Cold and hollow
Rick Lamoureux's contest
I waited, dressed to kill
and in love
both, of which
I could have been coaxed out of
You have turned a pale shade of white,
Al Green sang to me,
as my pen danced as your substitute
we danced all night long,
stationary, our dance floor.
As we whirled to the emotions
of words' sounds; hand in hand,
we went round and round
No one else in the room
most of all, not you
as my ink turned
from red to blue
It’s a precarious perch
High by a skydive
In such a leap of faith
A leap of love
Circumnavigates these boots of Earth
Fellow to the stratospheres
These butterfly landings
Of you in my heart
Has shot me full to the sun
On the twirling chant sung
Ever re initiates
And sounds the river onward runs
Of your name
Settles red iridescence
To tip the scales
These butterfly landings
Of you in my arms
I see you in precognitions
In my obsessions of your hair
Lip-syncing to the kisses
In my passions of your eyes
Where my heady desires evolve
This molecular bonding’s
These butterfly landings
Of you inside my soul
It’s a precarious perch
To expressive to encapsulate
How much I love you
It’s a peculiar laugh
That admits I have never even met you
But all of you inexorable
I am conceded to the pull
I am bound to the groundings
In these butterfly landings
( Everything I am
Everything I do
Those landing butterflies
I cannot express
In any vocabulary of words
Only in the dictionary of unspoken eternals
Lay the definitions of
How much I love
How much I need
How much I want
They beg with you
This man on bended knees
How this strength in me
Come back to me
Come back to me )
I was seventeen, had one year left of high school and a boyfriend I didn't even love.
It was the end of summer, and I was on the verge of a night indelible
because it was incredible for me.
If "tall, dark, and handsome" had a face, it belonged to one who walked
into the store I worked at nightly all alone. He brought with him a smile just for me -
beautiful, magical, seducing. Were he music, he'd have been the warmest song
to ever touch my soul. Perhaps it was the moon, lunacy-inducing, that made me crave
his visits more and more, for he'd come each night into the store,
his ritual to tease me with his glances; then stand in line with just one purchase,
engaging me with words deliciously belying that he spoke my native tongue.
Did he know I fairly worshiped him?
And where was Aphrodite to let her dear Adonis wander free?
I learned eventually he was staying with a brother and soon would be returning to Quebec.
I do not know, but I can now infer the moon waxed full by the time he asked me out,
for I had waxed complete in my audacity. Knowing it was his last night in town,
I closed the store up early and fled with my Prince Charming.
The stuff of poetry that night transpired. . .
fodder for the several poems of romance I've since penned.
Sitting in his car in front of my own house, late at night, into the early morning. . .
The way he gazed into my eyes, teaching me of butterfly kisses
and his breathing his sweet breath along my ear lobes,
the way our fingers interlaced, the way he caressed the small of my back. . .
He taught me how small things
can be just as sensuous as that act of love that virgins do not know,
and he branded me with a yearning for a sweet romantic love I'd never felt so strongly,
nor would I ever know again as wonderfully as I was shown that night,
for others in my life I've kissed, yet barely missed.
My dream love wrote me postcards from Quebec. Then it all died out.
I married. A few years passed; then I got a call from him, completely unexpected!
Somehow he'd tracked me down to my new home. I took the call,
as I held my firstborn baby daughter in one arm.
Heart in my throat, I told him it was nice to hear from him, but I was married now.
So though I'll never know what "may have been," I'm still left with the memory
I chose to make with him that one day of my life, my very best,
because for just one night, I was Cinderella. A prince still holds my slipper,
and infinite romance lives on inside my poems.
Had my heart not shattered into stainless steel shards,
I would have never been severed by a deck of playing cards.
Dealing with the black and red death of fifty two faces,
Shuffling wax coated cards looking for the bloody aces.
In tights worn and wasted, I've been the joker far too long,
Hands on the Kings sword, battles bow to the broken song.
Can I forgive you, for I cannot forget the agony,
A million lies and memories die under breath of me.
Paper cuts drip my poisoned blood in on the wax floor.
Fallen is this house of cards, I cannot stand you anymore.
Faces all they do is laugh at me, mocking my jester grin.
Chiming of these bells on my hat, heart broken harlequin.
Razor blade smile cuts open tear stained scars,
Burns on my palms from trying to reach the stars.
Withering like roses, blown away like ash in the breeze,
Wing clipped angel crawls on the ground with dirty knees.
Arrows hitting the bulls eye, painful piercing pride dies,
When is there ever any good in the saying of goodbyes.