I'm in Love
with a man
to a switch.
It used to
if he gives
a shit at all-
how I go
I should leave
I will place
and eye rolls
if only out
The infatuating smile you got
On this spring day.
Capricious like you, London.
I can't stop myself from
Stumbling back to you.
The things unsaid, the poems unread
A thin lipped man like you, full beard suits you the best.
Ah, the beard,dotted with white snow flakes
my hearts skips for this fickle spring day.
Fickle feelings fuel your mind
Leaving you in a state of confusion
Inside you find your heart is blind
Perpetuating another conclusion
Feelings change once again
Leaning toward a different selection
Ongoing turnabout without end
Perpetuating a loss of direction
Words are a fickle thing.
They claim those faint of heart,
Destroying those heathenish men,
Who dare try to control the world
Through the power of words.
Those who try are instantly conquered
By the omniscient dictionary,
Destroyed by their constant use of a thesaurus,
And taken over by attempting mimicking another man’s voice,
Instead of trying to find their own.
They fail because they write for the wrong reasons.
They fail because of their selfishness.
They fail because they want fame.
They fail because their words are…
Their words refuse to conform to their ideas.
Their words punish their minds with sleepless nights,
Over their horrid word choice.
Crush their dreams with metaphor upon metaphor.
Win over their imaginations by continuous simile stacking.
Imagine if you would,
Attempting to perform heart surgery,
With a sledge hammer,
While a hungry lion is in the room,
And you’re in your underpants.
That is the challenge that these miserly men face
When they sit at their desks, with their pens twirling,
And their minds racing, asking why their characters
Are like puppets with no puppeteer.
Why their poems have no reason.
Why their words truly have no power.
When you write, think not about what you want to accomplish.
Don’t think about what will make people stir.
Think about what you feel.
Feel your heart pound and your soul quake.
When your words make you want to dance,
That’s when you know that you wrote something worthwhile.
Because it made sense to you, someone else will feel it.
Someone else will know exactly what you mean.
Always remember that your first draft comes from the heart.
When I like a song
I'll play it a hundred thousand times
And when that's done,
I'll avoid it like the plague,
Skipping it on my iPod.
When I like a craft
I'll put my all in it,
And when that's done,
I'll slowly lose interest,
Finding another hobby.
Can't make up my mind,
Jumping from one thing
To the next.
I've never told you that
I love you.
A cursed affliction of the heart
A human condition that drives us hither
And thither chasing a ghostly calling
On a restless search for mirages
We are all actors
Playing our role
Said a great sonnet writer
We use to quote platitudes
But what of those who wander
A crossroad of diverging futures
Where one role does not satisfy
Their boundless hopes and desires
A poet one moment
A grave digger the next
Who shovels mud in the darkness
And finds meaning in the light
A role fit for a novel maybe
Or at least a bad play
Starring unknown faces
Gesticulating to an empty theatre
Some find solace behind the pages
Of a tattered copy of Crime and Punishment
Leading a vicarious life of alcoholics and whoremongers
And some become what they don’t read
Blessed is the mind whose devotion
Is pure, untainted by the spectre
Of what is and what could be
Charting a singleminded road that plods on
To heights heavenward
To places unexplored
In a narrow field of vision
Towards a sunlit horizon
And not be stuck in the bogs
Of indecisive action
Of halfhearted measures
In a dreary haze of possibilities
But it’s only a cosmic joke one would say
For why did the Almighty in his wisdom
Make a world so vast and beautiful
Our ambitions so conspicuously lofty
And our fleeting lives so very inadequate?
Tell yourself to breathe
as the stratosphere is falling,
imagining verses tumbling
midst downpours' dissension,
and the land is left barren
as verbosity disintegrates
and emotions wholly perish
'neath fickle cloudbursts
of poetry's extinction
Fickle is a thing called love
Its lasts only a moment
Or lasts a lifetime
Or is it us that’s fickle with love
So many questions
So few answers
These last only a moment
Or can last a lifetime
Fickle is a thing called love
Or is it us that’s fickle with love ??
I let my fickle feelings slowly surface from inside
As you grabbed my hand and told me "love, I've seen you! I have you on my mind"
If my strange desire to disappear could match your need to feel so close
I'll say to you as I walk away " I'll be the butter to your toast"
I'm not very strong, so to speak
I'm merely a girl refusing to sound weak
Often condescending; narcissism in full glory
But every action taken was never without a story
What is it, you might ask, do pray tell
If curious is what you are, then very well I shall
I am seasoned, scarred, battered and bruised
Torn, tattered and worn out from use
This you know, you've been there before
One too many times we've walked out the door
We both have wounds, you and I
I've grown tired and my tears have run dry
This won't work, I've heard them all say
But never you mind, I'll be okay
A fighter now, a pushover before
I gotta be strong before I lose even more
A chanced encounter, that's what you are
Could he be different? I wondered from afar
Conversations over coffee, what a great start!
But I've grown accustomed to guarding my heart
It's not that I don't trust, nor that I don't care
My past has hurt me and my mama said beware
Risks have been taken, perhaps a little too much
So please understand as to why I am such
Despite all that, you've got me thinking
Things could be better, if only I kept believing
Because I've grown fond of our playful banter
The time is mine, and that's all that matters