Tag: love

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XVI

“What do you have to offer me?” she asked.

Nervously, I answer:

“I function within an economy

of words,

and I can offer you

a library

of books

written about the way

you look tonight.”

 

Thankful

I’ve been a lot of things:

eager

reserved

euphoric

morose

confused

and

incorrigible,

but, today,

I am only

thankful

to have you.

 

On Love & Mourning

I have mourned you

for as long

as I have loved you;

for, from the moment

you became my heart,

I knew that,

someday,

my chest would

never be

that full again.

 

(What will I do with my eyes when they can’t look at you?)

 

Firestone Friday: Poem XIV

When you fall in love

with a monster,

you either become

a monster

or a monster-slayer;

what you cannot do

is remain who you were —

the former version

of yourself

was sacrified

the moment you let

a monster into your heart.

Firestone Friday: Poem XIII

I can tell

by my heartbeat

that there’s

something in you

that makes my body

to slam

against its very walls.

 

Firestone Friday: Poem XII

I think we’re drawn

into cold, unilluminated humans

because we believe there is

— there has to be —

something greater

unseen beyond

that shadowy veil,

something

inestimable,

protected,

inaccessible.

So, our imaginations

run unchained:

the more unyielding

the object of desire,

the more alluring,

the more opulent,

we fashion the world

that must flourish within them.

And we scale the walls,

taking daily pains

to climb a little farther,

until we crest the edge,

only to find a flickering street lamp

suspended above a littered lot,

with Sadism leaned up against a rusted barrel,

taking a long drag of her cigarette

and picking at old scabs.

 

Talismans

Words are talismans

from the places

we’ve traveled

and the people

we’ve been,

and the word

I carry in my chest,

favored above all,

is your

name.

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XII

Poets have long

ached to veil desire

in flowery coverings

to transform emotion

into art.

But what’s more

boldly inspired

than a heart,

naked,

crying out

for you?

On Love Poetry

If you dismiss 
romantic writings 
as insipid or vacant 
or banal, 
I won’t say 
“what’s poetry 
without love?”
I’ll ask 
“what’s love 
without poetry?”