Tag Archives: love

Feathers

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I wish I could be as a bird with clipped wings or bound by the bars of a cage

To fit in that proverbial box, where life and love all neatly arrange,

Held atop a pedestal and never fall

But my wings are wild and wide

My need to fly as great as an ocean’s tide

My spirit cannot survive if banded with gold

My heart cannot justify the love it withholds

And I am at a loss without reason to explain

Why I seek freedom the way others seek refrain

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/48600090482@N01/298680933″>Wings</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

Roadside Attraction

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He took her flesh, left her heart on the side of the road

She braced for the concussion, the reverb of her soul

Distance crawled out of every crevice, left her open

The stars aligned but the moon found the sun was stolen

Lovers turned and tossed in passionate waves

Detours abandoned to follow what each one craves

Thunderous applause called from a gray sky,

Her abandoned heart picked up by a passerby

 

(photo credit: <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/photos/stuckincustoms/3145980733/”>Stuck in Customs</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

Hope

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Should I have hope, that which Ms. Dickinson wrote of?

Mine has feathers, but a wounded wing, for it cannot seem to perch

Mine has a tune, which it does not sing, for it’s been silenced by hurt

Hope has been described, by me, as a balloon inflated one breath too far

Should I hope to dream of love, I fear it’d drift away on a fallen star

I should not hope, lest be confined to a cell of unnamed strife

Where the heart and the soul and the mind derange

Where the bitter taste of loneliness fans invisible flames

Where life and certain slumber slither beneath cracks in the door

Shall I hope? I think I shall hope forevermore

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/digitalart/3065769907/”>digitalART2</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

Cupid, Be Gone

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Free writing, playing with form…

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Penning the words of the lovesick, immersing my soul in their misery. Give unto me those days of carefree joy, when I knew two lovers holding hands, teasing one another with a glance, hoping for moments alone and those kisses where eyeglasses bumped against one another and awkward were the groping touches, when he said he loved her. She was the dream he ne’er dared to hope for. But his was a plight of circumstance and fear. Hers became that of a broken heart.

The heat of her heart threatened to burn her bones to ash when a cool breath from the north tempered her fiery destruction. Thirsting for any precious drop of water in her desert, his distant offerings nourished in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. His promises were broad and hopeful and passionate. He said he loved her. He was the dream she ne’er dared to hope for. But hers was a plight of circumstance and fear. His is that of a broken heart.

Lessons dealt and lessons learnt; I finally see the truth of it.
I was beholden to one and one was beholden to me,
Neither can circumvent reality.
And neither shall belong to me.
I write of love that’s lost, love that will never be.
Pain is reflected in every unwitting deception,
The brilliance of a lover’s manipulation,
The heart trusting in temptation.
 

For me, I shall stay the course, so that not even an arrow of Eros could force me off my path of contrite resignation; he can keep his bow behind his back and move on to a target willing to receive his misleading dart.

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/17084757@N00/389954025/”>Glikò</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

tofu a la carte

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Heartache is a broken lantern, where once a light did shine,

Love illuminated and darkness had to hide

Now the shadows pull in close

Heart seams unravel their last threads of hope

Tears fall from a gruesome sky

Wounds lay open to inhibit fear,

(the infection of the past, stealer of the years)

 

Time is unforgiving and we’re all damned to realize

Promises made to love are unintended lies

Tofu sausages without labels…that’s you and I

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/reid-bee/3579669359/”>jazzijava</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

Of Bridges and Bugs

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I think about those bridges in Madison County,

about a movie they inspired, about the man and the woman

finding love in one another for a while.

 

I think about the choices they made.

They both wanted the same thing. He offered her his world,

but she chose her wedding ring.

 

All the seasons from her life to death,

how many times her heart must have ached

for a man that crossed her path perchance –

It’s not often fate makes a mistake…

 

I remember she gripped the door handle,

a single life-changing moment of time, and

like a lazy day spent in the sun, she let this one pass her by.

 

When I was young I judged her harsh, said

she was a fool for letting that man in, that she

deserved the regret of a thousand years;

she should have no rest in her chosen sin.

 

Now I am of an age – no longer young but not yet old.

Should I be given a taste from her bitter well, would I stay,

be the good wife, in appearance and duty and

do what’s right?

 

White knuckles grabbing the handle of the door,

would I open it and run into the arms of ‘More;’

or would I sit, pressing bottom to chair,

resign myself to always be there?

 

Through death or distance or giving up,

through bitterness or fear or the liar’s cup,

through all that there is and all that will be,

Regret washes down with certainty,

so whether to stay or whether to go,

the heart follows love, no matter how far;

one can be free to fly in the dark

or one can be a firefly trapped in a jar

 

 

***photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/chanc/430806926/”>Christopher Chan</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>***

Back and Forth

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Thoughts of yesterday creep in as shadows on an autumn afternoon, reaching across a polished floor to crawl up the walls of my mind; yes, you are there, always there. I hear your whispered declarations, I remember the needs and the desires.

We stand in opposite corners of the room, glancing at cobwebs, opening silent mouths, our polite manners and kind gestures let time pass in hours that mock our situation.

Send me a token…my address has not changed.

 

 

Photo Credit: photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/_skylark_/2658133515/”>Flóra</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

The Lover’s Grief

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Promises of love, wrapped in blossoms attached to thorny stems.

With a timid grasp I am pricked, bleeding, the pain outweighing pleasure, while you remain silent in my grief.

For a hundred years I would devote myself to you, giving you all I am. Tears take the usual course, the heart is confused,

Hungers as an empty belly. Where do I place my devotion? For you have required it,

Promised its return and sealed it with hope. Counterfeit dreams rob the night of stars to

Wish upon, and still I hold to you.

 

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-malory-man/4111416775/”>themaloryman</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

The Way to Beautiful

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I’m not always about writing rhyming poetry but there are plenty on this blog that do rhyme and plenty of others on here that don’t. This one rhymes.  Feel free to share your thoughts on rhyming vs. non-rhyming poetry.  What’s your preference? If you write poetry, do you let rhyming lead you through the poem? Oh yeah, I want to hear all about it!

 

Wistful wants and wishes

She dreams like a child

Lingering in her smile is mischief running wild

 

I’d like to know her name, I’d like to know her heart

I’d like to know the whispers she shares with the dark

 

Free as a raging fire

Burning without end

She dances like a paper moon in a friendly wind

 

She takes my heart away, she holds me with her smile

She captures me in a glance of unhidden beguile

 

She is beautiful, oh so beautiful

That’s what I’ll call her by

I’m looking for the way to Beautiful tonight

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/mar1lyn84/2722712047/”>Sabrina Campagna</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

Billet-doux, In Plain English

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This poem is all about fun. Recently, a writer friend eluded to the seductiveness of the French language. No argument there. But then, I got to thinking about a certain commercial where a young woman believes everything she reads on the internet, including setting up a date with a man who she believes is a “French model.”

This all got me to thinking about a poem I wrote a while back and thought I’d share. Have fun with it…

 

Billet-doux, In Plain English

 

She fell in love with a Frenchman

He called himself Philippe

He spoke in his native language

She was getting in too deep

 

On a day like any other

When the sun came up, he left her

She found a note on her door

It was a day I’ll always remember

 

In broken English

On a piece of torn paper

He wrote the words I love you

And proceeded to tell her all she was to him

In a note he called a ‘billet-doux’

In a note he called a ‘billet-doux’

 

He said she was a star from above

He called her his love from afar

He said fate would have to intervene

To bring them together once more

 

She read the words again and again

She’d loved this ridiculous Frenchman

She wanted him back no matter the cost

But found herself broken and lost

 

In plain English

On a torn piece of paper

She wrote the words I hate you

She proceeded to tell him all he wasn’t to her

In a note she called a ‘screw you’

In a note she called a ‘screw you’

 

Credit: Youtube