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  Jan 2017 SE Reimer
Mysidian Bard
Time changes all things;
seashells of the past become
the sand of today.
Can you not
Spare a soft word
You look at her
With devouring eyes
Grasp her in your arms
Pull her close
Anger when another dares touch
But yet
You do not speak
Not what she needs to hear
Tell her she is beautiful
When you hold her near
Speak not only with actions at hand
You are woman, I am man
When you stake your claim
For the world to see
Lean towards her ear
Whisper you are mine my dear
Be not only a lover of the flesh
Speak that she is tantalizing
When both you mesh
It should not be hard
To utter the sound
From your gullet
Out of your mouth
Those lips produce
Ectasy abound
Create more
With words from whence for
  Jan 2017 SE Reimer
Savannah Charlish
Most humans drink coffee and wine
They consume television and mainstream novels
They feed their souls with popularity contests and safe relationships

But poets
We could not survive without passion, intensity, and meaning
Everything we feel is felt to the depths of our souls
We are the ones to put into words the unspeakable pain of heartbreak
The incomprehensible joy of falling in love
We are the ones brave enough to say out loud the diaries of a thousand souls

Us poets
We drink tea and whiskey
SE Reimer Jan 2017
~

her coach, like Cinderella’s,
was what brought her to his side.
but what she'd failed to see,
is that a good man may not be,
quite exciting as the bad boys way back home,
so she packs up all her shoes n’make up,
headed home where she can wake up.
now its coach that takes her,
and all he sees are fading lights;
as that red-eye in his mirror is roaring,
down the runway then is soaring,
off into a stormy night.

he used to think that
fairy tales were promised,
that all a woman really wanted,
was a knight in armor shining.
but now he knows that love can't grow,
when all its seeds are tumble weeds,
that roll on down the open road;
just looking for a good time man,
a handsome cowboy and another rodeo.

now all he’s left with is,
trying to make some sense of this;
all her lying to him,
why she left him crying for,
all the good he thought she’d brought.
but sometimes it takes
some time in silence
to see what damage has been done,
to see the cold side of a woman,
that all her prettiness and fun,
is a terr’ble substitute for love.  

he used to think that
fairy tales were promised,
that all a woman really wanted,
was a knight in armor shining.
but now he knows that love can't grow,
when all its seeds are tumble weeds,
that roll on down the open road;
just looking for a good time man,
a handsome cowboy and another rodeo.

this i promise, know it well;
good-time girls can’t cast a spell,
that lasts a lifetime, when a fellow
needs a love line, nor can they
ever heave a lifeline, when
all the chips are down. 'cause,
when someone else is drowning,
and everybody's yelling ’bout
a fire the house is burning down.
that’s when she does
what she’s best at...
running out of town.
no, a good man needs a woman,
who will always be around.  

~

*post script.

please don’t ask where this one came from... he does love country music and it may just be one too many catastrophes he’s had to watch; it’s certainly not about his own woman, for she has been his privilege to love and care for now just shy of forty years.  no, maybe it's so many lives exploding, love imploding... sometimes it feels like so few know what love really looks like anymore!
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