Prologue
The poets of old—*those great men who
Told of love so great, and strung
Floating words in harmony
To paint the beloved of whom they sung,
Whose passion became their Faithful Muse
(Did they pick Her, or did She choose?)
And so outpoured from that resource
The greatest stanzas that e’er were heard—*
Those famous poets— how they knew
Like the back of their hand, the blue
Violet, the red rose, the “sweet are you”!
Those clouds they carved with pen became
Their tribute to Love’s timeless fame.
But I cannot re-create like they
The object of my love. I only mangle
Words, destroying diction. Though I say
All that I can, the ensuing tangle
Meets the ear like salt on a slug!
Still, my love, I will try to make
A verse that’s fitting, for your sake.
I.
Quoth Burns,
“My love is red, red a rose
Sprung in the month of June.
My love is like the melody,
That’s sweetly played in tune.”
And I—
Your smile is a melody,
Played out upon a handsome face.
Your touch speaks what lips cannot,
What lies beneath their gentle grace.
Wrote Frost,
“She was a window flower,
And he a whirling winter breeze.”
But I—
Your voice like is hot chocolate.
My heart and soul are warmed by these.
Mr. Whitman writes, “I find
No imperfection in you,”
While I,
Present to your perfection, see
Your flaws, and more can I love thee.
Eliot penned, you are “The delight
That quickens my senses in waking.”
Your laugh, I add, is a warbling brook,
That comforts my heart when breaking.
Your arms are anchors in the storm
That keep me from the ragged shore.
Your eyes are but two dancing lights
That welcome home the weary soul.
Your tears are like the misted rain
Through which the sun shines bows above,
And ‘neath that rainbow I am blessed
To kiss away your tears, my love.
II.
“When forty winters besiege thy brow”—
(I am quoting Shakespeare now)
And thy face, so handsome to my eye,
Is like the trees withered dry
Its “substance still lives sweet.”
That is, although the accidents meet
The greatest standards of Substance Seen—
*A comely face and well-built limbs,
With strength that says, “I’m safe with him,”
A cheery laugh and sturdy chest,
A dark, trimmed beard, and all the rest—*
Though dashing your appearance be,
There is much more than that to thee!
But how, my love, can I capture what
Underlies? For this
Is so much more than your looks,
And so much more than your kiss.
Your actions tell of your inner self,
And I could list (as I have before)
Those which I’m so thankful for.
Still,
What I love— is so much more.
How, my love, can I hope to ink
That fleeting thing? Though always there,
It’s the little things that speak of it.
I see it— it’s gone. It’s nigh—it’s here!
I stretch my fingers and curl them
About it, quick as a pistol shrimp,
But when I open my mortal hand,
Your “to be” is pale and limp.
III.
Why did I hope to grasp it?
*Poetry—Philosophy—
Aristotle, Socrates—
Kipling, Sopho, Hopkins, Yeats—
Definitions—quiddity—*
“Man is both soul and body.”
No man has caught “esse”
Anywhere in history.
Says Hopkins:
“Selves—goes itself—Myself it speaks and spells
Crying—what I do is me: for that I came.”
Jaimason, Jaimason!
I can only say your name.
Jul 8, 2025
Jul 8, 2025 at 11:37 PM UTC
My boyfriend, or my bed?
My boyfriend? No--instead,
I'd rather have my sleep.
But I would like to keep
Him and still not lose
My bed, if I could choose.
So play a happy hymn,
I guess I'll marry him.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
I have a secret I’ll never say:
You are the apple of my eye.
And if that isn’t scandalous,
You’re the pecan to my pie.
You're quite like a summer's day,
Except that you're more fair,
And I would gladly be the breeze
That tussles with your hair.
If I could burrow in your arms
And snuggle in your chest,
Then I would never stay up late,
And always welcome rest.
If I could kiss you till I fell asleep,
And kiss you when I rise,
Then I would go to bed more soon,
Be healthy, wealthy, and wise.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:44 PM UTC
Compared to Home, what is Rome but
Many imposter stones, who flaunt paunches,
And chiseled jaws, and abs thick cut
But never earned. The fountain launches
Water "non potabile" from a fishy gut,
Or seems to. Yet the endless craft
Is effortless, since the secret is the pressure
Merely directed. I admit I laughed
When I saw the Fountain Naiads who lure
Water horses and lizards into their fray,
For each is doused, but the one for sure
Is so angled that she must need a bidet.
Compared to you, Rome can only boast
Of satisfaction in her sweet "pasticcerie"
And hot coffee, when your French toast
Is bettered with bacon. Italian cheerie
Exists in the smiles and sweet abuse
Of the street vendor, who starves his family
To make you an offer you can't refuse.
Just today I bought a scarf of cashmere
Which came from India. And although
The tag said China, I have no fear
That he'd sell me Nylon for twenty-two euro.
What is Rome when compared with thee,
But arches which soar and crack and fall
Never to be moved nor fixed. You can see
The lazy layering in the Forum floor and wall.
Caesar makes a triumph below his arch
While trodding flesh arches on trash. And
The river never ceases her acid march,
Hoping to carry away less from that land.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:43 PM UTC
I blindly walked into the pit;
I stumbled, fell, and cried.
But when my soul called out for help,
I found Him at my side.
"You cannot go the way you came,"
My Lover said to me.
"But the road to home is long and cold.
There's hardly light to see."
"Yet trust in My Plan, My love,"
He said to me once more,
"For when you call upon My Name,
There's no pain you can't endure."
So many weary ways I wandered,
Each more lonesome than the last.
Many times I slipped or stumbled,
And couldn't feel my Lover's grasp.
Many nights spent sleepless sobbing,
And ev’ry one was worse for wear.
Yet often when the road was hardest,
I couldn't feel his presence there.
And as more endless caves I conquered,
And with each fall felt more near dead,
Longer did I lie half-waking,
And longer lay the road ahead.
Still, sometimes when I look behind me,
And see what dangers there have been--
Narrow ways and broken bridges,
And hollow caverns caving in--
I know that He's been there to guide me,
And, once more, I can begin.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
“The devil finds work for idle hands.”
Oh, there’s devil’s work in these lands
Where holy deeds come on the whim
Of them who just believe in Him,
And those who believe in Mass and Measure
Make Flesh their goddess and highest pleasure--
Where faithful men who swear the Creed
And hate that Hunger, yet sate the need.
The Bride? She shuts herself away
To stuff her soul with Disarray.
We struggle the struggle with all our hearts,
But far from the battle
Is where the Sin starts.
It’s not the giving-in that caused the Fall
But where She found no fight at all.
Though we, horrified, flee Her name,
Fearing the Fire that heaps on shame,
Our Light of Mind is made a liar
When so outshined
By our Desire.
Even now, my body craves
To feel the pulsing of Her waves
And searches for some sad excuse
To serve the Goddess of Ab-use.
Though I prayed for a fight
(For that was how I felt last night),
I do not gird my ***** today
Lest Satisfaction is staved away.
It is easier a thing, to place the blame
On thoughtless action
Than face my shame.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
Like, what even are you?
No way in a million lives
Could I dream up someone like you.
I can’t even begin
To comprehend what the actual heck
(Heck heckin’ heck)
Kinda glitch in reality ARE you?
I can’t even—
I can’t even open my mouth and begin—
You!
You!?!?
I get so excited,
I can’t poetry anymore
(And I swear I’m usually
Not too bad at poetry).
But I want to say something!
Because you deserve to have a million words said about you.
Baby, I can’t even say,
“I still can’t believe this is real,”
Because I’m still stuck on the “this.”
What is it that I can’t believe?
What even is this?
What even are you?
The word amazing couldn’t begin to describe you!
I’m kinda afraid to say the rest…
“I feel like we’re made for each other”?
Can I really say that?
No-no-no—
It’s much too soon.
Maybe you aren’t real, or
Maybe you are
But I hit my head on something.
I’ve gotta be insane.
I’m-I’m crazy.
“This” is crazy!
YOU are crazy!
Hot **** you are crazy.
I could eat you up.
How is it that you drive me wild
Just by being you?
I wish I could capture your essence in a bottle
And strike it rich.
“Lizzie’s miracle drug.”
Except that makes it sound super addicting
Or sensual,
Infatuation-al,
But that’s not what I mean at all.
I just mean I want to tell the whole world
How amazing you are
Because I want them all to appreciate you, too.
But I don’t even know where to begin
And every attempt keeps falling flat
(And falling for you).
I mean, how many stanzas have I written already?
And this is just the prologue—
Monologue—
Gutentäg—
Ratlin bog!
(Sorry, I needed to make sure I can still rhyme.)
They say love lost is better
Than never loving at all,
And oh My God, I know it must be true
Because even if “this” crashes and burns
I’ll never be the same—
Never!
Even if it breaks my heart,
I will always be that much better.
Oh Lord, I’ve gotta be a fool.
A fool in love.
A happy, foolish fool.
There isn’t even a part
That’s careful for my heart,
A part in my gut that says,
“Slow down and think of all the ways
This could go wrong. Be prepared!”
Oh, there was a time when I cared.
Heaven help me if I care now!
Yes, I want to take it slow
But not as a fail safe. No,
I want to take it slow
Because— for “this”—
I want to do this justice.
If that’s God’s will, then,
Glory hallelujah!
Only then,
I can’t believe this is real!
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC
You know I don’t believe in soul mates
Because there’d be too many ways
A person could ***** himself over
And be unhappy for all of his days—
Then what would happen to his mate?
You know I don’t believe in soul mates
Because some people may never be
Good or holy or mature enough
To be worthy of matrimony.
So what would happen to their mates?
I do not believe in soul mates,
In one person being your destiny—
Because we’d never find that one
Among the fish within the sea—
And what would happen to our mates?
No, I don’t believe in soul mates.
Even though God brought us together,
And it feels like we’re made for each other,
I could be happy with many another.
What would happen to your mate?
Well, I don’t believe in soul mates,
Even though our powerful Lord
Knew from the beginning of time
You and I would strike a chord.
What would we do if we were mates?
I said, before, and I’ll say it again,
Despite what my experience claims:
Soul mates? Oh, they’re not a thing!
But… what about twin flames?
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
You said you felt your sin was
Unforgivable, just because
Everything inside you
Knew
The harm that it would bring.
It’s true,
It took me some time to process
That darkness—
That darkness that eats you up inside,
That darkness that you try to hide.
Yes, my sorrow is for me,
Knowing that I could never be
The first woman you would see
In her sacred entirety.
But even more,
My grief is for you,
Who does not know just how near
Jesus holds you, nor how dear—
Especially in that moment when
You lose control and turn from Him.
If you could fathom
Even a part
Of how much He loves you in His heart,
Or how great His longing for you when
The dark takes you away from Him—
Why, you would cry with joyful grief
And gratitude. My belief
Is that your worth is so much more
Than your struggles, because He
Died for the sake of thee—
Not for the “who could be”—
No!
He died for your quiddity!
Oh God, if you only knew!
Your soul would overflow with tears,
Not tears of shame or tears of guilt,
Not tears of fear or hate. God spilt
His blood for those who are unworthy.
He loves you who are unworthy!
He loves you who are unworthy!
Yes, you will fall again and again,
But Jesus calls you back to Him.
The only pain you would feel
Is the pang of joy, and ne’er yearn
for lesser fleshy things. You’d burn
With desire for the Great Lord of
Peace and Mercy and of Love.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
I wanna write a song for you
Unlike any I've written before,
Something to catch you on the lips
As you're going out the door.
I wanna tell you how I feel
Because this love still seems unreal,
And I'm afraid
Of waking up.
Are you scared, too?
Am I enough?
Well!
There's too many thoughts in my mind,
But mostly what keeps me occupied,
Is the way you laugh,
And how you smile,
And how you hug me every time
Like you haven't seen me in awhile.
And I feel like I could do
Anything, if it was for you,
But I'm too scared to risk it all
Until I'm sure it's mutual.
I know I'm not a poet,
And I can hardly sing,
But--
**** it!--
Here's the thing:
I'd sing this stupid song on a public stage
Everywhere
Because I want the whole world to see
(It's only fair)
How amazing you are,
How amazing you might be.
But before I do all that,
How much do you like me?
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 4:33 PM UTC