Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Dear warmth,

May you rub your back against my shoulder
‘til the windows mist with condensation,
and we fall back into youth, hiding
away from the older.

May your temperature, rising to the point
of red cheek puncture, provide an oasis
under the sand of duvet’s cover.

May your hair whip around like every
flame I’ve ever seen, no agenda or judgement,
just sheer ecstasy and  excitement.

May you conjure up that lone shower feeling,
that one where for a brief slot in time everything
you know and have become floats away through
that extractor fan, out into the air- climbing higher.

May you provide that gasp of heat that
hits the cook in the face, after opening the oven’s
gate in hunger and haste.

May you be that holiday sun I always seek.

May you be the metal womb of  a car when
outside in the myriad hospital world
where it’s cold.

May you be humorous and humid and
totally lovely to be with.

May you be a heated conversation and argument
and disagreement, that torment of words
I need to hear.

May you be my laugh that bubbles up
from the volcano underneath.

May you be the heat caused by key
and lock, that one that stops
others from coming in and making
for ruin.

May you be that first sip of  ‘the
most civilised thing in the world’, as
Hemmingway put it, and let it ignite
a dance below.

May you not judge the mixture
of my grape and grain, and my love
for walking in the rain and my waiting for
ex-girlfriends every time they call.

May you always let me bed down
in that manger in the snug, though
Steve doesn’t know I borrowed his
blanket rug.

May you forever toast that bread
at midnight, just before bed.

Yours faithfully,
The Cold.
from www.coffeeshoppoems.com > ALWAYS LOOKING FOR SUBMISSIONS
Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
It spirals upwards, dancing
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Fight the fog.

The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.

‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.
You can't win
unless you learn
how to accept failures.
"I didn't mean that..." he said retrieving his coat
that was resting on my shoulders
Protecting me from the wind and sleet coming down

I can deal with a lot in a relationship
the dates spent with you crying on my shoulder
me, constantly wiping away your tears
The ninja star you through at my picture
reassuring you I said "It wasn't my favorite picture anyway"

but when you sent me a bar of chocolate and the poem
Every day for two months, without much a word
or a minute in your company
a replacement for your heart
a gift that you retrieved
what are your words,
without your actions holding them up

You later told me "I didn't give anything in the past half year to you out of love"
what did you give it out of?
Pride?
revenge?
Pity?

You know better then anyone
I don't need that 5 dollar chocolate, that just goes down like a weight
or the poems, long words that meant nothing, a long way of saying
here is a page with words on it for you.
because you can't tell me in person
"You mean nothing to me but a five dollar chocolate and long words on a page"
I will not find a person better than you.
Instead, I will find a better me,
for maybe a better me
will attract a better you, someday.
© 2012
I made myself a darkroom
and hid myself in it
Working with the chemicals
that harmed me
developing what I pictured
as beauty

coming out of of my darkroom
holding the image with my excited hands
set it down
then
I waited
and waited
till someone would pass by
see what I saw as beautiful
then
only to hear
"what the hell is that?'
The one place I feel at peace is at a little coffee shop.
I can sit and think through clearly.
Sure, at home I sometimes find moments of peace,
when its sunny out side and I can take walks in my garden.
Yet it doesn't match the peace I have writing, with tea at hand,
by myself in that little coffee shop.
So I have this friend
She's pretty cool
She makes lemon bars
and plays cribbage too

We play the ukulele
and dance to Datas song
who said that teenagers
can't get along?
 Jan 2012 Alethea Westlund
Swann
I want fire above this city,
Gaining speed and rushing towards,
Want to burn you up, my sweety.
In your mistakes, i will go forward.

As red as blood i'ĺl flow.
Blow up your bones with bombs.
Smell you, find you, kiss you... slow.
We both know i am a rocket.
And what you want is just a boat.
Next page