"bedmates" poems
Three hearts for thee divided,
Lust battles with duty for attention,
Making waves that drowned your cries,
Yet you persisted.
Three loves became one,
Your heart the sole victor,
To you go the spoils,
And yet you persisted.
One heart's love is yours entire,
Overworked and overwhelming,
Wounded soldiers make terrible bedmates,
And yet you persist.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
Most mornings are not clear.
Most mornings are not the type with a
ten-state view from the top of
Clingman's Dome, and two very expensive
tanks of gasoline. You're welcome.
No, most mornings are battered
by some kind of weather condition -
rains and drizzles and nebulous fogs,
unhappy bedmates, a productive cough -
or else the sun just remits,
stays dozing until it has slept enough.
Then you get that gray sky-
chalkboard, the punitive slap of
humid cold on your early walks, your
coffee rendezvous. Then you have
too many garments at 3 because you put
on extra at 8. Morning, in short,
wishes you ill.
Be aware that if you were born
this century, you lurched into no
midwife's hands, full of love and wet, but
a surgeon's, gloved and powdery,
who spanked you firmly, knocked you
down with a commanding stare, and gave you
the first of many cuts you were to receive.
But for having woken up, let's say,
on the wrong side of the bed (if
even there's a right one), I would
like to think we've done alright,
are not too warm or upset at midday,
not too disappointed in ourselves, our moments
of astounding social gracelessness
that we leave like bits of sneaker in our wake.
Still, though, a question:
where grows happiness? Where sprouts
the silver trunk, the cypress or birch? Or
ficus or orange or ginkgo biloba? Tell me.
I would tap that tree 'til it withers, and die
under its trunk, and the two very expensive
tanks of gasoline it took
to get me where I am.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Quietly I buried her,
It was only the last,
In life the burial was time and again.
Did she feel the banishment?
I never knew
She held it from me,
Just to keep alive the sunshine
To make it feel like a whole
Hiding the yawning hole
That makes bedmates
Strangers under one roof!
She played it to perfection,
********** was only a ploy,
She knew it was all game.
She did it for the children,
For me, for the family!
With her going to the soil
The banishment was complete.
She held life to be decent,
And got a decent burial!
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
You do not attract what you want, you attract what you are / so if you want your epic love, you must be an epic lover / if you want abundance, you must be abundant / in other words, Universe does not respond to your want / it responds to your I am it responds to your energy / and the times I’d thought I found love, what I’d really found was whatever feeling I was operating from / and anger, desperation, fear, lack——none make very satisfying bedmates let me tell you / and none equal love
So be love / be love, and let the world love you back / do not think your empty prayers your daily affirmations will fool God / God’s language is not words
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 11:13 AM UTC
friends and lovers
have the power to surprise you
with an unexpected blow,
but enemies
are predictable
& sometimes more trustworthy
than our bedmates
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 3:40 PM UTC
The ape of reason
wakes inside the primate house
throws **** at the glass
and the gawking apparitions
whose eyes align with his own reflection
but for a few seconds
waits for the one who knows
the one who carries the yellow bucket
stuffed with limp greens
sprung grain and stink meat
to spill the feast on the concrete slab
he calls a pedestal
scratches at lice
his only bedmates
small
irritating
but his own familiar feeders
calling dumb and barbarous
the macaque in the next cell over
calling loud the howlers
calling lewd the bonobos
calling brethren the chimpanzees
who wage war on the neighboring troop.
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
My mother believed in prayers, more than my father did
My father believed in tackling his problem with a flask of
White *** I believed in the moment of things:
They are hidden compartments inside of us,
“Being in the moment” can be a helpful reminder if we understand it in a more expansive way
Perhaps it was true, when someone said to deal with some situation at moment times
I refused to grieve for my dearly departed husband,
Past experience, wouldn’t allowed me to weep at his grave
My lack of dispassion and willful stubbornness;
Did I really love him, did I really forgive him?
Maybe it was the disrespect, I couldn’t forgive,
The truth is quite different. Forgiving an offense empowers the offended. It is to a man’s glory to overlook an offense (Proverbs 19:11)
I would look at his picture on my refrigerator, and I love him and I hate him
In that same moment, we are surely bedmates
My distance craving, my longing to be held tightly throughout the night.
If a person can fulfill needs for companionship, love, *** or mating, there is a greater chance that the other person will fall in love with him or her.
I have done all of this, and came out the loser, all the time
Love is not for me. loneliness is my captive
I know, I know, I know, loneliness need not to have the final words
Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 12:44 PM UTC