You may think poems have never been writ about you,
That pen never met ink never met paper to do no justice to the radiance of you,
That you have never inspired a divine word from the altar of lips sacrificed on a tongue that could not help but be turned to you, sweet smelling syllogisms burning half as brilliant as you,
And you’d be wrong.
There are a hundred million punctuation points, the pauses in epics, in sonnets, in every cento every cobbled together piecemeal,
you are present in them,
You have been written into code in odes.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged poem, poetry
Where have you gone?
Our hearts and minds are separated,
Reticent, reluctant to
Do this again to
Altogether sloppy marmalade on
Your perfectly browned toast.
My mistakes are legion
If a demon could express more than the
Surface I have scratched,
Sorrow that sticks
Explicitly to the
Space between your marrow and blood.
Do you think this can be
Serenity together was paramount, the
Expressions of our love tingling like a
Xylophone, sweet and subtle,
Tribute to each other.
Posted in Love, Non-fiction, Personal, Poetry, Traditional
Tagged Dr. Sexpot, Love, love poem, poem, pseudonym, stage name, WordSplay
There is a breeze likening more and more as to a gale
battering against these gallows I have wrought for myself.
last night i dreamt, aided by 18mg of melatonin,
that you were an owl, wide-eyed and wise,
flying beside a car that i was passenger in,
and when the window rolled down
you flew in and perched away from me,
all aloof and ornithactary in the front passenger seat
beside the driver, who was your lover-pilot,
and you cooed in throes of safety and satisfaction.
This poem was written utilizing auto correct. Any mistake the function made in writing the poem was kept in: rhymes were attempted to be maintained with the mangled thoughts. Enjoy.
The clouds are falling,
Blue sky rain,
I am riding through it on my bicycle on the way to work,
It drizzles and the subtle way it touches my skin reminds me of the way you caress my hair, love.
It is quiet, a calm clarity that cuts through the Saturday afternoon,
Every drop on my skin is a second that has elapsed since you left
To sojourn for a week,
Why have I felt so still why you were expanding?
Why is there less of me when there’s less of you around me?
The streets are still busy, but they’re subtle,
Like they’re waiting
To spring to life again
When you return to these streets.
There is a blue sky today, with gray clouds and white ones,
The promise of rain hanging in the air,
It is on the precipice of precipitation,
As your return to me in but a night,
You are water from the heavens on my dry crop,
So parched ever since you ventured
In the blue sky.