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My Dear Poet Jan 2022
Love is more like a cone
than a cube
two rounded tops
curved like a tube
steeping down to a peak
soft like ice-cream sweet
and smooth

Love is more like two spheres
than a flat crest
beautifully moulded
and rounded
like a woman’s breast
perfectly placed here
(pointing to my chest)

Love is more like a triangle
than a square
sharp at a point
then curves from there
ends at a downward angle
then circles to the start
It’s symmetrical, identical
made of two equal parts

love is more like
the shape of my heart
My Dear Poet Jan 2022
Please allow me
to read your mind
although, I’m no magician,
just a poet

poetry can feel
a little magical
or whatever it is
you may call it

It may seem
you’re being
sawed in half
but be assured
I’m not asking
for your wallet

its just a little poetry
that will have you
checking your heart
or your back pocket
My Dear Poet Jan 2022
A smile is sad
upside down

A thumb up
is thumbs down

The right way up
I’d only found

when you came and turned
my world around
Every thing valuable is fragile
and must be handled the right side up
My Dear Poet Jan 2022
I’m stuck between a letter and a word
pushing towards the end of a line
in many a meaning, I’ve shamefully erred  
to make sense of a sentence and a rhyme
all this effort consumes me
It bleeds my heart to think
my soul is weighing heavy
till poetry pours out of me like ink
many a thought often slay me
I rewrite to find release
I’m lost, till you find me
crying out, “read me…please”
Poets are fools for pain
My Dear Poet Jan 2022
I hate sunsets
the calm summer breeze
fragrant walks of jasmine
restful shade of cherry trees
I hate the hope of open sky
The whispers of oceans blue
because everything that is beautiful
reminds me of you

I hate old smiles with wrinkled eyes
The sound of children's glee
bedside books and biscuits
the scent of cinnamon tea
I hate the silver moonlit nights
the love infused fumes of two
because everything that is beautiful
reminds me of you

I hate the white in this paper
the black that bleeds this ink
The very word ‘beautiful’
and every time of you I think
though my life be filled with beauty
the things I love are a few
in as much as I hate everything
I’ll never stop loving you.
My Dear Poet Dec 2021
‘In her eye
is a butterfly’
I know…
sounds like you’ve heard this poem before
…may sound crass
But alas…allow me, a word or more

You may find
in the next few lines
what may sound a familiar tune
like butterflies and stars
heartaches and scars
or another poem about the moon

but…
this one’s eyes are rare
like caterpillars they’re
brought alive without a womb
and she breathes new life
with the flutter of  her eyes
yet she needs no cocoon
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