"companionable" poems
Fate will make our paths cross
But is it what I want? My future is someone else's, and soon it will be yours.
People say we are for each other, but is it truly so? A companionable silence will follow but nothing will grow. They say time will bring us love
I think not. Acceptance will grow but not of love
Love eludes me in this destiny, this cage I'm trapped in
My choices are yours, your choices are others
We are what they define us to be.
Love for us - It's nothing but an illusion
The only love we will ever have is to forever be
In love
With the idea of love.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Funny the things we recall.
Images that flash through our brain.
Some most vivid for me were of an old man.
Skin like creased parchment paper,
Lined and yellowed with age.
The veins visible just below the surface,
of a thin nearly transparent veneer.
Liver spotted flecks of red,
Charted paths from the toil of many years,
Palms callused forever from a life time of labor.
Big fingers knotted and misshapen,
The two inch tip of one gone missing,
Saw taken, at age sixteen.
Looking at those old hands, one could hardly guess
That still there remained gentleness in their caress.
For an old dog, or a little grandson in need of some
Companionable affection or parental love.
Those aged hands could also make things,
Toy sailboats, and wooden trains,
complete with caboose,
And guard cow catcher.
A cool flute whistle that actually worked,
He said it was like the Indian’s made,
Out Oklahoma way.
And he would know,
He cowboyed there.
His hands taught me to tie my shoes,
Open and close my first pocketknife.
Those same hands could become birds,
rabbits, butterfly's, all sorts of things.
When projected up on the wall,
Silhouetted by a naked back light.
His hands knew magic too,
Pluck silver coins right out of my ears.
His tired face matched his hands,
visual weathered, creased and
wrinkled road maps,
Of 89 years of rugged roads traveled.
Yet, his lively pale green eyes remained
forever fraudulently youthful prisms,
Eyes and spirit of a much younger man within.
But it is his hands most of all I shall remember,
Their imposing look and their reassuring
touches of tenderness.
I shall never forget my grandfather’s hands.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening’s breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opes anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possesses;
Thus it blooms on while night is by;
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone.
6.3k
wind like a south wind carrying a plane south
deposits him, beneficiary of a backwards current
on a branch with nothing companionable in sight -
no answer, no voice to answer, no voice,
no alarm, no succor - just an afternoon
and nothing pressing. No urgent business,
maybe only the rigors of trying to prevent
there being urgent business later.
He's not all smooth. A little feather
cowlicked on his narrow jaw, and I don't know
how he bathes, what he eats, what he wants,
who would want to eat him. I don't really understand
anything that is going on around me. But look,
I understand more than him:
the tree is dying.
Oak wilt blew in from Canada,
took a long time coming and finally cracked the veins
and this one is all bad on the inside, a meal of
corked-up flesh, big spongy patches and tainted roots
at the search.
(Amateur diagnosis. The tree is probably fine.)
There is a similarity neither tree nor bird know about.
Or his legs know it, and that message
is stuck somewhere. Or he's afraid.
The blighted oak is all fungus and refusal, and he:
his skeleton is spun from delicate copper.
If you open him up, he's like a penny -
pretty, and useless in this economy.
People and things always trying to get rid of him,
and he's listening because he knows it,
and he's singing because he knows it.
Open the tree up and the whole food chain comes down with it.
(Listen to your sweet flesh that wants to go on living.)
It's not a curse, not specifically:
just one fragile thing standing on another
but - count mercies -
too light to break it.
A basic brazier licking behind a splash of yellow, he chirrups.
His song comes from the throat.
His song is about something he saw once.
His song is unquestioned, muscle moving
without will.
His plumage is mostly air
And the tree is anchored in the ground
by the very thing that chokes it,
and we're all standing together:
me, tree, bird. At least until
I finish my sandwich, packing the greasy paper in
a rectangle, with unquestioned neatness,
and leave whistling.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Fiona told me that all poems should start
with roses and violets of red and blue.
So: Fiona’s a cool blue to Liz’s flaming red heart.
And I the daisy closely combining the two.
the daisy smiles up at the sun.
to soften the fearless red rose is its goal.
Forever intertwining the daisies and roses roots run.
The violet has such a friendly soul.
Forever laughing you and me.
Broken with companionable silence.
The violet, daisy, and rose create such a scene.
Our life together is such a colorful riot!
Together forever they will grow tall.
So tightly knit are their stems they will never fall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
I sat by the window side at the bus
And ate some chocolate cake with gusto
Headaches from last night's partying
And suddenly I dozed off while eating
How strange...
Someone tapped me on the shoulder
I ****** and opened up my eyes
And saw you with your gentle smile
My face with smudges of chocolate
How embarrassing...
You asked if the seat beside me was vacant
I nodded unable to speak for shame and fear
Of opening my mouth full with chocolate cake
Too conscious how my teeth would look like
How pathetic...
Side by side, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder
Instantly felt the warmth of your smooth skin
You glanced at me and smiled again very slowly
My cheeks were blushing of my indecent thoughts
How pitiful...
You asked softly if where my destination was
I answered politely afraid of looking directly
Too distracted by the musky scent you have in you
I wanted to ask what perfume you were wearing
How awkward...
The journey was tediously long and I had hangover
We sat there for five hours in companionable silence
But my insides were screaming with excitement
By your mere presence, I felt I was safe and sound
How weird...
"Excuse me sir, may I pass?" I nudged you respectfully
Your eyes widened a little bit and nodded in silence
I got off the bus and stared as it continued on the road
Regretted that I never even dared to ask for your name
How hopeless...
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
A morning orchard walk,
myself, two dogs and
two following barn cats.
Repeated often, a shared
companionable reverie
of mutual tranquility.
An odd family of sorts,
devotion comes is many forms.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC
Another seascape.
The occasional gull
glints in a cheerful sun
against a sky
not hungry for clouds.
Everything smells of salt;
there is sea-weed
and companionable cliffs
while the backbone of distant mountains
is drowned in an azure haze.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 7:39 AM UTC
in 2028 we will have a space station circling mars
i have never felt something rattle me so deeply through my heart
my bones will not stop trembling when i look to the stars
i can not stop the twitching in my toes telling me to go
i always threw out “astronaut” as a dream of a dream
something there but always out of reach
but now i know that i can touch down before i’m in my mid-thirties
i see the full moon and i can’t stop the shaking
send me home
send me home
send me home
a teacher asked me if, given the opportunity
would i take a one-way ticket off-planet,
and never look back?
and i laughed
and i told him
mars is not far enough away from earth
send me to saturn and pluto and tie me to halley
i am ready to touch other stars
i love the sun but she is not my Sun
i love the moon but she is not my Moon
i have been sick of earth since i knew that i could be
send me on missions to put it all behind me
“what about your family”
what about anybody?
what about anybody?
i don’t want to be alone in the cold of space
i want to find something out there that might be companionable to the human race
i want to go home
i want to go home
i’m not sure how far that will take me
and i’m not sure how far past it will be from mars
but i know that getting up there will be the hardest part
lift-off
houston, we’ve got a problem
i don’t have enough rocket fuel to get out of this solar system
let’s use a gravitational slingshot to throw me out of orbit
i’ll love earth when she is the little blue dot on a map of the stars
andromeda holds my heart
send me to mars
send me to mars
let me return to the red of my heart
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
i loved doing nothing,
but with a companion.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
1.3k
Surrounded by people
Who've known me all my life
And yet not labeled "my family",
I can't help but feel alone.
Though we laugh and cavort
In companionable glee
The fact that they don't know
The unmasked me
Saddens my hermit-yet-lonely heart.
I can sit alone in a full room
And feel the same as if it were empty
For the level of empathy,
Understanding, and knowing
Never changes, never grows.
It stays at zero zero point zero.
Like the monotone screech
Of a lifeless heart on the monitor
Never fluctuating up or down,
I sit here unknown, unconnected,
Alone.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
I can feel a poem rising at the tip of my fingers tonight. I can feel them revolting, buzzing with anger; demanding to be heard.
And so I tie my hair back, pick up my pen, ever the docile servant to my emotions.
What do you wanna talk about, I ask them?
The buzzing stopped short, for the first time with some hesitancy, they answer we don't know.
And so we sat in companionable silence, with pen held. A hundred fluttering thoughts, but none I can connect to form a poem.
Write down, they say, write what we have always wanted to say, and so I let my emotions glide my fingers over the page, scribbling my brain out of the story, letting heart play to its fullest content.
And so heart wrote the softest words,
And in silence my brain slept.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
once upon a time
in my distant memory
no longer my reality
i had a gelding quarter horse
sixteen hands
burnt sienna chestnut
a white diamond on his forehead
he was my universe
a bond like no other
no one could go near him but me
didn’t trust mankind
i kissed his rubbery muzzle
braided his crimson mane
breathed the essence of sweet horse life
i could do anything with my trusted friend
when he lay out in the pasture
i would sit next to him
in companionable silence
i would ride him without a saddle nor bridle
he ever so gentle knowing
his light weight master upon him
i steered him with his red mane
to a nearby unspoiled shimmering creek
see a school of minnows
reflecting in the translucent sparkling waters
rich hues of blues and silver
in the summer we would go deeper into the water to cool off
i would lie back on his arched spine
look up at the radiant robin’s egg blue sky
the only sounds heard
the gushing stream
croaking frogs and
a small plane airborne in no-mans land
wondering its destination
whilst my friend and i
were in a world its own
we had a special connection
worth more than diamonds.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
A saunter down the byways of familiar paths and passages
A stroll in the company of long forgotten friends,
The magnificence of memories of outstanding types
Who meld in my mind in the way friendship blends.
A walk in the park with the ghosts of my memories
The personable warmth of their breath on my cheek,
Familiar phrases, a hand on my shoulder
Our companionable sauntering company we keep.
A solitary walk in the lane by the willows
Enjoying the phantoms who stroll with me there,
Reliving the joy and the laughs of the bygone
Whilst feeling the sunshine of now in my hair.
The glow in my heart for the warmly remembered
The ache in my soul for the ones left behind,
How lucky am I to be one with my memories
When many sit there recollectively blind.
Shaking the hand of a good man respected
Kissing the wrinkles away from old eyes,
Feeling the realm of a joy rediscovered
Sauntering time with my ghosts in disguise.
Marshalg
In the lane with the willows
Mangere Bridge by the estuary.
15 December 2010
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 7:26 PM UTC
An afternoon with you
beside me, with me
as we talk about things
and sit in companionable quiet
seeing you lost in your thoughts
dwelling on ideas I know naught of
writing these lines
not saying my mind
that I love you beyond
belief and thought
that I'm happy
with what we've wrought
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
Afternoon sun in my hometown.
Yellowing the rooftops of houses from my childhood,
Homes I saw en route to school, day after day.
Their fragile love and humanity so apparent.
On frigid mornings, Christmas lights and tacky lit-up plastic Santas and Reindeer rolled by, a personal parade for my grade-school eyes.
I took them in, their porches, their lawn ornaments, their wind-chimes,
And they steadied and calmed me.
I have always had an affinity for the strong broad slants of afternoon sun
Somehow companionable and ancient and unknowable at once.
In the rush of maturation and frenzy of the quick mean world
I know I have lost sight of this sun, these homes, this steadiness.
There's an added weight to this sight now, the weight of years,
but now, perhaps, a recognition, a likeness.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
i love these few moments
of the morning....
when the house bustles
but in essence..i am
alone...
the boys are still sleeping
but restless...
the house creaks and groans
as i prepare for the day
supervised by the blue cat's
eyes as he sits at the window and calls for a bird rollcall...
this is our time...
sandwiches made...
magpies called to order
we sit is companionable silence...
watching the neigborhood
awake and catch up to us
the early risers....
today...will be a good day...
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Dear sir,
With you effusive competence
And that big heart
Like the sky
With a lightness
That I don’t know.
And I don’t know
pervades or stands-
the ceaseless litany forged by the world
of your ‘’ failings of being’’,
gives me hope for the world indeed.
That child’s beam
A saucer smile;
Eyes a grave green
like a steely forest night
With memories of dire darkness
And wolves and fear;
Like a rosy sky
Working a soft pink
That feels like velvet on a winter morning;
And dreams of laying along with the freshness
Of the companionable grass
On a warm spring day
And love revised, anew.
Like a rosy sky
Working a soft pink
From the sun’s gold,
I don’t know after forgetting
or remembering
The sharpness of
serrated edges of lightning bolts
on many a lonely damp night.
I think I have a bit of a crush,
You know, the kind that resembles loveliness
The kind that reminds me, every now and again,
about life and things;
The kind that makes me smile and be gay without reason
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
A morning orchard walk,
myself, two dogs and
two following barn cats.
Repeated often, a shared
companionable reverie
of mutual tranquility.
An odd family of sorts,
devotion comes is many forms.
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 10:36 PM UTC
Poetry is...
companionable eloquence
faithful throughout eras
gone and yet to come.
It's benefits outweigh whatever
real or imagined opinion,
critique or complaint.
Our prattle shan't hinder
the blossoming of flowers
in their rightful season.
By whatever standard and
measurement, Poetry is...
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:09 AM UTC
When I remember the day we met,
I grin. For what could be more valuable
than the man you meet,
and immediately,
flee the occasion for a companionable walk.
The sun shone, and you told me,
"I think all life is beautiful,"
and the remarkable wisdom you breathe
shook the world and sky.
My eyes open, and you are gone,
but I climb out of bed quickly,
inspired by the fire
behind your eyes.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
Fascination with Light
by Michael R. Burch
Desire glides in on calico wings,
a breath of a moth
seeking a companionable light,
where it hovers, unsure,
sullen, shy or demure,
in the margins of night,
a soft blur.
With a frantic dry rattle
of alien wings,
it rises and thrums one long breathless staccato
and flutters and drifts on in dark aimless flight.
And yet it returns
to the flame, its delight,
as long as it burns.
There's a longer version of "Fascination with Light" that adds the following stanza:
And still it returns on incessant wings—
ruthless grey monarch of the night air.
It flutters and stares
with huge primitive eyes, and it sees
beyond ruinous nights
to all the loveliness inherent there;
and it sings all the hideous despair
of its unworthiness, in a frenzy of wings;
and its desolate womb holds incurled in silk
the husks of dread kings and pale lovers.
Keywords/Tags: desire, passion, lust, moth, flame, light, attraction, wings, flight, night, delight, ecstasy
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 3:38 AM UTC