Tag Archives: lovers

Dear Jane Letter…from writer to penner

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I am currently taking a class called Yoga for Writers and the teacher, Deborah “Zenha” Adams has challenged us to write a Dear Jane/John letter to ourselves from the writer within about why we have abandoned our craft (for those of us who haven’t written much in a while)…and this is my attempt. We were to be honest and simply lay it all out there…

Dear Penner,

We have come to an impasse, you and I, as I no longer have faith in you to pen my words on the page. You have bargained and avoided. You have been complacent and angry. You have suffered long in matters that I have had no ability to assist you in, for you haven’t allowed me to help.

I have been there with you, in you, since you were a child, always the one you turned to in loneliness or confusion, always the one you allowed to revel in your joys and successes. I am your ultimate confidante and you have abandoned me for matters of livelihood and motherhood and relationships, apathy, and of all things, living.

You know I have knocked at the door of your soul when it has been battered, called to you in 2 a.m. whispers and you simply rolled over and went back to sleep. I am the one who feeds the hunger of the urgent beast to create…hell, I am the hunger and the beast.  I am the torture and the salvation. I am the voice that must be heard, whether anyone understands.

You feel the winding paths of prose coursing thru you…I know you still do. You still hear poetry in crowded conversations and city traffic.

I am your respite and I am still here. I am still within the confines of your mind, in the marrow of your bones. I sit with you at dinner and feel you quiver with every orgasm. I am still here, waiting for you.

I know you drift from time to time. I know you take other lovers in the form of activity and laziness and apathy. But I will not let you go, for we have more words to write, more stories to tell and for the love of God, all that fucking poetry to spill.

Sincerely,

 

Writer

Lovers at a Crossroads

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Him:

He wants to be free but doesn’t know how and the struggle is in the seeking, the suffering is in the now when he longs for the kiss of the woman he desires, but the shadow of another leaves him feeling like a liar. He’s a man living in the spaces between each breath, trying so hard to know himself, and no matter how much he wants another life, he’ll stay in this place that gives him such strife. He must resign himself now to the truth of this path, ‘tis as simple as a problem found in first-grade math.

 

Her:

She can’t be his plaything, for she’s a woman of flesh and bone, with a heart that beats pure behind a wall of solid stone. She’s a need for a man who knows how to break clean thru, expose her, make her vulnerable – none of which he cares to do. As sad as it makes her she’ll say goodbye, for she’s got to live her truth and not this battered lie. They both knew this moment would come anyway, may as well make it now, may as well be today.

 

 

 

photo credit: <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/photos/marcelyne/2515487161/”>marceline</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;

Sweet Nothing

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There is a space between us,

Where time and life exists

Words run thru like current,

The charge felt within the flesh

Distance is a pencil, miles recorded in smudging graphite

Could they be erased, you’d be here tonight

Thoughtless as spilled sugar around our coffee cups,

We’ve no mind to hurry, there’ll be time for us

As a bird spreads its wings, we shall soon fly

Soar across the vast expanse, a place for you and I

Even if the space between is filled with empty breaths,

Even if we are encumbered by certain circumstance,

Temper the grin that has surely formed,

Let silent lips utter happy sighs

Dream your fantasies and hold them close

You cling to yours and I’ll cling to mine

 

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/shazlypics/2744672501/”>A.Shazly</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 Quiet Places

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We came together in the quiet places, those that allow the

Echo of birds’ voices to resonate across the field,

Those that allow the drip, drip of rain to plop onto a metal roof,

Where sun porches are a necessity and tea glasses are kept filled;

We lay, spent, in the afternoon and the evening time,

Our own hushed voices only that above a whisper;

Our conversations drifting from the silly to the desperate,

From those whom we have loved to love unreturned,

There, we found ourselves examining the motivations and

Asking those questions of one another we cannot ask of them;

The answers limited, the answers exaggerated by our bent

Perceptions and nothing was accomplished but for the

Release of passion between two lonely hearts

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/zedzap/4664908938/”>Nick Kenrick .</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

 

Good Girl

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I haven’t posted a song lyric in a while, and maybe it’s a stretch to call this one, but here it is:

 

Danger’s in your wayward kiss

Filled with hunger, tastes of bliss

Get me to a safer place

The trap, the cage, is your embrace

 

You’re the myth I believed

I took a bite of love-lost grief

Gotta leave this place behind

Gotta find some peace of mind

 

Tell me how we were both wrong

Seems to be your favorite song

In a single solitary sigh

What once was truth became a lie

 

I was no saint but e’er I sinned for a foolish boy with a cocky grin

The ways you taught me ne’er I been, what we were won’t be again

Hope you’ve learned from all we had, never make a good girl go bad

 

If I could get to where you are

A sad state is where I’d be

I’ll stay happy where I am

Only misery loves company

 

I’ve prayed the Lord my soul to keep, resting easy in my sleep

You no longer feed my dreams, the price I paid much too steep

Hope you’ve learned from all we had, never make a good girl go bad

 

Burst

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See that rabbit run, across the lane and field,

to or from something, maybe spurred by fear,

could be imagined,

 

Could be real, unlike us, a total fabrication.

There will be no violation of intimacy in this

decade or the next; hope is a balloon inflated

one breath too far.

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/shewatchedthesky/2951156700/”>shewatchedthesky</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 Reader

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Your poetry is not found on the page, within letters

strung together in words that rhyme, hoping for some

understated epiphany or hunting for resonance in the

echo of a student’s cephalic cavern.

 

Your poetry is in the simplicity

of your touch, in the lines of your

face.

 

Yours is a poetry of the eyes speaking to my heart,

leaving me to wonder how it ever desired to beat before you

existed.

 

I am your reader, soaking up every nuance, absorbing

your language into my flesh, feeling my marrow

burn with desire for you. I should like to read you

forever.

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/spiritual_marketplace/2435630377/”>Eddi van W.</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)