Solace

How long have I been tensing both my shoulders to my ears,

taking my frustration out on everyone around?

It seems like it’s been going on for six or seven years.

Now the solace lost so long has once again been found.

 Breathing comes so easily, beloved peace at last,

never looking back behind me; I know this is real.

Now I’m certain struggles fought remain far in the past,

giving my existence an enlightened, weightless feel.

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heartache

growing up, I thought the word heartache was just a metaphor

but now I know that it’s literal and not figurative

it’s not a simile “like my heart’s being smashed on the floor”

real pain burning my chest, not its descriptive derivative

hot, enervating, radiating ache which will not subside

it’s all focused where my heart is physically located

not imagery in this poem, that’s how it feels inside

heartache’s an apt description that should not be underrated

pet peeve: people using “literally” when they don’t mean it

so I want to be clear that that’s not what I am doing now

this heartache feels like it might literally kill lest it quit

everyday it’s harder to say that’s something I won’t allow

 

 

 

 

Inception

The first time I saw you, I felt my heart flutter.

The first time we kissed was so sweet.

The first time you entered, I felt a deep shudder.

It all made my heart skip a beat.

The first time the sun rose with you by my side,

I memorized every detail.

The first time you shaved the chin hairs from your hide,

you proved what I liked would prevail.

The first time we parted, I felt a deep pang:

the long stretch I had to endure.

The first time you came back, to that door I sprang,

your love for me my only cure.

All these years later, it still feels the same.

I pine for you when you’re not near.

I give myself to you, I take on your name,

and hope that my foibles endear.

Dinner Party

As soon as they arrive the mood is light,

strong appetites accompanying all,

the music and the table set just right.

My canapés do no less than enthrall.

They audibly appreciate the food,

“Yum-yum!”ing, “I want more!”ing, and the such,

all standing by the hors d’oeuvres like they’re glued,

all saying that they love my food so much.

The compliments don’t ever seem to end.

Each course I serve tops what could not be topped.

The flavors fuse to yield the perfect blend.

I’m Queen of All the Cooks! I can’t be stopped!

It worked with toddlers. Soon, I’ll try adults …

if only I can mimic the results!

The Lap of Luxury

I finally have folded all the clothes.

I washed the dishes and put them away.

I smothered all the bonfires that arose.

I cleaned up all the finger paint and clay.

I planned out all the meals we’ll eat this week.

I purchased the supplies they need for school.

I made the time to “play” some hide-n-seek.

I took them all for swimming at the pool.

I helped the eldest find his poster board.

I scraped the bubble gum from Boo-Boo’s hair.

I straightened out the wireless router cord.

I treated all the stains in underwear.

“You used to work before you had a kid?”

Sigh. ‘Once upon a time, I guess I did.’

Perpetuity

You all should shag a poet who is free if you’ve the chance.

A poet offers more than just a true, whirlwind romance.

For if you do it well, you will influence what she writes.

There’s just no way around it, if you take her to the heights ….

Then your love, she’ll immortalize, your essence living on,

your most impressive sexy feats persisting when you’re gone.

Perhaps you may pass on to kids your striking DNA.

But there are certain parts of you, your children can’t convey.

And though her silly writing’s not as famous as The Bard’s,

not spoken on the stage, nor used in cheesy greeting cards,

all words writ live forever. They’ll endure throughout the years,

for writing goes beyond your genes, or when love disappears.

Plus, even if your dalliance has ended in a mess,

from time to time, she’ll read her work, and think on your caress.

“Not Me!”

I’m not quite sure who “Not me!” is, but he acts up a lot,

for when I ask, ‘Who did this?’ it’s the answer you’ve all got!

“Not me!” “Not me!” “Not me!” come your three voices, loud and clear.

You all must think I’m stupid, ’cause you all sound so sincere.

Oh, sure, it wasn’t one of you who put snails in my shoe …

that’s something that a 6 year old would never think to do.

You’re saying maybe I had left the milk outside to rot?

 “Not me!” appears to be the only patsy that you’ve got.

Perhaps it was your father who poured soda in the plant?

See, I would love to blame him, but that’s crazy, so I can’t.

I also know he’s not the one who left the water on,

or drew with my mascara until it’s completely gone.

I can’t imagine using magic marker on the cat,

or leaving a green puddle on the sofa where I sat.

The dog can’t use a doorknob, so he cannot let in flies.

He really is an animal; it’s not some great disguise.

It’s not like Grandma wets a slice of bread and puts it back.

If Grandpa ate that bacon grease, he’d have a heart attack!

Your cousins haven’t been here in at least a month or two.

Through process of elimination, it was one of you!

I’ve heard “Not me!” so much that now I’m starting to believe,

though I know it’s ridiculous … exceedingly naive.

But said with such conviction, that I’ve taught you all to use,

it’s tempting to just disregard the pile of damning clues.

I know I’ll have revenge when you three have kids of your own.

But in the meantime, I guess I must wait until you’re grown.

 

 

Ascendancy

Discounting its import, a grave mistake,

pretending sex won’t have impact like this;

it’s something you must tend to for the sake

of marriage and your precious wedded bliss.

If you don’t get along, you’re surely doomed,

a fundamental problem you can’t shirk.

The sex won’t be enough, as was assumed.

Both need much more to make the marriage work.

But even if you’ve roots so thick and strong,

as to remain so firmly set in place,

the problems will prevail when sex goes wrong,

and in the end, divorce is what you’ll face.

Good sex can’t save a sinking marriage ship.

Bad sex will tear an everlasting rip.

 

 

Adolescents

So, you want to be treated like adults?

Then you’d better start acting that way.

When I ask you just what you were thinking,

you have nothing (that’s lucid) to say.

“Can’t remember” because you’re “too tired?”

Then you’d better start getting some sleep,

’cause you’re going to need to think clearly ALL day

if this freedom is something you’ll keep!!!

“I forgot.” “I don’t know.” “I don’t get it.”

Well, then clearly, you’re not an adult.

Jamming your head so far up your own ass

is what yields, once again, this result.

Fool me just two times, and it’s shame on You.

But fool me three times, shame on Me.

Revoking your privileges only makes sense.

Ask again in a year and we’ll see.

 

 

 

 

To Me From You, Part II: My Favorite Machine

I am an engineer at heart, have been since I was small,

and nothing’s changed, it’s still the same, although I’m now quite tall.

I love to look within and see the way contraptions work,

to poke inside the mechanism, where its secrets lurk.

So I love learning all the parts inside that make you You.

I love to tighten properly your every bolt and screw.

I love your brainy gears that turned and made you fall for me,

all working in a way I trust, but never need to see.

All engines need to be maintained, or else they’ll fall apart.

I love to oil the valves and muscle tissues of your heart.

I love to groom my instrument and shine it up each day,

and brush the copper coils of hair your fine machine displays .

When I dismantle engine parts, I rebuild afterward.

It’s just a handy thing that I can do, ’cause I’m a nerd.

I wouldn’t want to tear your heart up. I’ll leave it intact,

the one machine whose parts I can’t replace once they have cracked.

I vow to keep you whole and give respect that you deserve,

to make sure that your love for me is something I preserve.

I’m sometimes asked which great machine I love to work on best,

which kind of  thing I’d give attention to more than the rest.

You are the best contraption one like me could ever want,

with gorgeous innards, outtards, perfect backside, top, and front.

No apparatus on this Earth intrigues me like you can,

my favorite implement to study since my world began,

for nothing’s like designing my own love affair with you,

 a work-in-progress, which, upon my death, shall not be through.

Euphonious

A symphony of word and breath and sound,

conducted by my lover’s vocal chords,

intangible, but fervently profound,

ephemeral, auricular rewards.

The oscillating sound waves reach my ears,

his exhalation warm, as is his heart,

as soon as I have heard, it disappears …

the impact will remain though we will part.

It comes to me whenever he’s away.

I close my eyes, pretend he’s here with me.

I’ve memorized, to in my head, replay

whenever he’s asleep or absentee.

There’s nothing in the world that’s quite the same

as how my precious lover calls my name.

 

adrenaline

heart racing

eyes red

throbbing center

throbbing head

toes curling

feet flexed

tension now

tension next

fists forming

blood boils

crippling fight

crippling toils

living raw

love burned

nothing gained

nothing learned

The B-Word

Young brother, now you’re talking, and you’re growing up so fast!

You haven’t been around to see what’s happened in the past.

I have some good advice I’d like to pass along to you.

It’s so you can avoid disasters Mom and I went through.

I’ll tell you right now, smarting off is not the way to go,

and lying will not work because she’s Mom, and she will know.

Just finish all your homework when your teacher gives you some,

and when it’s time for dinner and Mom calls you, wash and come.

But if you cannot handle it and mess up here or there,

the chances are, you’ll still recover. Mom is pretty fair.

And yet, there’s one mistake no kid could possibly afford:

no matter how you feel sometimes, DON’T EVER SAY YOU’RE BORED!

I promise when I’ve said it, I’ve regretted it all day.

I’ve wished so badly I could take it back, and go and play.

I swear all her suggestions when you say it are the worst!

So, carefully evaluate your other options first …

unless, that is, you’d rather clean your room and make your bed,

or organize your closet and your dresser drawers, instead.

Sometimes when I would say it, she would make me read a book,

by then, too late to say I’d give the TV one more look.

She also wants her garden raised so she won’t hurt her back …

which means it’s hard to move the dirt, and you‘ll pick up the slack.

She always needs the car cleaned out. She’s busy here, inside.

When her kids say they’re bored, Mom’s bag of horrors opens wide.

I cannot list all her solutions. I’ve lost track by now.

So fake a smile and wipe those grumpy frown-lines from your brow!

Just occupy yourself until it’s time to have a snack.

But keep in mind, if you’ve already slipped and can’t go back:

you’ll only make it worse if you should protest, pout, or whine.

So, learn from my mistakes, and you and Mom will do just fine.

Awakening

I’d like to say there’s anything I’d do,

no length to which I wouldn’t ever go,

no epic tale of woe I’d not go through,

no gesture graced with love that I’d not show.

I’ll rescue you from structures pitched with flames,

I’ll carry you at times when you can’t walk,

defend you when you when your foe unjustly blames,

and listen to you when you need to talk.

But I will not stand idly by and watch,

nor keep inside my words which bear the truth.

You’ve kicked your self-destruction up a notch;

no longer is this folly of your youth.

I’d die for you … that’s all I have to give.

But one thing I can’t do for you is live.

Poetaster

“A picture’s worth a thousand words.” I, too, believe that’s true.

I wish so badly I could paint or draw to capture you.

But I can’t draw or paint well, so I write some verse instead.

No matter how I try, so many details go unsaid.

In lieu of those, I’d use the plastic art forms if I could,

by sculpting you from clay or carving out your shape in wood,

thus catching all your nuances that still evade my song,

presenting your sweet curves I’ve been in love with for so long.

All those things above, beside, there’s still photography.

I never get the light right, though, so much one still can’t see.

They never do you justice, so it’s poetry I use.

I’ll try until I die to glorify my perfect muse.

 I’ve used a thousand words and I’ve repeated several times,

piling high upon my shelves those stacks of meager rhymes.

The proper thousand words to use stay trapped within my mind.

I hope, if I keep searching, that someday, those words I’ll find.

True Love

I love to be alone, just you and me.

You take me places I’ve not ever been.

You show me things I’d otherwise not see.

You never care what kind of mood I’m in.

You offer me your whole self, never less.

We do not play those lovers’ games or fight.

No matter how I feel, you ease my stress.

I want you in my bedroom every night.

I love the feel of you—your size and heft.

Your smell, alone, invokes the peace I need.

Sometimes I feel you’re all that I have left.

That’s why I make sure I have books to read.

You’re only more distinguished as you age.

I relish reading every single page.

Parallel

 I never said that I was more important than you are.

That’s just what your wild imagination chose to hear.

My explanations start, but you won’t let me get too far.

Please back off and let me talk. I’ll make my feelings clear.

I am no more special than another on this Earth.

That’s the first thing you should listen to and understand.

When it comes to others, I’d say I’ve an equal worth.

All I mean is that my trials and woes are just as grand.

With my plight dismissed I make a point to plead my case,

making it appear as though I think that I’m the best.

If I hadn’t had to struggle just to keep my place,

I’d remain here waiting for my turn, like all the rest.

Tabula Rasa

the debtor who’s avoided obligation comes to pay

finally the mist has cleared, evaporating fog

food caked on the dishes has dissolved and floats away

the collar engineered to shock’s been taken off the dog

the agitated whirlpools mellow into swirls, serene

the horse imbibes the water to which he’s been often led

past offenses all forgotten wipe the slate off, clean

freeing room to write another story there, instead

 

The Delay

The screeching of the tires defaced the air,

its echo blotting out the sun at first,

the crash that followed next a solar flare,

inflicting on its victims life at worst.

The acrobatic vehicle’s routine:

a horrifying double somersault,

no harnesses or god to intervene,

a graceful, irreversible assault.

Thick-skulled chimpanzees gripe; they will be late,

ungrateful they will live another day,

ignoring lessons offered them by fate,

presented in such glorious display.

I sit and count my blessings till it clears,

aware my own mortality yet nears.

The Immortal

she’s a living breathing organism pulsing

infinite stimuli always contributing

tidal waves melding harmonious convulsing

division of labor stresses distributing

the flock mentality fads cliques what’s hot today

follow the leader or maybe you become one

the vendor sets up his stall his goods on display

persisting till the horizon swallows the sun

the morphon ebbs and flows beholden to the moon

sleeping every night with one eye still open wide

repellent offerings moot the vibe changes soon

endless nesting dolls boundless potential inside

Indecorous

In certain situations … such as this …

no matter how portentous or austere,

the funeral of someone I will miss,

or moment that should fill my heart with fear,

I find that what I want to do is smile,

then burst into a violent giggle-fit,

the kind that sends me rolling in the aisle,

complete with tears and toots and flying spit.

I know that it is wrong, but I can’t stop.

I’m sure that I offend all within range–

this woman laughing so hard she might pop.

I know that my reaction must seem strange.

I’m sorry that your member made me laugh.

True justice could be served with merely half.

Unpolished

I saw you in the mirror just today.

You’d love the way the curls surround your face.

You wished you had my hair, you’d always say.

You do, your countenance now set in place.

 I came across an article last week.

A fascinating study had been done.

I quoted some statistics, like a geek;

your legacy is not to be outrun.

Engrossed in my beloved TV shows,

I’m caught off guard: I hear you laugh out loud,

for ev’ryday my laugh, more like yours, grows …

so many traits of yours I’ve been endowed.

Elusive still, your wisdom’s what I seek.

I haven’t quite yet mastered your technique.

 

 

 

Opportunity

abandoning corporeal restraints

discovering your perfect chance to fly

no longer subject to the pain that taints

autonomy in infinite supply

absorbing new sensations full of ease

rejoicing as you’ll never fear again

unlocked now are the chains of your disease

no bleeding like a ruptured fountain pen

eluding facts of crime and war and hate

no challenge scaling rubble or steep scree

ascending high above embracing fate

examples you set writ on my marquis

all enemies are vanquished and dissolve

as far beyond mere humans you evolve

Mean Mister Blues

rhymaphilia

Mean Mister Blues pitched a tent in my shoes

last night as I did sleep.

Now in my womb, he made it my tomb.

He came for emotions to reap.

I’d try to fight to keep light in my life

but that result wouldn’t come cheap.

The windows unlocked, I just couldn’t act shocked,

and over the sills poison seeped.

I would scream out but that’d give him no doubt

and he’d find me before I could go.

Gnashing my teeth with such pain underneath,

that could only set Blues’ heart aglow.

If I lie still and give up my free will,

the tortures I might undergo

would leave me a shell while my pain is excelled

until agony’s all that I know.

Trapped in my mind with so much undefined…

it’s my happiness I will forsake.

I let him come and consume till I’m numb,

stoking his fires with…

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Acid Rain

The tension flows freely and fills up the room,

condensing like dark clouds that bully the sky,

with clustering pustules that fester and bloom …

those unanswered questions about how and why.

Expanding balloons grow enormous and pop,

broadcasting a mist over all in their wake,

refusing to wilt, as their poison, they drop,

corroding facades, and exposing the fake.

Acidic remarks lash harsh stripes on the wall …

transmogrify love into caustic defeat.

They crush good intentions to dust where they fall,

ensuring destruction is swift and complete.

Stripes become solids, their coverage increasing.

Resentments pile high, exponential in growth.

Permanent statements– they live without ceasing–

obliterate all that was precious to both.

Spontaneous Combustion

Without a warning, I can feel my heart explode in flames.

The tendrils curl and lap, consuming all its bitter juice,

incinerating ancient scars incised by lovers’ games,

extinguishing emotions that were never any use.

As lipids, dense, and rife with fuel, will burn and smoke so long,

my heart continues smoldering each day and every night.

But if enduring heat like this will make me brave and strong,

I’ll stem this conflagration raging on, no end in sight.

Asking For Help

askingforhelp1

Asking for help can be harder than not,

because both cause a pain that is real.

I hate to admit this is all that I’ve got,

and that this is the best I might feel.

askingforhelp2

I’m a young woman and shouldn’t need help

since most strangers assume that I’m fine.

I feel like a dog squeezing out a sad yelp

’cause I realized this body’s now mine.

askingforhelp3

At once, overnight, I became old and weak,

so I didn’t have time to adjust.

Suddenly, I couldn’t chew food, see, or speak,

and into Sick’s midst I was thrust.

askingforhelp4

 A placard at 19: admitting defeat!!!

It’s a thing I was so loathe to do.

I’m now twice that age, and perspective, my seat,

as I look back on what I went through.

askingforhelp5

I so wish that back then, I’d let ego go.

I wish I’d not cared what they thought.

I wish I knew then what I’ve since come to know

and the truth that the future has brought.

askingforhelp8

It’s not a character flaw to be sickly.

It’s okay to ask for a hand.

I’ll get there eventually, slowly or quickly.

Who cares if the world understands?

askingforhelp6

Sometimes I’m weak and I need extra time,

and sometimes I park by the door.

Sometimes I can’t talk, and it’s not a crime,

and some days, just to eat, is a chore.

askingforhelp7

But here, from my seat, in this tower of age,

with the wisdom I’d hoped would shed light,

I see the intensity’s not been assuaged.

Still, to make myself ask, is a fight.

Mating Rituals

You see the bowerbird collecting trinkets to adorn

his bachelor pad so he’ll attract a mate?

He only picks blue glass and wrappers, ribbons that are torn,

arranges them obsessively, then waits.

Now look at tall giraffes, who have some curious foreplay.

A male will smell her urine, have a taste.

If he detects she’s ready, it’s a go for them today.

He then proceeds to mount her with due haste.

My human male, anticipating intercourse tonight,

prepares, like any species on the prowl.

With music playing he will get the ambiance just right,

complete with Kleenex, candle, and a towel.

All Those Things We Never Said

Let’s say all those things we never said.

Let’s sit down and talk until we’re done.

Let’s rewrite our history instead.

Let’s pretend our lives have just begun.

All those things we never said are here,

all those things we owe the other’s heart.

All those things we held back are so clear.

All those things demand that we re-start.

Let’s carve out new paths that intersect.

Let’s embark on journeys as a pair.

Let’s embrace those feelings we neglect.

Let’s no longer hide the love we share.

Scentsational Escapes

roses-194490_150lavender-275109_150

There are many reasons that a garden’s worth my while,

several ways to use a bright bouquet.

When I need some R&R, I like to bathe in style,

with petals in a colorful array.

I tear off stalks of lavender to beautify my tub.

I prune some fragrant roses still in bloom.

I gather up some blossoms from my charming fuchsia shrub,

and crush all to release intense perfume.

Just a snip of spearmint to temper all that sweet,

water warm, enticing, steeped with peace,

I lean back and inhale their scent, immersed from neck to feet,

basking in my quiet, spiced release.

*images courtesy of dhomi and robert102 of pixabay.com, respectively

 

Colonel Beauregard Bojangles

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I love my big, fat Ragdoll cat, named Beau.

His fur is gorgeous shades of crème and flame.

By far he is the softest cat I know.

His countenance is referenced by his name.

aa1

 He tops the scale at 19.5 pounds.

Stretched paw to tail, in inches, thirty-eight.

When Beau is brushed, he makes a trilling sound.

His waddle is the most endearing gait.

aa3

 A cranky boy, he speaks up when first touched.

From his great effort, when he jumps, he grunts.

A Ragdoll, Beau will dangle when he’s clutched,

but turns into a beast each time he hunts.

aa5

 He loves to have his big ol’ belly rubbed.

We do it all the time so he’ll feel loved.

Pretzels

Pretzels

Image

The Pearl

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Do not be fooled by its messy appearance,

papers and plastic and tools.

They’re merely signs of robust perseverance.

Rather than chaos, think: jewels.

This is a pearl born of craft and creation,

a simple, white table the seed…

where projects and visions are brought to fruition,

following impulse’s lead.

A Regular Day

*picture courtesy of GLady on pixabay.com

roses-215237_640

  I breathe him in and taste his chest and face.

The forehead kiss he leans down to bestow.

That signifies that we are both in place.

I’m ever grateful on this ride to go.

(He says he wants to absorb me.)

The shadows catch the contours of his neck.

I take the role of lock, and he, the key.

I am but here on Earth…I have to check.

How still, his head, whose body’s slamming me–

(He could balance an egg on it.)

A glutton he has forced my body be.

I’m ruined now for any other sport.

Still twice a day…this gift he gives to me.

Methinks that none would credit my report.

(The look on his face is Mercy.)

I thrust and pull his body into mine.

He’s fluid, steady, powerful and hard….

We seat ourselves where lovers come to dine

and go about our love with no holds barred.

(I want to be absorbed.)

 Men since the dawn of time have wondered how,

and wanted to give what he gives with ease.

Of all the men, then, he should take a bow.

His lady’s first and he is set to please.

(She is also second.)

A healthy beast with stamina untold,

his graceful ways are far beyond just apt.

At full stride, he’s a vision to behold,

and when he’s done, I’m nothing less than rapt.

(He’s one of those people who’s good at everything.)

Funkytown

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Undoubtedly, I’m always in a funk,

existing in a neverending haze.

For years I’ve been accumulating junk,

the residue and scars from awful days.

I struggle to detach them from my life,

but still I am beholden to my past

emotional and health-related strife.

I helplessly obey. The die’s been cast.

Thus left with no escape, I organize,

identifying causes and effects.

I cannot win, so I must compromise

in hopes I’ll find the peace my health rejects.

Great callouses have formed and left me tough.

At times, I find they’re simply not enough.

*picture courtesy of Julianza on pixabay.com

The Best Plan We’ve Got

tile-214367_640

I received a sharp blow yesterday.

My insurance will no longer pay.

My nurse called to give me the news:

the right medicine, I cannot use.

My doctor tried all that he could.

The response to his pleas was no good.

“It is way too expensive,” they said,

“but if she’s in a hospital bed,

we’ll accept the claim, and we’ll pay.”

I’ve been told I must do it that way.

We all know it will cost them much more

when I’m jailed on the third or fourth floor.

 They’ll spend more than they would in a year

if they’d kept it from getting severe.

Yes, the medicine does cost a lot…

though in my case, it is all I’ve got,

’cause the others aren’t options for me.

They’re as bad as my illness could be.

All traditional treatments have failed.

In the end, illness always prevailed.

So, I must steer toward death and then flirt,

tempt disaster, risk my life, and hurt.

I must point straight and drive down that road

to encourage catastrophe, goad.

Once that sick, my life’s so tough to save.

It’s so hard to keep me from the grave.

And yet nobody asked what I thought.

I’m just told it’s the “best plan we’ve got.”

Thank You For…

couple-160331_640

 Thank you for loving me even when I’m at my worst.

Thank you for always forgiving and then moving on.

Thank you for quenching all my intellectual thirst.

Thank you for skyping your love to me when you are gone.

Thank you for reading a book if I’ve told you you should.

Thank you for trusting my judgment when you’d rather not.

Thank you for being so tall and for smelling so good.

Thank you for cheering me up when I’m sad and distraught.

Thank you for wanting me when I was so overweight.

Thank you for saying I’m beautiful all of the time.

Thank you for being so patient when I’m running late.

Thank you for eating junk food as my partner in crime.

Thank you for being my rock when I needed one so.

Thank you for taking me, with my old baggage and all.

Thank you for being the wittiest person I know.

Thank you for running so quickly whenever I call.

Thank you for doing some yoga and buying a mat.

Thank you for helping me plant those vines growing so high.

Thank you for finding my keys, wherever ’tis that they’re at.

Thank you for giving vegetarianism a try.

Thank you for knowing so quickly that I was The One.

Thank you for sharing the interesting things that you learn.

Thank you for solving most problems before they’ve begun.

Thank you for sharing with me all the money you earn.

Thank you for planning our finances for when we’re old.

Thank you for settling in with me right where we are.

Thank you for putting your dreams, when you have to, on hold.

Thank you for living life’s story with me, your co-star.

Thank you for promising you’ll be with me till the end.

Thank you for holding me tight as we both fall asleep.

Thank you for being a loyal, compassionate friend.

Thank you for thinking I’m pretty as my wrinkles creep.

Thank you for all these and thank you for what is to come.

I know you so well and I know I’ll have more to add on.

Though this is still incomplete, it is far better than none.

But I’ll stop for now, as I see it is finally dawn.

*picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Deus Ex Machina

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You don’t have to do this alone.

I’m here for you. I’ll be your crutch.

  I know you’d get by on your own.

I just want to help you so much.

No, I cannot say how you feel.

I know that I’ve never been there.

But I know my love for you’s real.

So please keep in mind that I care.

Grown men are allowed to cry, too.

It doesn’t mean that you are weak.

Just say what you want me to do.

I’ll be the warm comfort you seek.

I’m here in this difficult time.

 I’ll be like a harness for you,

I’ll give you support while you climb.

I promise that I’ll see it through.

So when you are ready, just lean.

I’ll catch you before you can fall.

I’ll be your own godsent machine

and smash through that treacherous wall.

*picture courtesy of flamenco on pixabay.com

What I Love About You

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   There are so many things I love about you, my sweet dear.

After much deliberation, my results are here.

I love that you delight in learning new things everyday.

You actively seek knowledge, and to you, it counts as play.

I love that you don’t ever mind admitting you don’ t know.

Through your quest to find the answer, I can see you grow.

You teach yourself such complicated things just from a book,

the kind, that for the author, a live teacher’s what it took.

When you make your mind up and decide to learn a skill,

you display such monumental focus and strong will.

When you learn to hone a craft, you’re always so damned brave.

Every bruise and scrape you get is dismissed with a wave.

I can’t count how many times I’ve seen you take a fall.

You get right back up and then again, you do it all.

I love the way you quickly fell in love with having cats.

I love the way you think I’m extra cute when I wear hats.

I love the way you give the things I love an honest chance.

I love that when we’re cooking we break into song and dance.

I love the way you know when you should scowl and say, “That bitch!”

I love the way you scratch my back when I can’t reach an itch.

Living with you means I always have great tech support.

I love the way that you don’t care at all ’bout watching sports.

I love the way you pet my hair each time we watch TV.

I love the way your very favorite hobby’s always me.

I love you never caring there’re no Anglos ’round for blocks.

I even love the way you wear your flip-flops with your socks.

I love all your encouragement to make me sit and write,

and that you love my cooking, and you tell me every night.

I love the way you pump my gas, no matter rain or shine.

I love the way you knew that I’d be yours and you’d be mine.

I love the way you love the chance to try a different food.

I love how you still treat me like when I was first pursued.

I love that you’ll come home tonight and take me in your arms,

exposing me in full to your sweet scent and manly charms.

I love that you’ll get up again as dawn announces day,

and work such long hours to provide and bring home hard-earned pay.

All the things I love about you, I could never write,

no matter if I never stopped and worked all day and night…

’cause there’s just no end to all the things I love ’bout you.

Through my words and poetry, I’ll see what I can do.

*photo courtesy of PDPics on pixabay.com

 

To Me From You, Part I

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Husband: I would write you a beautiful love poem like the ones you write me.

But I’m no good at it. It would be weird…uh…fiddle-dee-dee.

So anyway you’re a lot better at it than I am and it would be great,

if you did it. I’m sure you could write something that would really blow you away. So, I can’t wait.

Me: Well, my brilliant, darling man…I know that you do all you can

to make me happy everyday. So if you’ll kindly clear the way,

I’ll write myself a lyric rhyme that’s fit to stand the test of time,

just like you would want me to. It shall be called

To Me From You

( ahem…)

You are the perfect combination, all I want and more.

Your life and mind just fascinate me. It’s you I adore.

The first time that I met you, I hungered to imbibe

your every last detail and then upon your heart inscribe

my name for all of time, to take up residence right there.

I had to, for you’ve since possessed my only source of air.

I longed to pledge my love. It was so strong, I couldn’t wait.

I told you by the time we’d gotten through our second date.

One more day and I would ask for you to be my wife.

You’re the only person with whom I could spend my life.

Now that I have tasted of a love as sweet as yours,

I know a woman’s love can be enough to bring on wars.

Helen has got nothing and could not compare to you.

To have you here, there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do.

I’ll do what’s required so you’ll live life by my side.

Before you, all the times I’d said, ‘I love you,’ I had lied.

In my ignorance, I thought I knew what passed for love.

Then I met you, and your heart would fit mine like a glove.

After just three days, I wasn’t sure that you’d agree.

But I still got down upon my sincere, bended knee.

You said yes, and ever since, my life’s been filled with joy.

Together, you and I compose the consummate alloy!

Nine years later and my love for you is still as strong.

Thanks for sharing life wrapped in my arms, where you belong.

–The End–

Me: Oh, honey! That is sooo sweet. I love you!

*picture courtesy of Olessya on pixabay.com

Hindsight Is 20/20

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If I’d worked my abs each day, I’d have a nice six-pack.

Instead, I tend to go ahead and fix myself a snack.

If I’d planted bulbs last fall, some flowers would have grown.

I waited far too long and now my chance for bulbs is blown.

If I’d planned my budget better, I would have those boots.

I just can’t seem to get my life and money in cahoots.

If I’d bothered setting up my cell phone warranty,

they’d replace my broken one entirely for free.

If I’d written down the passwords for all my accounts,

I would never write a check the bank would have to bounce.

If I got my head pulled out from so far up my ass,

I’d have stopped before we left and filled the car with gas.

If I’d checked my email I’d have seen the one from you.

I’d have read what you so kindly told me I should do.

It’s my own damned fault, which I wholeheartedly avow.

I plan to get my act together, if fate will allow.

I will make concerted efforts so I can improve.

I’ll try doing things of which I know you will approve.

Can I have some points for standing up and being brave?

 I’ve recently acknowledged your approval’s what I crave.

*picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Honey-Do

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Honey bun, I need to get your help around the house.

Visitors are coming in a week.

Here’s a list, a couple things, that you can do to help.

Otherwise, I think I’m gonna freak.

I am with the kids from early dawn to setting sun.

I know that you have a job and all.

I’m still working all day even if it is inside,

teaching kids to speak and eat and crawl.

First of all, you’ve gotta mow the lawn, I’m begging, please.

Also, do the edging while you’re there.

I think I saw some anthills that “we” should get taken care of…

and I wasn’t quite sure if you were aware.

Also I’ve been putting off requests to mend the fence.

I know you’re already swamped at work.

I gotta keep reminding you so someday it will happen.

So, I’m sorry if I come off like a jerk.

Power-wash the house, ’cause dirt’s been caking on for years.

I just figure while you’re still outside…

Oh…and please take care of all the vines behind the fence.

Last year they dried out and all have died.

Sweep the back porch, clean the pool, and dust off that old grill.

Sift the sand box (to remove dog poop).

Then replant some flowers in the empty pots that sit and take

up all the room we have on our front stoop.

Propped against the carport are some boxes to break down,

underneath them there are leaves to rake.

I thought I’d take care of them but haven’t done it yet.

So I know their presence there is my mistake.

Hmmmmmm…….

When this started out, I had some indoor things in mind, too.

 But I don’t seem to be getting past our yard.

When I was a kid I thought my parents both were lazy…

I guess owning homes and raising kids is hard!

*Picture courtesy of Nemo on pixabay.com

I’m Begging You

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Please…please don’t come stand here this close.

Please don’t give me one hug or kiss.

Please…please no sensations like those.

Please don’t let me taste what I’ll miss.

Please…please put me out of my misery.

Please tell me that you feel the same.

Please…please, I know you aren’t at liberty.

But please, just once, whisper my name.

Please…please do it from over there.

Please let me have more than a yard.

Please…please let me know that you care.

Please…this is becoming too hard.

Please…please say it one time, then go.

Please. Then I’ll move on with my life.

Please…please…I’m just dying to know.

Then please run right back to your wife.

*picture courtesy of pixabay.com

i did it!

i did it! i did it! i went out and i did it!

if you’d seen you would have been so proud!

i did it! i did it! i can’t believe i did it!

m’gonna say it ‘n’m’gonna say it loud!

i did it! i did it! now i can say i did it!

yesterday i’d’ve never ever guessed!

i did it! i did it! now i know i can do it!

so’m’gonna go back out and do the rest!

i’d rather

i’d rather feel grass betwixt all of my toes

tangible proof that from dirt new life grows

i’d rather be under a big tree tonight

watching its limbs sway, its leaves catch moonlight

i’d rather be looking for pictures in clouds

guessing what skeletons their shapes enshroud

i’d rather catch fireflies in old mayonnaise jars

creating a universe glowing with stars

i’d rather be hearing a nightingale’s song

closing my eyes and forgetting what’s wrong

i’d rather be holding your hand while I do

only one thing could improve them; that’s you

Unicorn

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Growing up, I had the finest mother that could be.

She was full of love and gave the best of life to me.

She told me that she never lived within a happy world.

She said she’d been depressed since she was just a little girl.

I have a sister, one, and she is older than I am.

When we were still just kids, she’d scream and hit me. Wham! Bam! Bam!

All these long years later we discovered that she’s sick.

She’s bi-polar, and in finding anger, she is quick.

Then there is my father who’s a mean and nasty jerk.

Always getting fired, he could never keep his work.

After he got violent, Mom would finally get away.

When I have to see him now, I don’t know what to say.

My first love was jaded ’cause he’d been abused at home.

Neglected and mistreated, he’d been often left alone.

Try, though, as he did, a healthy viewpoint was not found,

even though I did my best to keep him smile-bound.

Two long years I dated, then, a man who in plain terms

was crazy ’nough to make the most outrageous nutball squirm.

I almost didn’t notice ’cause I guess that’s what I knew.

Admittedly…my outlook, from inception, was askew.

So it’s no surprise that, first, I married a young man

who battled with depression and a short attention span.

I wished I could be enough to make him happy. But…

I couldn’t and eventually, we both just gave up.

Then one day, a man appeared…a man who’d change it all.

Immediately, to his arms, I’d run and swoon and fall.

A well-adjusted unicorn pranced up to my plateau!!!

I had always wondered what it’d be like. Now I know.

How nice it is to have someone who’s not depressed, instead!

We fell hard, and soon the two of us were newlywed.

Afraid that I will spook him, I approach him with due care.

To take my past out on him is a move that isn’t fair.

I try to keep it reigned in so he’ll stay right here with me.

He says he’ll tough it out if I should lose my sanity.

I don’t want to lose it. But I know that if I did,

I would not be garbage of which he’d want to get rid.

But despite assurances, I still get scared sometimes.

So I write my fears out using goofy, verbose rhymes.

Thanks go to my unicorn, for saving me, once more.

He’s proven life exists outside depression’s haunting lore.

*photo courtesy of jes872148 on pixabay.com

First Crush

I can see the gray that’s made its way into your beard.

I can see your middle bulging out.

I can’t decide if I should really tell you how I felt.

Read this and you’ll know without a doubt.

I had been in love with you since first I saw your face.

I was right there with you all along.

There were times I know you thought that you were all alone.

I wanted so to tell you you were wrong.

Sometimes you would say things that would give me grains of hope.

I would dream that you could love me back.

But I kept it fantasy in case you’d break my heart

by showing, where your love would be, a lack.

I didn’t think you’d want me so I never took the chance.

Finally, I realized, nor did you.

I took that as a signal and I moved on with my life…

the hardest thing I ever had to do.

But I did move on and I’m so very glad I did.

I see you there alone and growing old.

I’m so much more happy than I’d ever be with you.

I know that from your stance that must sound cold.

I still care quite deeply for you, and I always will.

I’m just glad I married whom I did.

Turns out, when you grew up, you’re a very different man

from whom I thought you’d be when you and I were kids.

I hope you can find happiness, however that may be.

I noticed that you haven’t found it yet.

Of all the people I could wish it for, I’d wish for you,

my first crush, whom I never will forget.

Relics of the Past

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It’s something that I’ve read about but never had been there.

You could say that I was academically aware.

But living with depression’s where I put my focus now.

I’ve been told to “let it go.” I go about that…how?

The demons that I’m fighting have existed for a while.

Somehow, though, in spite of them, I know I used to smile.

How was there a change and now I can’t control my face?

Two blank eyes and deep-cut lines have shown up in its place.

It won’t matter if the doctor has me take a pill,

one for which I know that I’ll receive a timely bill.

All my problems will remain, my relics of the past.

If I find reprieve, it’s fleeting. I know it won’t last.

That thought cancels any progress, so I hide and cry.

When I’m asked if I’m okay, I feel like I should lie.

No one wants to hear the answer that is really true.

They look like deer in headlights who don’t know what they should do.

So to make it easy on them, I just say, ‘I’m fine.’

Probably that night, I have a glass or three of wine.

Transitory fixes are the only thing I’ve got.

Increasingly, I find that’s an excuse I use a lot.

*photo courtesy of werner22brigitte on pixabay.com

Were It Just That Simple…

Were it just that simple, I would only be my best.

I’d never let them see me sweat. I’d always ace the test.

Were it just that simple, I would save the whole damned world.

I’d smite all evil. Off the cliff, it neatly would be hurled.

Were it just that simple, I would keep an open mind.

I’d hear out every argument, and they’d pay back in kind.

Were it just that simple, I would never hurt a soul.

I’d always find a way to show amazing self-control.

Were it just that simple, I would be the perfect wife.

I’d give him everything he wants and bring his dreams to life.

Were it just that simple, all my dreams he would fulfill.

I could never want for more and know I never will.

Were it just that simple, I would only make him laugh.

I’d tell him jokes and watch him smile and cry on his behalf.

Were it just that simple, he would never make me cry.

                 He’d always be so patient and he’d never, ever die.

Were it just that simple, there would be no petty fights.

We’d fill our time with love and song and sweet romantic nights.

Were it just that simple, we would be the perfect pair.

And never to the other would we ever be unfair.

Were it just that simple, all the words I set to page

would keep us warm and cozy as the years advance our age.

Were it just that simple, I would run off with my man.

We’d live in bliss and reminisce ’bout how it all began.

But…things are not that simple. All men’s lives are full of woe.

To take that journey with him is the only way I’ll go.

So…it’s not that simple. There are worse things that could be.

Perfect blends are boring, dear…that’s why he’s here with me.

.

Mean Mister Blues

Mean Mister Blues pitched a tent in my shoes

last night as I did sleep.

Now in my womb, he made it my tomb.

He came for emotions to reap.

I’d try to fight to keep light in my life

but that result wouldn’t come cheap.

The windows unlocked, I just couldn’t act shocked,

and over the sills poison seeped.

I would scream out but that’d give him no doubt

and he’d find me before I could go.

Gnashing my teeth with such pain underneath,

that could only set Blues’ heart aglow.

If I lie still and give up my free will,

the tortures I might undergo

would leave me a shell while my pain is excelled

until agony’s all that I know.

Trapped in my mind with so much undefined…

it’s my happiness I will forsake.

I let him come and consume till I’m numb,

stoking his fires with ache.

Stuck on the floor, I don’t reach for the door.

I give the resolve he will take.

Now left destroyed, it’s the light I avoid,

for all promises weaken and break.

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