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J C Feb 2019
I don’t believe in the term I love you more.

It’s either you do [love] or you don’t.

We will not be able to quantify or qualify this feeling.

All things are possible when love lives in our hearts.

Impossible dissipates into the ether.

[I think] that’s just me.
  Nov 2018 J C
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
  Mar 2018 J C
It’s been months, love,
and you’re far, and have someone new,
but I’ve been dancing all this time,
in our living room, with you.

Even this Cohen record tires,
of playing this song you loved most,
but I swear I feel your hands in my hair,
and you make a handsome ghost.

And I know that this glow is your tail lights,
but I love how it bathes your skin.
I’ve missed all these meals waiting,
so I’ll have my white dress taken in.

Give me a few hours, to tape my face on,
to my bones, my heart: our plans;
truth is, while you were saying goodbye,
I was memorizing your hands.

I hope you don’t mind living this double life,
because I need just little more time,
and if all I have is your absence,
that’s fine.
J C Jan 2018
I’ve been thinking
about death a lot lately—
or, that is, I think the image
my brain’s been showing me.
The vestiges of the visage
of who I used to be haunt me;
and in the crickets of my slumber,
I couldn’t help but wonder
about death a lot lately.
The quarks and the quasars I inherit
from the big bang of long ago—
elements that form Mercury—
collide back and forth, and
these are pangs that wouldn’t go,
and it has been deathly difficult
meandering out of this hole.
I’ve been lost in myself—thinking
about death lately so droll.
The synapses fire and misfire;
the subsonic trappings bellow
in the cave of my deep below.
These black-and-white films
feel rewired [rewritten annals]
of which I existed since long ago.
I resonate now an unholy see
of white-noise hellos; or:
the slow slipping of my psyche
around death a lot lately.
The string of unforced errors
does all but help me be still;
yet still the terror rises each
time I open my eyes to this
farce that I’ve been waking up to.
Since your “I don't care for you,”
I've never felt so unwanted;
as my heart opened and bruised,
my soul aches for yours dotted
along my arms so they feel whole.
I unravel when you’re in my mind;
in those twilight hours of just us,
for those unmeasured hours,
you were irretrievably mine.
And doubt may blur what we feel,
and walls may [and can] fall,
and in those moments so real—
yes, surreal—
and for those days that we were,
I haven’t thought about
death at
Save yourself—no one else will.
J C Jan 2018
Take heed, you great Forty-Four!
Steady your steed and draw fire from
great old Romans of Constantinople!
Bring hell, you demons, Forty-Four!
Carry your lances and splinter your shields
for the hour calls on you for battle most noble!
Ride thunder, you swift Forty-Four!
Leave your foes' hearts aching and trembling;
and meld beast and man and steel into one!
Feast hearty, O hungry Forty-Four!
For God's hands smite your puny foes
long before the long march has begun!
Strike hard, you mighty Forty-Four!
Into the fray your swords shall ******;
for all blades unsheathed shall taste blood!
Weary not, O fearless Forty-Four!
The hour grows dark, and you are laden;
and all rage will burst and carnage will flood!
Be still, you silent Forty-Four!
Hear the tremors that rumble and breathe
for the clamor for justice shall be served!
Rest well, our great Forty-Four!
Lest many forget, you ring through the eons;
for the freedom we have is undeserved!
For the fallen forty-four SAF commandos in the Mamasapano clash. Rest well—you have done your duty
J C Jan 2018
I walked alone this earth,
walked with nothing but my feet along the sea.
A long road it seems; weary
and burdened, I walked for miles endlessly.
To see no sun, feel no zeal under the bright noon,
no light, no crisp draft beneath the full moon—
so dull and faint, my fading reverie.
My fate seemed sealed ‘til the day my path crossed hers,
‘til the day the woman I love saved me.

Alone I  totter—blue skies overhead,
with a softness high above where I cannot see.
Standing on the calm of white cliffs,
carrying  me, my yoke, and I so steady
and high, beyond, safe from the raging sea within me.
There is a light that brightens, the sunlight of hope,
There is a light that frees, a glimmer of evening’s globe.
With the woman I love, I quietly caressed,
by the cool breeze under a towering oak tree.

No more will I walk with two feet—
now four—and her smile so beautiful, so carefree.
A touch, a whisper, a tender together,
a belongingness—an intensity encompassing
my heart, my soul, my being with childlike glee.
So warm and bright is the light of high noon,
so cool, so serene, the waning light of the cloudy moon,
Time is now filled with her, with love,
with love, of love, from the woman who loved me.

Sauntering without a care in the world,
her hand holding mine, with fleeting hints of agony;
with a love that comforts, I am laden no more.
And yet, my love has begun to grow colder to me
her distant gaze, words of discomfort, a ruse I can only perceive.
Hope setting in the distance, the skies turn gloom,
the moon comes watching our every move.
Gazing at her squander my love so unkindly,
the woman who meant the universe to me.

On a cold, dreary November morn,
I paced slowly for her cozy home.
Her locks left opened by the hidden key,
under the modest Welcome rug, sign, and marquee
to surprise her with bundles of roses and lilies.
Slowly, surely, I tiptoed over to her bedroom.
“Strange,” I muttered, confused, her lamplight lit akin to the moon.
All concern and dread rushed all over me.
“My woman, my love, what have I done to deserve all this agony?”

I trembled, hearing noises from inside her shut bedroom door.
Once t’was opened, carnage left me frozen on her floor.
Distraught and ire was what laid bare in front of me.
Seeing eyes frightened, staring straight with disbelief,
her lover under sheets of white embraced whatever my love bared.
“No, love, believe this is not what it seems,” weeping, she.
“The sun, moon, and stars tell you are my one and only.”
Blinded by despair, asking questions I tried not to seek,
daftly cursing the air, all answers were right in front of me.

“My love, my love, I will always be,
“forever yours for all of eternity.
“O lover, are those tears shed for me?” said she.
“No,” pulling gun then trigger, I hushed quietly.
There is a light of smoke, so sudden and loud;
there is a blackness of blood spilled, of anger unbowed.
A bullet through her lover’s head, a bullet through her chest,
and now I can no longer caress, no longer see,
the woman whom I have loved—and love still—with all of me.

Barred and treading alone this earth,
marching with nothing but chains on my feet along the sea.
A long remorseful road it seems, weary,
and burdened, I will walk for miles
(This thought still haunts me.)
To have seen and lost the sun under the bright noon
and to have borne hope under the full moon,
once so bright and clear was my reverie.
‘Til the day our paths crossed,
‘til the day I killed the woman . . .

whom I loved with all of me.
Written on January 1, 2013, exactly five years ago.
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