Mike Porter
1 day ago

I wear a veil
of wriggled lips
and eyes that speak
in civil tongues.
Necessities to passersby,
their hungry curiosity
a hateful inquisition
spewed with grace
and kind intent.

I wear a veil
of clacking teeth
and ears that
tell a tale of here.
Essential triviality,
a grease to ease
my squealing wheels
as silence screams
that all is well.

I wear a veil
of lifted chin
and nose proclaiming
noble care.
A vital link
to bind presumptive minds
within the grasp
of expectation's
calming song.

Faceless pale,
a shapeless shell,
I wear a veil.

Mike Porter
2 days ago

In the hush before the curtains rise,
I wait for her,
enamored of the fruit
long cultivated patience provides.

Coy as always,
glimpsed fleetingly at first;
she walks in amber beauty,
stately and serene.

Aria begun,
she sings her silver song and
paints the audience in
diamond dust once more.

Mike Porter
4 days ago

The first sweet nothing escapes
from my amber hued lover.
This tart and bubbly genie,
too long trapped in mundane bottle.

Each time some small bit of her
passes my lips,
I know joy.

Alas, though I love her deeply,
my attentions will eventually
bring about her demise.
Then I must find another
and begin anew this lovely cycle.

I am truly blessed,
for even though she soon is gone,
my eyes fall upon her sister,
trapped with four other siblings
in cardboard cage.

Mike Porter
5 days ago

I love you more than life itself.
My love is deeper than the ocean
and while I know
there are other fish in the sea,
I'm not particularly fond of fish
and prefer to see you as an anemone,
the mysterious mistress of the depths.

You are a precious flower,
delicate and sweetly fragrant.
More beautiful than a rose
by any name you care to choose,
although I'm truthfully
not crazy about Rose,
it makes this comparison
a bit too obvious for my taste.

My heart burns for you
with the heat of a thousand suns.
I orbit you as the earth does its single sun,
caught in your fiery gravity
as I spin in the dizzying dance
of your hotness.

I'm drunk on your smile,
stumbling through
the darkness of your shadow,
hoping for the simple touch of your hand
and that I won't vomit butterflies
on your shoes.

I am blinded to all else
by your presence,
there are no other women.
Only you, the one and only,
perfect just as you are.
I could never love another ...
unless you were dead
and she had very similar bone structure
or possibly if you cheated on me.

I will love you until the end of time,
I will come whenever you call.
We are eternal soulmates,
two hearts tied together as one,
now and forever.
There is nothing I wouldn't do for you ...
except that thing with the beads
because that freaks me out.

You are my destiny and I am yours,
it was written in the stars long ago
and not a day will go by
that I won't prove my love for you.
Ask and you shall receive,
my muse, my darling dear,
merely ask ...

But not the beads, ok?

I wonder sometimes
at the words I place,
of pseudonyms lost
and unknown author's notes.

Thoughts and phrases
waiting in a never mind
that I passed by
when I wore a smoother face
and life was less.

What focus might
an undiluted lens display?
Whose voice would speak
of loss and love?

What memories would haunt a man
who'd never known of you?
The swell of hip and breast,
the sound of whispers in the night.

How might he see a world
where "Daddy" never rang across the room?
Unclutched by grubby fingers,
shoulders free from tears.

I wonder sometimes
as I place my words,
but only for a moment ...
I have too much for that.

Avowal born of pained desire,
eternal proves naive.

Momentum tears the webs of will,
intention falls away.

Echos wane as paths go on,
broken branchings fade.

Treasured etchings drift and drown,
moments pass to dust.

Love is the great, dark mountain
on the plain of poetry.
Its mighty peak has
mocked genius and fool alike
since the birth of language.

The bones of failure are
strewn upon its slopes and
lie in admirable heaps in its valleys.

Vain attempts to
define its lines in metaphor or
drape its shape in alliteration
clutter the long pathways of literature.

When you ask how I know I love you,
I simply smile
and kiss your waiting lips.

The answer is clear,
but there's little of
romance or beauty in it.

Why diminish the flower or
dull the colors in cumbersome comparisons?
Better silence and a touch
than treasures unfairly tarnished.

The truth is graven in my heart,
though in dry and rational expression.

Your hurts pain me more than my own.
Your welfare is my first concern.
You're the antidote when I'm
poisoned by the world outside.
You're the most important part of me.

How I hate you
as you wait patiently
on the counter,
filling the air with sharp aroma.

Your smug indifference
to my plight,
supported as you are
by your tertiary brotherhood
of melons and citrus fruit.

I despise you,
awful orb of cheerful nutrition,
nothing rhymes with orange.

I've hung myself in the closet.
Not from a noose,
but on triangular wire
amongst the other me's I need
from time to time.

Ah, to come home
and slip this self on,
wonderfully comfortable
and free from the
pinching constriction
of everyday expectation.

To stretch and put away
the day's design
beside its tailored mates
in rows of guarded expression
and shaded impersonation.

To close that door
and let them fraternize
in the rigid arrangement
of vertical purpose
without me.

Tomorrow I'll have to buff
the lingering irritation
from the bluff professional
and return, smiling, to work
despite the desire to stay here
in my dingy original.

I have pleasant hopes
of a rummage sale one day.
Filling racks and boxes
in the driveway
with all the bold
and somber colors
I no longer require.

A strangely wistful dream
to be suitable as I am.

Echoes of long sirens
fade in hushed apartments;

familiar passersby
in the vastness of the night.

Now and only can we hear
the soft winter breathing.

©2017 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

#short   #misc   #modern   #free-verse  
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