Its length is known as “one year” by realists,
Also referred to as “anniversary” by idealists,
But “four seasons” is how I would like to call it
As with the passing of time I learn him bit by bit.

We met in front of Record Hall
On a rainy night and boy did I fall
For this one man named Timothy
Who approached me differently.

We first found each other online
But he was unlike the other swine
Looking for a body and easy ***,
Trying to buy me with their checks.

Plus, he did not follow the ordinary formula
Like “coffee sometime?” which is just so blah;
Rather, he proved that he had read my profile
Attentively, so I imagined he must not be vile.

He did not mention or imply anything ******,
So I started to credit him some trust accrual;
He opened us up by relating to my stories
And spoke smoothly with sarcastic ease.

I fell for his chivalry and charm
As well as his unstinted smarm,
His passion for engines and parts,
Never giving up until it all starts.

He won me over with his corny memes,
Matching weirdness, and future schemes;
His unfaltering boldness and fearlessness,
Manliness, and, in due course, closeness.

A spontaneous boy who does puzzles with me,
A romantic gentleman who invites me to the sea,
A free-spirited dude who is a spirits connoisseur,
An audacious chap who is a cooking amateur –

He has a nerdy side as he likes to figure things out.
He has a masculine side as he enjoys working out.
He has a brave side as he goes off-roading in his Jeep.
He has a sweet side as he pulls me closer in his sleep.

He slyly squeezes out my personal info
From myself and makes me go “Woah,”
As he discreetly plans adventurous trips
Which makes me want to ****** his lips.  

He is not afraid or disinclined to reveal his worries.
He is not abashed to update me on his **** stories.
He was not nervous about exposing his cover letter.
He was not anxious about taking me to his mother.

Weight? He does not ask me to gain any or lose.
Change? He needs not fix or loosen my screws.
He takes me as I am, not as a mechanical robot.
He finds sufficiency in all that I do and have got.

He does not care that I wear makeup or look like a dude.
He does not complain that I take long to finish my food.
He disregards that I do not adhere to societal standards.
He discounts that I occasionally think and act backwards.

He makes me relax and loosen up in his presence;
He emits a homely atmosphere and is my defense.  
Hell, we even start doing ***** lovey-dovey acts
Such as calling each other’s names in several packs.

He uses his witty senses to title my works,
Which, to other people, may stir up smirks,
But he does not give two ***** about them;
As long as we represent to each other, a gem.

We are compatible and agree in many manners;
We are avid Android users, not iOS supporters,
We take pleasure in dallying under the covers,
We enjoy mysteries and psychological thrillers.

We follow a handful of seasonal anime together
And we tend to swiftly marathon them altogether.
We even have our own convenient organization
In times when we watch anime together in elation.

He asks, “wanna watch” when there is an update
And picks a title; I agree and say “ready” and wait;
He says “go,” I thumb him, we watch simultaneously;
Then, whoever finishes first sends a thumb amiably.

He tries to pass time with me after work so demanding
So he sometimes falls asleep and leaves me hanging.
However, he impresses me in still choosing to be dutiful
All the while exhibiting humanness, which is beautiful.

I am pleased that we have similar likes and interests,
Glad that both tally with “real love will stand any tests,”
Blessed that both are open to expressing affection,
Thankful that we are looking in the same direction.

Even apart, I admire his strong patience,
Extending over many hours and nations!
Oh, I almost forgot – he is also tall and fit;
The more I think, he has it all – you name it!

The list of what I love about him keeps growing,
With things to cherish constantly overflowing;
I cannot expect more or imagine anyone better,
So I find myself dedicating to him this love letter.

Gosh, how I miss our sessions of wine and cheese,
Cinematic baths and interlacing, candlelit bodies,
Our woolgathering moaning and perspiring mess,
Many nameless moments and silent togetherness!

April 6, 2015, on OkCupid, he gave me a look;
April 11, 2015, he “friended” me on Facebook;
April 15, 2015, he suggested meeting up to study;
April 18, 2015, he dated me and became cuddly.

All this from last year… one year forward, today,
We are still together and have not gone astray –
As long-term and long-distance partners, we are
In the hardest, yet happiest, relationship by far!

Looked in the lint trash
What, a bucket of spiders?
But that's just my smarm, I mean
Charm, yes so charming, I

Feel I should tell
You: See, I am the kind
Of a man whose particles of rage all blend blisters into macrame
What? That's to say I only craft with vengeance, Art is Hell.

I'm not really sure, see, it seems I
have so many words inside and yet
No order, no syntax, no form, no norm.

Can't spin A.D.D. into gold, No,

I can't tremble, blink, then in that
Blink! Distill a miracle
Of words whose sentience, er,
Sentence myself to the chair,

The chair at the computer where,
Confounded,
I shiver and sigh, sob, eye.

It's funny how you're no longer attractive to me
because my week with you was laced with an ennui
that I could not foresee
and was forced to oversee
your drug-induced reveree.
It's funny because you think you're a player,
but you've got only one layer,
which acts as a disclaimer
to your vacant container
of empty and witless charm.
You seem to ooze smarm
to those who haven't been darned
with knowing the feel of your arm
in their, and you always seem lost
and somehow aloft
but I think that's just because of your recent list
for a drug that breeds mistrust.
I'm not saying you can't get high,
or that I don't have the supply,
but I can't understand why
I could never verify
and ounce of sobriety in you
in the week we went through.
If this is a preview
of your future revenue,
I don't want this friendship to ensue.

Translucent feelings
Uncertain dealings
Waiting waiting game

Untenable desires
Plump opaque heart
Waif dreams

Dappled time
Smarm sublime
Plot twist ...

Hankering for fresh juicy thinking

Silver slivers of solid liver and jam
Whiskers kiss past Turks or ham
Flavored paper for popular people
Begin please! Climb our church steeple

Forget it, I mean you no harm
If you can't be cute, then try for smarm
Tell me a secret you know about boys
Though you might not know any, you still have soft toys

Never, ever, always - tall days (in platform shoes!)

Hate, love, lust, rust and remembering
Silly games with guns and dismembering
Bombs that explode into strawberry stars
Sparkle and twinkle, and try to melt cars

Jelly beans, tangerines, chocolate and fries
Buttered toast fireworks in ovaltine skies

Capable people do commonplace things
while I write myself a pair of pink wings
to fly overhead of their sensible plans
and pelt them with pillows and empty food cans.

My brain doesn’t fire
Synapses the way I want it to
Anymore.

It just shorts out
Causes a commotion
Leaving me on the floor.

I got a few to no tricks up my sleeve.
But these idiots keep putting faith in me
Like filling a plastic bag with more plastic bags.
I can’t see any reason to the way I’ve been living.
I’m fighting myself by instinct.
If you build a multitude of clever one liners
On being “Angsty and smarmy”.
Then when you run out angst and smarm
Your basically ******.

So I’ve been trying to reinvent myself
For the kids.
The little *******  with the confidence to keep stars from falling.
But I haven’t seen a gleam in ages.
All I see is an empty sky reflecting in my hollow head.
I try to sleep it off
But I just wake up feeling dead.
I could go find a firing squad,
But that’s not what I want to say at all.
My brain isn’t working the way I want it to.
If this is growing up, we’re ******.

by Leslie Thomson

One night late after midnight,
A poet sat with pen in hand,
Surrounded by crumpled up paper,
No words came to his command.

In his house there crept a poem,
Full of smarm and beguiling;
Just out of reach of the poet,
It stood there, sardonically smiling.

“Do I elude you, poet?”
Said the poem with mocking tone,
“Do I keep you awake at night,
And won’t ever leave you alone?”

The poet snatched at the poem,
Which stayed outwith his grasp.
He cursed at the elusive creature,
Who laughed with a throaty rasp.

“Poem how did you get in here?
And why won’t you give me peace?”
Asked the poet of the poem,
“I am tired and need release.”

“Why do you evade my clutches?
And keep me awake so very disturbed?
After all, I am a poet;
I am King of the written word.”

“Oh such grand conceit,” mocked the poem,
“To think this is your life to choose.
You are the king of NOTHING;
You are but servant to the muse.”

“You know your mind is not your own,
And words are beyond your control.
You merely scribble what is dictated;
You will write what you are told.”

“It is true,” bemoaned the poet,
“I asked not to be entranced.
To spend time with words evading me,
And leading me in merry dance.”

“Yet I would never want to escape it,
For I love the written word so.
The muse has me in her clutches,
And I never want her to let go.”

“So you tell me poem,” said the poet,
Just what is a poor poet to do,
When I’m distracted day and night,
And haunted by creatures like you?”

“You try too hard at times,” said the poem,
“That is why we lead you on this chase.
Each poem is like a lover;
We must be ready to embrace.”

And the poem slipped into the poet’s clutch,
And only then did he understand,
That he would never be king or master,
The muse is always in command.

His mind at once was inspired
And he continued the work he planned;
Contented and filled with love,
For the poem in his hand.

So when you look for inspiring verse,
To enlighten your life or fulfil,
Remember a poem will not be forced;
It must come of its own free will.

It proved too difficult to bear the pain,
Of Heart weathered by attack of lovelorn rain,
Ferried to a destination cruel,
That does the righteous mind offend, appall,
Betwixt the loves I probing, searching go,
Dreaming, rocking, swinging to and fro,
Turning rocks, upending flowers for hallowed sight,
Of Loves raw ruby adorned in beauteous light,
But searching was the stupid thing to do,
For it was inside my heart that gift from Love sweet grew,
Who can call it treasure that one finds,
It's indelible, an activity refined,
That kindles in the fiery, impassioned mind,
And sings borne aloft on zephyrs for kindred kind,
Still, from him, with tears I fragile went,
The hour of my passion duly spent,
An admonished and assailed little scribe,
Writing dutifully to gift the reading tribe,
With tales and treatises of loves lament,
Bereft of touch of gift that heaven sent,
His paeans snared a poet, caught my boot,
As I ran through fields of joy in gay cahoot,
But he caught me only to slay,
The prize, and hold her captive to the day,
And smite her with a smear that she doth stalk,
For him, angel sullied by lie he talks,
Except it's true I chase the light that flies,
After angels as they go singing in the skies,
I only ever wanted to be bathed,
In that aura, so after it I tread,
But I gave up, tired of the chase,
And his words suffice only to abase,
And his empty crying of abuse,
From the one that he saw fit to contuse,
I thought I'd never frolic once again,
Beleaguered of the whole ****** thing with men,
But at the moment I had given up,
Heaven sent loves chalice, luscious cup,
Chased by suitor, ravenous as pup,
Could hardly count my fortunes or my luck,
Native of Love's consulate, embassy,
Doth with earnest Heart appeal to me,
And now contrition outweighed by joy and glee,
And I want him the world to see,
Whilst dangled on my proud, devoted arm,
Enamoured of his beauty and his charm,
Doth outweigh the devil's pomp and smarm,
For which this sorry babe came to grievous harm,
But now sweet entreaties I again refine,
To feel and fathom love and soar divine.