"matrimonially" poems
Sterile white cast a sharp sillhouette
Againt burgundy--
That swam with shadowy velvet
And creamy blurs of silk
Each so like a soft brush stroke
Save for that sterile white
In its clean geometry;
And the carpet installed short and durable
By hopeful design it would last
Through years of dance-worthy occasions
Ballroom turf bled into my hiding place
Stippling my palms pink
As my weight shifted
And I leaned into the wafting scents
Of ladies' perfumes and catered delicacies
Every time the table cloth rippled
Out of fear or respect from passerby
Even shimmied with the clinking of glasses
Above the dull congratulatory murmur of guests
Later they would all be drunk
And murmur would turn to ruckus
But then, only indistinguishable voices
Too they were far away, drifting almost
Enough
I imagined nothing but that white
Sterile still, pure
And matrimonially sweet
The tiny bride and groom testifying from atop
But a plan was already in motion
To hide and wait;
The waiting was done
So young, as I was
Finding nothing so sacred I couldn't soil it
Found the oppurtunity to touch my tongue to it
That white, I wouldn't say sterile
But oh so sweet.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
The empty hand
Life is a black hole and I am forever falling deeper.
Down I go into a light-less hole, no sign of my keeper.
I would say it is nice to see you, but all is mist inside the deep.
When there is no vision to guide my hands, for you I cannot reach.
I reach out into the nothingness and I return not a man.
I cannot give thanx for this cryptic master plan.
I become part of the space between reality and this place.
Forever ****** into the next realm where time has been misplaced.
If I ever return, I will only be love’s skeleton;
No nourishment can sustain my soul when I exist inside oblivion.
As the memories of me fade, in this wide open space;
I cannot recall what a smile is when I see it appear on your face.
It has been so long since I last saw a miracle,
That I do not recall how to make my smile actual.
I must have imagined it when I was a kid;
A head of fantasy creations, like happiness and bliss.
Sure you people talk of love and it sure does sounds nice,
But I can only speak of the love that doesn’t exist in my life
And good things don’t happen in front of my eyes.
I never got to feel what marriage was meant to really be,
Because I am surrounded by my apathy in this reality.
There are dreams, of course, like that dream where I was loved,
But dreams are not real; people are not enough.
They are separate entities; none will ever join me hand in hand.
I will never be standing matrimonially;
Love does not have me in its plans.
I make up words that do not exist,
Like truth and trust, this twaddle is twixt.
The meaning is lost on the journey between foolishness and death.
All this nonsense is irrelevant to a dreamer head.
This bed has no place for another to fit,
For I have never ever been seen to be fit;
So all I do is sleep in it.
Boy am I tired of living this life.
Can I not just grow up and become someone who shines?
It’s been so cold without a woman in my heart.
I have kept her spot warm; waiting in the dark.
I am a single particle in the great mass of the universe.
What chance do I have of meeting my equal; my poetic verse?
What chance do I have of communicating with her,
On a chemical level,
On an intellectual level,
Or any level at all?
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC