His Fear of the Dark
Sought Her Flame – He Closed in Tight
She Then Flickered Out
Tag: love
Haiku… Ish? Meh.
Loins on Fire
Sphincter Quivering
This is Love
I Haven’t Written In A While (A Love Poem For D)
Well, I have.
In my head.
But you don’t know this
Unless you could creep around
In the Squoosh
And Mush
Attempting to make sense
of the scattered bits
of mangled paragraphs
half-finished words
let alone
mismanaged punctuation.
Make your way through
my glow worm caves
dangling luminescent
thoughts
pooling into the collective
goop
which I will eventually
strain into something
formative.
Maybe.
But I’ve “written”.
There are essays
and strong opinions expressed vehemently
sharply jutting out
haphazardly
here and there.
Gardens of prose
jagged brambles
and the sickly sweet scent of dying lilies
intertwined
making a mess…
The bees have been happier.
I suppose
I just wanted you to know
That I have been keeping up
And every thought of you
Incites inspiration
You make me want
to bring order
to the chaos
mend and organize
my fragmented parts
and pieces
I am
motivated to
light a trail
leading out of my darkness
exposing
the shards and
skin slicing edges
(though I can’t imagine
not getting a small cut
*bound to happen*
especially if you’re
walking barefoot)
so you can better make your way
deeper into my soul
There I can tend and tame
the prickly burrs
Not an easy task
But
Better for the bees
who will be keeping busy
with the new buds that have blossomed
Because of you.
For Daidria
“Your glance scatters seeds.
It planted a tree.
I talk
Because you shake its leaves.”
– From Letter of Testimony Coda by Octavio Paz
The Musician
I found
old correspondence
from some years ago
between my former
self and
you,
the always on the road
wielder of stringed instrument
and debaucherous exploits
Former paramour
partner in deviance
and infatuation
What a pair…
Addicted, lustful
heathens
we were
Two moths
Two flames
Destruction was
inevitable,
Of course
But still.
Bemused, I
shook my head
Reading the
To and From
Slightly aggravated
by my own desire and loathing
Your seemingly sincere
yet
apathetic apologies
“You may be crazy, but I am weak. And that’s worse. I don’t know what else to say.”
Clearly.
Our combustion
while not spontaneous
still surprises me
Yet,
After some years
the flames
have all but turned to
simmering, dying embers
in a growing
pile of ash
which along with
the charred
and disintegrating
bits
have been
flying and
flaking
away
to somewhere
not here
But I wonder.
Nowadays,
have your messages
of remorse
to Her
Become any better
Than what they
once were?
Maybe…
you should invest
in a fire extinguisher.
Self-Delusion – A Short Essay
9/30/10
Starting again. There is never a brand new fresh start. Reincarnation may exist for a select population of the dead, but for the living we are all still the same leopards hoping that a few coats of dye will change the fact that we have spots. We train ourselves to walk on two legs instead of four, fooling ourselves into the thought that it might make us seem more civilized than our previous state of being. Alas, we are the same animals chained to our basic natures, our basic natures be damned.
I try every day to maintain self-honesty, but no one is perfect. Truth cannot be its abrasive thorny self when twisted into a pretty bow of a lie. And I’ve such a low threshold for pain, especially of the “harsh reality of it all” kind of anguish, so sometimes it’s nice to fool myself with logic because after all, logic has some sort of actual righteous standing, right?
So, knowing that a scorpion will sting the back of a frog even when it promises it won’t, I’ve thrown myself into the same situation thinking that perhaps the tail has run out of venom… maybe the scorpion finally got tired of drowning along with the frog – but unsurprisingly, no. Scorpions sting, the frog drowns. Leopards cannot help their blunt and bold spots wearing through the fade of cheap dye.
There is never really a Fresh Beginning. Not for those who have had the misfortune of having their hearts irrevocably broken. That kind of pain is carried for too long and it seeps in so deep it becomes a natural part of the System. Blood cells, check. Arteries, check. The emotional and psychological stain from the agony of betrayal and unrequited love, Check.
Self-truths… half-truths. They still love me. No… they love knowing that you’ll roll over in an instant just for the chance to spend a night in their arms, for any opportunity to feel their hands roaming across your body once more. They love that you refuse to pursue any other person because you are still under their spell and you just can’t seem to break free. They still want to be with me… They just need time. No, they want you when no one else is available or desiring them. They need time – time to find someone newer, younger, better, etc. You are a convenience, a rest stop, a layover until they reach their final destination.
It’s a horrible thing to be aware of your actual place and meaning in someone else’s life perspective. What is worse is to continue on with a blinding self-deluded belief that perhaps you and that person will start anew, all past altercations and dysfunctions magically erased, smiling faces, hands joined, Happily Ever After smeared across your consciousness.
Apologies to the hopelessly deluded. Reincarnation is for the dead. Repeat that daily and maybe you won’t be too blindsided when they finally find the better option that they had been holding out for.
The Russian
I woke up
after having seen you in my dream
I awoke
and
It was with such
longing
A desire to
really have been so close to you
sitting there
across from your open face
your crooked
happy smile
those eyes
so very nearly
gray
This wretched dream
I remembered
so much
You would leave a peck
on my cheek
while I slept
sprawled and tangled
in the sheets of your bed
Barely a stir
until
Consciousness piqued by the
smell of toast
and your favorite
ramen
I
stumbling out
into the shocking
brightness
one eye open
Your outline
fuzzy
but voice
clear
And I hear you
gentle and
sincere
“Sunshine”
*****
Those memories
brought to surface
by a ridiculous
dream
What I’d give to have kept
sleeping.
Crawlspace
with bated breath
i have waited
gave my mind to death
thoughts cremated
with eyes tight shut
i fell and fell
bruised, banged and cut
otherwise well
asleep with fists
fighting my thirsts
oh how i would miss
being this cursed
Natalie O. 2009
I will savor the taste of your lips
as though it were my last meal
I will breathe you in
as though you were my final breath
I will set aside my doubts
as though I were once again a child
I will take you completely
as though I were the only one who could have you
I will do these things
for the smallest of favors from you
Your embrace
Your stroke
Your presence
Your touch …
to have it linger from the gentle speech of your fingers
the softest echo on my skin
And when you leave
I will wait
ever patient
For the complex richness of the beautiful simplicity
that lies in the way
you make me yours.
Hello, Bukowski
There has always been something about Charles – something vulnerably depraved. An acknowledgement of one’s own vices without the saccharine syrup dripping lightly upon the tongue, prettily disguising the sour taste of truth. I can’t help but love a man who is honest to and about his self. *sigh*
Found this while reading. I usually stick with posting my own poetic musings, but how I wish, some time ago, someone would have written this for me. 🙂
when God created love He didn’t help most
when God created dogs He didn’t help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when God created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low
when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountains and the sea and fire
at the same time
He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.
Bar America 2011
I wanted wisdom
but the filmy eyed bar woman – missing teeth… loosened flesh
gave me a beer
I tipped it back
expecting answers
none came.
Laughter
Cigarettes
Patsy Cline
huh… he likes Patsy Cline
Another bottle emptied
And Willie sings to me
from the jukebox
On the road again
It’s all so sad.
So heart-wrenchingly painful
Going places that I’ve never been
But I swig another
I dance a little
I glance at the tiny grandmother – smiling – calling me a taxi
random thought –
I was not meant for beauty
But I happened to get a taste
For a moment
Seeing things that I may never see again
And it was better than the bottle after bottle
I’ve held to my lips
A stranger pays for my cab
A friend calls me from home
A bed catches my stupor
And all I can think about
is the old woman who handed me a drink
and asked how I was doing
“I’m doing fine.”
as always.
…. And I can’t wait to get on the road again