Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The ocean pretends to have
Given your eyes its own shade,
But Neptune can't show
Their sweet smile.
My coffee, meanwhile,
Attempts a rude farce
Of your hair.
But nothing shares quite the same lustre.
A girl there walks somewhat like you,
One flicks her hair quite like you do,
One sneezes like you.
And there, the audacity!
A sweater like yours
Is shown off by another,
The green one you wore on that night
At the beach.
We made castles by moonlight,
Raced waves by the moonlight,
Kissed once by the moonlight.
You see now, that
Everything's you when you're gone.
I see you in all
While yet nothing is you.
For nothing is you except you.
Everyone writes about love. They sing about it, dance about it, search for it. It's a fascinating subject, after all. It's something that gives the entire human race some common ground, 'cause come on! Who hasn't loved someone? So here is my own consideration of everyone's favorite muse, though I doubt that it will be the last.
Love is a being so strange
That it's hard to conceive
By this earth-soiled mind in my head.
How can one whose mere breath
I should worship
Long to make me adjacent her heart?
Disregarding all norms
My heart beats a sweet hymn
Responding to hers,
A battle-charge leading me
Into her arms.
Yet on my swift darkening way
My strength might be lost;
I might halt;
I might die.
But Love makes a bond
That refutes Death's embrace,
Calls me back from the dead,
Back to Love.
For Love makes a Phoenix of me,
And the ashes of Death will prove fertile.
Friday, April 9, 2010
My mind is a dimly lit cavern,
My thoughts stumble 'round in the dark.
My eyes upward look to the ceiling
And see through the cracks
Constellations of words that aren't words.
They flicker and glow in the vault
As they gaze at my stumbling thoughts,
Beings beyond mind's or voice's weak grasp,
Glistening, glowing and gleaming.
Then, like a net-bearing child pursuing
A butterfly mild, enchanting,
I reach for the stars
With my words.
And yet they persist their celestial dance,
Refuse to be sullied
By my poor mortal hands.
I call this one "Love," that one "Honor,"
This "Beauty," that "Justice."
They're many, yet one,
Always they slip through my net.
For how can my words, simple words,
Contain wholly such wonders?
Why, after all, should mere words
Be so strong?
For all words are products of men
Who are broken,
And so they are broken as well.
Thus often I sit,
Watch them flicker and fly
'Cross the taciturn sky,
Enchanting my world-weary eyes.
Sleep is a comfort.
She comes like a feather
That falls from the sky.
She's a mother
Embracing her surrogate children,
Soft striving to shield them from pain,
Or at least dull the bite
Of the real.
But like a mad nursemaid,
She smothers with care,
Gives poison in medicine's stead.
For dreams are not always escapes,
But sometimes prove dungeons
Till thrice blessed daylight
Or morning's routine
Breaks her chains.
Yet is this new dark
But then I lean over,
And I feel the thump-thump of love's heart,
See her stir
Feel the touch of her smile on my soul.
It's then that I know that I love and am loved,
And that waking or sleeping,
Love holds me always.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
I mean this blog to be a place where I can post my poetry, a chance to let others take a look at the world through my eyes, perhaps gaining some exposure to the public (that's you) in the process. That means, of course, that I appreciate any comments you deign to leave me. I'll try to update at least every week, so check back often! God bless.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
I went flying on a plane recently, and as we started to taxi down the take-off strip I got an idea for a poem.
We hurtle towards a wall of clouds,
Pretending to be substantial.
Then leap and roar,
And venture forth into the sky.
Bumping shoulders with a flock of currents,
Soon we level,
The clouds' fortation conquered,
Now below us,
As we soar.