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You love me—you are sure—
I shall not fear mistake—
I shall not cheated wake—
Some grinning morn—
To find the Sunrise left—
And Orchards—unbereft—
And Dollie—gone!
I need not start—you’re sure—
That night will never be—
When frightened—home to Thee I run—
To find the windows dark—
And no more Dollie—mark—
Quite none?
Be sure you’re sure—you know—
I’ll bear it better now—
If you’ll just tell me so—
Than when—a little dull Balm grown—
Over this pain of mine—
You sting—again!
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Do you worry that I'll love you?
Sometimes I do.
But
I think that if I were to love you
I would love you the way I first learned to love:
Quietly, and with no demands.
I think if the worst were to happen
I wouldn't reach for you
Only tell you
That you are beautiful.
Perhaps
It has happened already.
I wonder if I fear it, sometimes.
But what I really fear
Is that you will fear it.
I wonder if you worry that I'll love you
And you are just too good
Too truly good
To do anything about it.
If you do worry,
You needn't:
If I were to love you
I would love you like you were made of glass-
Delicate, exquisite, and untouchable.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
"I love you," you said
Three times
Sober
Or, at least, after only two glasses of wine
With an expression that wanted me to see its sincerity
You thought about the way your face looked
And how I was looking at it
Which, naturally, made me suspicious
Less of whether what you said was
Or is
True
And more of whether you really believed it
I certainly don't
Although, regrettably, too big a part of me
Hopes that you do
But you won't even go out to lunch
So the concept is moot
If you dwell on me so frequently
Where are you?
Not here, in the growing rift
Between our potential and reality
Where I fume
You flatter
Whipstitching my raw edges
But your adulations can't repair
The fact that you don't know
My favorite color
My stance on religion
Or the quality that I admire most
In a friend
Negligent though you may be
I'm harsher still
On myself
Allowing you in, while I know all of this
How you must find me!
So easy
Malleable
And still I permit you
"We're alike," you say
And you tell me how you care
So little
About so much
But not when it comes to me, apparently
Or so said the lips
That have only kissed me once
Without seeking more
But I kissed you then, anyway
Knowing what would come
Freckles
Sinful dimples
The unfathomable brown eyes
For which you hold so much disdain
The slightest gap
Between your front teeth
Your encouragements didn't stir me
Already shoved
From my resolution
Before your many admittances
And rare
Melancholy musings --
These, perhaps strategic
But disorienting, nonetheless
I'll chalk it up to us finishing the bottle
Which I started
Frustrated
Half an hour before you arrived
And carve myself some apathy.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
He casts his fishing lines into the water and waits patiently
.. what shall be the catch for tonight?
He needs something to breathe life back into himself; get his creative juices flowing again.
This is what feeds the Artist after all.
He does not need food or water;
he needs inspiration.
Good, bad, ugly.. it matters not.
It must be something- someone-
that affects him intensely,
that reaches deep down beyond his self-imposed armour,
and grabs at his soul.
He needs to devour in order to survive.
It is not long before one bites, and then another.. and maybe another.
He gently coaxes, drawing them in with his seductive lures.
He knows this art well.. knows what to say, what to do, who to be.. or not be..
He examines.. tests them..
… a little subtlety here.. more boldness there,
…… but tempered,
with a laugh,
a smile,
a chuckle,
a wink.
He doesn’t quite want to scare them away, but he wants to see how far he can go.
What boundaries can he safely breach..?
He pushes, he pulls..
He engages, he retreats..
He shares, he takes..
He tugs, he releases…
… and the dance continues until his search is satisfied.
And then when he has determined which shall be his catch for the night,
which of these waltz partners is most ready to be broken – open-
he gently releases the others back into the waters…
gently Discarded.
Perhaps they will be led back to his watering hole another day,
and perhaps they will be the ‘one’ at that future time —
or perhaps they will never be seen or heard from again.
It does not matter.
What matters is Now.
What matters!
is what it takes to feed his desire.
What matters is this moment.
Everything is in this one moment.
This is practice after all.. one must practice in order to perfect the technique.
One must perfect the technique if he wishes to be claimed and devoured by Bliss.
And who does not wish to be devoured by Bliss?
“Enjoy the practice, perfect the technique”.
he says.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
Drums beat the endless chords
Of something that looks like an agony,
A vague aftermath of a smoky carcass.
The crowd remained enthralled or detached.
In excitement, in boredom and in unison.
They seemed to know the routine of celebration,
Of enjoyment,
Of the rejoice.
But still not eat at it,
into themselves.
They seemed to even echo their claps and nods so parallel,
To the rhythm,
That they all became another maestro
The deaf Beethovens.
While the elephant,
danced.
And sang.
In a pristine celebration only known to him.
Like the seducing dance of the King Cobra,
In the Jungles of a drenched Wayanad.
Green,
Yet so Aroused and red.
While nature became its charmer,
She,
the nature,
Juggled with the soul, vigour and energy of the King.
In one plate,
altogether,
The art,
The music,
And the rhythm became
The dirge of a new cemetery
of an old heaven.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
why do atoms look like galaxies
why do all shapes repeat
why do straight lines carry things
do infinities ends truly meet
what if there are no beginnings
what if the spiral is known
what if the edge of our something
is just meeting itself all alone
where are the wakeful dreamers
where will their questions fall
is this universe boundless
or simply a beautiful wall
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
I had a dream last night
Of being pursued by a murderer
A homicidal man, whom I'd seen ****
Again and again, with merciless vulgarity
And who hunted me like prey.
But as I fled him, he knew my habits
He foresaw my strategy to escape
He discovered me.
And in the raw terror of that exposure
Scrambling before him, in the dirt
At the height of my adrenaline
I came to a jolting, sick realization
That I was enraptured by him
And all his poison
His carnivorous mania, and blood-drenched agenda
And I felt the Hunger in his approach
And simply waited there, suspended
In that loathsome state of horrified ardency
For him to Consume me.
And it was not in the frenzied seizure of awakening
But only after a lengthy absorption, when I noticed
That I called it a dream, rather than a nightmare.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
I wish not to want you
For fear that, when I hold you,
My touch change you golden
With greedy alchemist's fingers.
I wish not to want you
And liberty, command you
From the nobility --
Metallic -- which bars you from love.
A Queen of Phrygia
I sow sin in good nature
Chest hollow for dictums
That confine my pow'r to transform
I've no eyes to covet
Yet I birth my own idols
In chambers forbidden
To those of conscience staunchly pure
I plead you, stay iron
And I'll be happily robbed
Of my talent to turn
Wretched an organic desire
I wish not to want you
As I lay my hands on you
But I have not the gift
To breathe such wishes into life.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Peace:
For the time, there is Silence.
But deep in its bowels lives a sound...
And a word yet unheard
Still holds Violence.
...Its potential for Chaos abounds.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
At moments, I fear I am a sociopath.
Do I only feel shame, love, guilt,
Empathy, when buried there at the root
Is myself?
Does this fear itself absolve me of suspicion?
Doubtful.
****
I have such icy innards.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC