Category Archives: Poem

I Know What It Feels Like To Hold the Sun Now


I know what it feels like

to hold the Sun now.

As I cup his beloved face,

my hands are warmed by

that smile,

the most brilliant of smiles;

my arms tingle with the heat of it.

The fire spreads through my body

and I feel like Icarus,

burning up from such close proximity.

The flames of this

Love

dance in my muscles,

causing me to hold him

a little tighter than I should.

His tiny doll’s hand reaches out

to hold my cheek,

and I wonder if he feels

the warmth

of the Moon,

reflecting the glory of his Light.untitled-5

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Stale


“Stupid Bitch”.

That’s a long ways

from “Amazing”.

Isn’t it?

It’s funny,

really,

how your opinion of me

could change

so drastically,

and yet,

I stayed

exactly the same.

Those laughing tears,

the ones we both shed

after discussing Catholics

(I know you remember them)

dried up.

They left a dusty,

cracked,

unloving heart behind.

The question is,

I wonder,

is it your heart

or Mine?

 

 

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My Boy


IMAG0507_1My boy,

I think you are most beautiful

while you sleep-

arms stretched “this big”

and legs splayed, frog-like.

But then you awaken,

and I see

how completely wrong I can be.

You smile,

and even though your mouth

is as empty as an old man’s,

that smile holds

the whole world within it;

and I cannot help but

hold your tiny grinning face

in my hands.

I can scarce believe

that without a single intelligible word,

you make me fall in love

over and over again.

There are times

when I’ve felt a failure;

but looking into your beloved face,

I realize that whatever may come,

I’ve already succeeded.

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T-shirt


I picked your dirty T-shirt up

off of the floor today.

Dirty isn’t the right word,

because as my fingers lifted it,

the smell of your cologne

wafted up to my nose.

That scent,

the scent of you,

intoxicates me.

In my altered state,

I wondered once again

how you manage to stay smelling

so fresh.

There has never been a time

in the past six years

when I’ve even caught a hint of

unseemly body odor.

I brought your shirt

up to my nose,

closed my eyes,

and inhaled deeply.

It reminded me

how I love to breath you in

as we make love;

your skin,

your hair,

your breath.

I awaken from my reverie

and grin.

All that just from doing

your laundry.

 

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Elegy for a Crayon


th7M0IL8VOI saw you lying there

Used up and broken.

Your flaming shade

the color of blood-

I half-expected to see

a pool of scarlet oozing

from your stubby ends.

Your wrapper

had been peeled away

completely from one of your pieces;

the other lay in shame

very like a rape victim,

in tattered vestment.

Your identification had been

ripped away.

Only the bold letters OLA

remained.

As I cleared the table,

I placed my hand over you

quickly

To conceal your

wretched state.

I recall a time

when I had adored ones

such as you,

and would never have thought

to leave them in

such a pitiful condition.

I wonder how many more

rainbows you would have

created,

had fate not sent you such a

vicious end.

I toss your remains

into the trash,

apologetically,

and I think to myself.

Children can be so cruel.

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Kindling


In the beginning,

you thought you knew

what love was.

We felt it;

that scorching, all-consuming excitement.

The thing that makes you think,

“This person is my everything.”

We were fools.

It was love, yes-

in it’s birthing stage.

Messy. Squalling. Ignorant.

I know that now.

If it had been stable love,

we would never have said

all those terrible things

we said to each other;

we would never have

treated each other so unspeakably.

 

There were times,

a good while later,

when you were not my favorite person.

In fact, I despised you.

I know.

I ask myself the same question:

“How can you loathe someone you love?”

Beats me.

But you can.

You felt the same at times.

I could see it when you wouldn’t look at me.

It didn’t feel like love anymore,

and we both doubted.

But then,

within  the smoldering pile of ashes

left from our rabid inferno,

a single spark, a memory,

left us clinging to each other

in the midst of our woeful rhapsody.

 

The hurts healed,

slowly.

Sometimes painfully.

The ugly scars were made beautiful

because we knew the agony

of the recovery.

You  didn’t look at me

the way you once did,

back in the infancy of Us.

I missed that,

but I was comforted

in the knowing that we chose Us.

That flame seemed cooler

than it once had been,

but more steady.

Instead of self-preservation,

we learned to

give ourselves away to one another.

We never even noticed

when our Selves melted into one.

I guess the blaze was hotter than we thought.

 

Now,

we are both wiser.

Love, you say?

I laugh.

We’ve barely scratched the surface

 

 

 

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I’ll Ask You Only


Writer, teacher, student, daughter,

introvert, lover, poet, scholar.

All these describe you, but in the end,

I’ll ask you only to be my Friend.

 

A person who shares my deepest sorrows

and comforts me with fresh tomorrows.

One to who, I too, can lend a hand

when the ground around you is sinking sand.

 

Your passions, above all, I beg that you reveal;

and every stir of your soul they make you feel.

Your worries, also, please always expose;

my duty as Friend is to lighten that load.

 

Times of madness, times of brilliance,

ideas, wishes, dreams, experience.

Heavens and hells, comings and goings,

I pray you have these to overflowing.

 

The hurts will happen; don’t quake, Dear Heart!

They arise to make you more stalwart.

Without anguish, we would never see the Light.

Without pain, blessings wouldn’t burn nearly as bright.

 

The delights of your life I hope are so many

they drown out the heartaches you have, if any.

The tears you shed, some will be sad,

but with my help, joyful ones even more will be had.

 

We two, so different, and yet just the same

walk paths unalike, play contrasting games.

Our lives go on, ever changing, but in the end,

I ask you only to stay my Friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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