A better heaven there wasn't then
Nor, he knew, to find it after
For thoughts were lost to smiles and laughter
When Love had found its niche again.

So stealthy did events unfold-
Each moment kisses she endowed
To whom such gifts ungrasped allowed;
She kept him joyed in this mode.

Her charms were more than mystic spells...
His heart did not a bit detect
The poisoned blood - she did infect
And toxic love induced his cells.

The poison ran with time its course
And symptoms many he endured-
None worse than when she then allured-
Her absence did his death endorse.

But men with kisses do give in
Their hopeless hearts to attain
A chance of heaven despite the pain-
Thus, Love will find its niche again.

All Is Fair

He, there, lived as any
Without worry, without care
But then she came, he wasn't prepared.
The fruits of love, of war, were plenty

And God, up there, full of grace
Without a doubt, without delay
Gave them fruits, happy they stayed.
The fruits of war, though, had their place.

Fights, here, and there arose
Without struggle, without objection
And they unused to war's infection
The fruits themselves became their foes.

Love, everywhere, shared then tossed
Without regard, without concern
They fed on war, which was also returned,
And God's up there when humanity's lost.

When many days had passed, whence memories blurred with time
And in secret banks were stored, but left unguarded since their prime,
A photo whose fresh recall did unwanted thoughts evoke
Whose owner couldn't but lapse and yet-untapped sorrow provoke.
As if by divine scheme derived or as the Fates would have it designed,
The sickened world he saw with all its lust and love deprived
The illness was their absence, and the world he madly cursed
For its fate and his aligned, conspired and scheme rehearsed.
A more sorrowful realization into those memory banks recessed,
Such thought-provoking power there couldn't another photo possess
But how perfect that this one should a saddest thought impart
To whom unwelcomed gifts as such affected more the heart.

Trust, the rarest gift of souls-
How can I wrap it once again?
The paper taped and stretched too thin,
Full of tears and revealing holes...

You can't regift this twice, you see?
Trust once earned, abused, declines
The novelty that stood, resigns,
Distrust alone now hinders me.

But what first caused this change in me?
What once was lost to be regifted -
Privilege earned so easily lifted -
And defines the devil - what could it be?

The lastly words that Caesar spoke
(That William wrote so elegantly)
Now stabs my mind consequently-
Betrayal and distrust are now evoked.

Betrayal which started as a lie
To hide and bury a wrongful act
Broke the very soulful pact-
The rarest gift now left awry!

Cup of joe while waiting for nothing
But then found myself staring at something
Splendid curves, magnets to my eyes
Attraction of opposites, and coffee dies.

She moved just slow enough to trance
Hypnotic as a gypsy's dance
Her eyes found mine, I soared in thought
Yet, remained so still, for I was caught.

She had called but two days ago
Before the season changed and summer did go
With it the warmest days my skin could know
The freshest airs the wind would blow.

It was then, I knew it true
Beyond this season was worse to ensue
Farewell to the warmest days we both knew.
When she called, I already knew.

Love is just a word,
A noun and a verb,
A feeling, an idea,
A moment or eternity.
It is yin and yang,
It is heaven and hell-
A fruit meant for two,
And its planted seed-
That moment of doubt
On a roller coaster's peak,
The reason we wake
Or we're too mad to sleep,
A year of preparation
For a minute of glee;
Love is imperfect,
If perfection we seek.
It may come as a "hi"
Or the silence of the eyes,
It is the first kiss,
And remembering those we miss.
Love is four letters,
In this human, human language-
It is the privilege we get,
For the burden of our being.

Intro
Words in play without meter or rhyme
Is poetry without respect for sounds or time
Like a military bugler playing his morning song
But jazzing it up, which for the morning sounds wrong.

1
Poems short of prose serve to play the edge
In which the abstract thought can its verses wedge
Poetry's an art - that can't be denied
But when ripped apart, leaves readers in divide.
On one hand we have free verse with all its liberties
Its flows, like ocean waves, give in to subtleties
The other hand holds form where order and beauty lie
Its sound there calms the mind and guides the reading eye.
Well, how can art transcend if it's to be confined?
Ask the poor man painting, what keeps his strokes refined.
Ask him what is richer: materials or mind-
How he affords true art: in color or design.
And could he paint with passion if he were also blind?
To what limit does art flow, that could liberty unwind??

2
If sentences were laid and in stanzas fitted to form,
The simplest thought now sparks, the layman poet is norm -
-A hand that holds a pen.. its wondrous poem adored
Ha! That relic sonnet lost 'cause the modern reader's bored.
The talentless recites: his poetry: my rage..
Where then is the poem, in the words or on the page?
I'll credit that the form of poetry can change:
Like ocean waves on shores where waters rearrange
And subtleties lay washed whence art can have a fad
And for a moment last despite what I think bad.
Words without art, conveyed for art-less brains
The verse that freely speaks as the older school disdains..

3
But rhyming, timing schemes of ancient preference
What novelty they yield in these times of rhyme suspense....
Just the thought of it and one can hear a beaten drum,
A percussive, tired sound for ears tired and numb
They're artifacts of effort that the ancients then called art
Confined to rhyme and metered verse, the caged poems impart-
Shakespeare, Wilmot, Behn, these are but forgotten names
A pantheon of "poets" whose works of words too tame
Did not taste the "modernness" that free verse giveth to thee...
The ghosts of poems past singing their songs but never free.
How lucky for us rebel writers, we laugh at silly rules!
Rule-less, ruthless poems we write with rhyme nor time as tools!

The world of poetry, what our modern times produce
Leaves me no hope, no urge to peruse.
What most deem as poems – really, a sad excuse..
Something to be sentenced and hung by the noose..
But in this hopeless world, I’m pleased when I find
An art in poetry that but few have designed
I’m refreshed once again, guess the Lord is still kind;
I’m moved by neural sparks induced by words refined
-Like those of the old poets! These kids today
Write elongated sentences and in stanzas lay
What they call art; I just read in dismay
Spark-less, rhyme-less thoughts! with no form or array..
I’m grateful to you guys; you’re great, you truly are.
I’m reminded once again and have gladly found the bar
Is set high as it should - the work of few and far,
Poets, who so rare, I hope to write on par

-An American love poem

Love had come, we waited by
We both followed as couples should
He led us as we knew he would
But to where we wondered, and why.

I knew already how we’d travel
Although this time the path was new
And bumps along the road were few
Though each a fresh alert unravelled.

And when we started to depart
For Love was moving far and fast
We knew not if we’d even last
But I held her hand, we wouldn’t part.

We stopped and breathed, heavy breaths
Enough of this we had for now
This hasty course would not allow
The two of us, it’d be our deaths.

By the hand I took her swift,
Told her we had another choice
One in which we could rejoice
And leave to Love a modest thrift.

The choice to stop and take our time
And let Love further into perdition
We’d make new paths of our rendition
And try to get it right this time.

She agreed though not for Love
Who too quick was out of sight
She looked me with those eyes so bright
She was my gift from up above.

Though Love proved to be a coward
We instead made something real
The truth of loving became revealed
Leaving us, ourselves empowered.

My dearest K tears expressed;
As browning flowers' dews depart
Their hopeless drops of life apart
On nature's bitter bed of rest

The sight of her in me compelled
Tears myself too hard to keep,
My every instinct fought the weep
Her every sadness my eyes spelled.

But even fire has its beauty
When taking life to fuel its own-
My lovely K, this goddess disowned
Of joys, replaced by mere cruelty-

The tears did but stain the face-
The one by which my silent quest
Would be a vain, unyielding test
Would I fail to lift her grace,

The prettiest face that ever blessed
My sight, my gentle mortal eyes;
They could not know a nobler prize
Than to see her grief at rest.

Disbelief was all I had for her
When naked she stood a beauty, and still-
Not for her body - God's perfect will
But rather for her, her amorous endeavor.

"No feelings" was all she said to me
That our venture be, in this night's contract-
We owned each other but remained intact
For we had a lease rather, in Love's property.

Yet, we kissed as lovers, a deed so real
Enough for her, for the void of passion
And she went weak; I was quick to fasten-
But this is not love, just touch and feel.

Ah, God, what then of me for her
When we are alone and all is done?
And traces of then, I'd find none
And traces of her? Again? Never?

Someone changed my world
It’s funny and hard to say
So now my life is stranger
I feel this everyday.

It’s like whatever when I wake
Likewise the things that I partake
Were the choice mine to remake
I think I’d make the same mistake.

Withered thirsting dying petals-
Their plant's pain, who could guess?
The petals fell to gentle rest
Upon this earth for final settle.

Time for them a place has made
Where their essence intact remains
A place that just a mind attains-
Into that time a mind invades.

So, yes, those thirsting petals dried
But yet their color and smell preserved
And by the mind remained conserved
Even after those petals died.

Snowfall scene- notes on a score-
Winter’s music falling plays
Entrancing eyes to listen, to explore.
This wintry prelude inviting gaze..

As by unseen will, unheard instruction
Sway the trees as do the winds,
But taking cues from Nature’s conduction
Give swelling notes that gently dim

A heaven of clouds, fleeing, dark,
In passing feeds a sea of snow
Dark pine trees of snow-painted bark
Sway in unison- thanks they show

No moon, no stars to improve
This symphony untouched by light
Seemingly glows, while seeming to move
My withheld breath, my frozen sight

The tempo of this voiceless song
That puts this winter’s night to rest
Slows to largo with notes prolonged-
And Winter’s dreams, who could guess?

Logic, who from his seat atop my mind,
Whispered in my ear, and so a thought unwind
And I saw a lonely me, without a certain God.
Compelled, I asked Logic, Does this make me odd?

He had not an answer, to him this matters not,
Nor comfort for that matter, then angst instead it brought
I asked again but louder, yet greater was the void.
I'm alone in this world, uncertain and deployed.

I cursed Logic to hell, his gift of reason more
For tearing me from bliss, what I believed before.
"The empty truth is life, void of point indeed"
Whispered in my ear, these words I heed, I heed!

I lied in bed and hit send
While she waited at the beach
The lesson that I wanted to teach
Through an email to my girlfriend

A coward's way to break a heart
Revenge provides the best of fuels
And in this way broke all my rules
And into depression I did depart

There is no closure for our souls
Perhaps I'll fall into remorse
While she into another's recourse
Or just maybe not, no one knows

She texted me and I melted.
Where was time? I couldn't tell.
Every single word, I felt it;
I'm obvious, she knows me too well

Enough to know I wouldn't mind
Even after all the things I said
Cause it's love that has me blind
Even after all the things she did

There's so much I want say
That a text just can't relay..
Can the world just end me now
This stupid torture I can't allow!

It's her trap like when before
I fell for it as would a fool
The pity in my heart, no more
I'm tired of being her tool

She lied there breathless almost, blushed and bare,
For whom a statue I was, designed to stare
At those light eyes, pale skin, golden hair
Speechless I was, wanting much to declare.
Yet I, though mere, to this goddess aspired
I took by cunning theft her soft breaths with Love's fires
That burned and took her air, yet fueled newer desires
And incited pleasure, till she from passion retired
And not immortal time or anything heaven sent
Could some guilt evoke in me, or cause me to repent
Of my lustful theft, for which my deity gave consent
Lying there so calmed of a passion fueled and spent!

I sit so still in this old room
Waiting alone as quiet looms,
And then a scent alerts my mind
A smell familiar but undefined.
And I think of her and life fades
I see her coming and yet afraid
She wants to tell me something new
By how she picked her words, I knew
I'd never feel the same again
A new chapter in my life begins.
Then the moment fades to quiet
And I'm yet still, my mind's a riot
Trying to find that nostalgic scent
That love and timely joy it lent
Where this old room was heaven sent
And words of love were said and meant.

For such a pretty face did I get up and try
And charm unlaced, but told a lie
To her who, charmed, attended
And with fibs she did comply,
But what fool, I thought, lamented,
That I could not haste her mine!