What is pathetic?

You know, it’s like when the
forecast calls for rain
and puddles form in your eyes
because rivers flowing
against the current
cause your heart to break
like that thin layer of ice
that seems so sturdy
but is only as weak
as that first step you take
backwards away from the opening
revealing a frigid stare
you’ve seen before,
the last time you saw yourself
as she does now…

Yeah, it’s just like that

As you never bothered to return my Calls
  I shall wait outside your door and watch
as you build the gates of wrath higher and higher,

The taller your fences, the longer your lines posts should be
The sea refuses no river;
whereas most men and women turned on each other
your actions, their words, their inner thoughts
Cyberspace is now a battle space

Keep passwords secret and strong my friends
The famous Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote
The poet also resigns himself to his moods
I shall wait outside your door and watch:

O darling, darling
I’m so in love with thee
For you must know
My veins amber fire
My heart an old oak tree
I hear soft syllables
Standing here
Many a year
I have watched thee
Bending deep
Sitting preen
O darling you gardener
Silent your till
When you are near
Long do I in reach
Yet watch I sun play
On brown rich tints
Your hair

No longer soft
Are my leaves
Waning are limbs
Slow has been age
On English forests edge
Whispering in winds
Majestic nights
Quivering leaves
I dreamt of thee
Tis I Hama that hides
When you are near
Many a long day
I have loved thee
Yet danced in your till
Sung among rose splendours
Tickling buttercup sparkles
O’er golden sun sets
Skipping along nights
Silvery moonbeams

For you must know
O darling, darling
I’m in love with thee
Creatures of blue skies
Have come to die at mine feet
From deep beloved forest
Poisoned they came to die
Darker now my base
Yellow my leaves
Grandfather sings to me
Watching silently
My place of passion
Dreaming of ancient glories
My prison is palace
It is time to leave this world
To dance with night butterflies
And sleep with sparkling mercury
Star clad skies
Good bye my time is near
Remember me
For I am with the buttercups
Yet blooming as you touch me
Your prize white rose that spirits the fence
O Darling, darling
I’m in love with thee

© Arnay Rumens  / A Sol Poet 2014

On the water's edge
a stork in meditation,
reality faces illusion.
 
Under water fish
peck at stork's reflection
reality tastes illusion.
  
Flying stork's shadow
swims on water plane
in competition, fish chase.

Organized teaching limits some learning
Blinds us from truth, the shiny is alluring.

Organized media sometimes mislead information
Their freedom has boundaries of confrontation.

Organized politics always have hidden agenda
        - A self-absorb Propaganda.

didnt make it to
your wedding
but i sent your
anniversary gift
in mid-december
despite the
june event.

the circumstances
felt cold to me
anyway.

Go ahead pilgrim,
go ahead,
make love
to the horse
I rode in on.
You will like the way she bucks,
how her stained saddle rides,
the feel of her flesh
against your taut thighs.

I will never forget
our crossing near El Paso.
Or the time
she reared up
in Amarillo.
Tucson sure fascinated
them bandits
chasing us
for gold.

We rode like demons
constantly
through the desert,
tracing
the tail of the moon
on petroglyphs.

And she knows,
she knows deep inside
her wholesome *****,
she will never forget,
she will never forget
her lonesome rider.

This wearied lonesome rider
has finally,
has finally come home.

More Structure, Bald Nature.
Intelligences without a Heart of Conscience.
Lost in the battle of Negligence.

I only prayed to the moon after it rose beyond
my window, the white sill a frame for waning
crescents and gibbouses--milk-drowned gods
dripping stars as they climbed skeleton branches--
some nights resting behind flood-heavy clouds.
People say the moon has a face, but
I have yet to see it sneer at my sins even as it tastes
my ocean-drop tears, evaporated into sky-bound veils,
brushed along the shadowed craters ...

The moon itself bemoaned imperfections in midnight
wind creaking branch against branch until I woke
slow from sleep--sad light staining my walls
pallid, pale as my own skin, glowing in muted
television shows left running while I dreamt
the moon spilled a star between my ribs--
dim luminescence radiating warm,
and the star, seeping through my pores, thawed
the ice I had prayed to melt in the first place.