I sit at the table
two seats away from her
I watch her slender arms reach
with tactile beauty of innocence

God I would write my all for her
she is everything to me
and as I look at her
she my love looks back at me

Her secret name, her wonderment
is one that I have with trust attained
we both sing the same song, in heart and mind
the gentle dance in the window storm, did we bind

We both know we are ambiance of glory past
the young and old, the grace of the name of the last
just like me she prays every blood filled day
till atoms fold do we my love, do ever fade

When I first talked to her
she asked, why did they put us here
I gave her a protective hug
and I said who knows and who cares

She smiled after the embrace
and with tears in her eyes she said
you know what is going to happen
so tactile I stopped time, for I had no answer

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

You were my favorite Sylvia Plath poem
Your words were contemporary,
oh, you were classic in your own way, dear
How I loved the way you tasted
as your poetic melody rolled off of my lips,
as your sighs and laughter filled my head like smoke
gathering together in a room where those stoner kids
from the other street would inhale the wafts of their
sweet, sweet chocolate
You were a poem sweeter than chocolate
and I don't think anyone ever really told you
Well, I'm telling you now
even though I can't quite recall how well
you mixed with me
I don't think I ever really paid attention to that--
I suppose I was too busy reading between your
short, firm words--lyrics, perhaps
though I don't quite remember any music
I don't quite remember much aside from all
these things that I have written
I don't want to ever forget you and that's why
I'm having all of these written
You may not be as clear to me as you were before
(back when I read you far too often for my sanity)
You were my habit, my addiction--but never my vice,
for you were my favorite Sylvia Plath poem
and though my vision and my mind are both failing me,
my memory still holds you dear and your words,
oh, they still ring true to my ears.

i understand
that the pain
that comes
from a heartbreak
can be devasta-
ting
like the sting
of a wasp
at every little vain.
it is poison to the soul
and your heart
is pounding strong
trying to fight
the devil's work.
in your head
in your thoughts
you try to analyze
what went wrong:
was it you?
was it her?
is there anyone to blame
or was it just God
and one of his jokes?
i don't mean to say
that we are entertainment
for the Lord,
i'm just thinking
how i'll see it
when im old
and think of how foolish
it was to think
that the older i got
the easier it would be.

what is love?

Well we used to be pretty great
So pretty, pretty, great and everything was right
The light in your hair
When you'd dance and dance
Nothing compared
To that romantic phase
I wouldve given anything and everything
To you but now I just write and sing
About you

Things were nice
Oh the air was so light
Everyone said we were right
We only had one big fight
But that was the fight
The fight on that humid night
That humid night

Then you wanted to talk about all these things
But I've never wanted silence more in my life
On our hallowed hearts is etched a pair of broken wings
Tattooed in honor of things gone down the pipe
But I still think and I still talk and I still walk
Because I realized what I thought I never would
That no beautiful thing is just a walk in the park
No declaration of love is only etched in wood
It's written in you
And it's written by you
Written for that one person

what makes me so unappealing?
is it the way my thighs briefly touch then curve
only to meet again?
my crooked smile?
tired eyes?
the way my hair curls and winds?
my attaching heart?
my small, needy hands?
my glistening blue eyes?
the wishes in the fallen eyelashes that I neglect
to brush from my cheeks?
my age that doesn't reflect my maturity?
the gaps in my brain that can never be filled?
my skeptic heart?
my pulsing wrists perhaps?
my slender neck that curves too late?
the crevices from mountains on my cheeks?
how have I become something I promised not be be?
why do I lack what other girls have?
where have I gone wrong?

I want you to buy us a house on second street.
The one with the bed right there on the porch.
Twinkling lights overhead
Surrounded by a dense garden that definitely doesn't belong in this
***-hole filled, trailer trash neighborhood.
There are at least three cacti growing out front, and the house is so tan
Like it's spent way too much time in the sun.
You can go to work every morning with a cup of fresh coffee in your hand
Wrapped in a lipstick stained note saying
I love you honey
Make some money
I'll be here when you come home.
I can spend my days playing violin to the weeds
Writing love notes to strangers to pay the bills.
Or maybe a few sad songs, depending on the rain.
When you get home I'll have a new poem for you
And we can drink iced tea on the porch
And fall asleep under the stars.