LOVE POEM #44 – DUSTED CONSTELLATIONS

Look out the window,

I made that for you.

That low-hung half-moon,

Golden brown and smiling.

You remind me of it…

Or rather, it reminds me of you.

That beacon in the darkness,

Between the starlight,

Swaying with the sounds

Of smooth jazz in the night.

I can see you in her

On lonely nights.

On the broken porch steps,

The chill autumn breeze

Swirls along our fingertips,

Edging us closer.

I want to dance.

Take my hand,

Let me guide you

Across the sky tonight.

The two of us,

Dusted,

With wine on our lips,

Make for a lovely constellation.

Exhaustion.

Star gaze with me,

My little star girl.

So full of life;

So full of light.

Lie with me a minute,

And let eternity pass us by.

There’s no arms I’d rather call home.

——
 
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THE WOLF’S REMORSE

Lo! Through the years, I’ve become a skeptic;

Rusting unburnished, like th’aged Ulysses.

The sharpness of my mind has turned septic;

The breath in my lungs has become a wheeze.

Yet the strength in my fist still begs to fight,

To once again tear Grendel limb from limb.

The sins of my past haunt me like a wight,

Could it be that I earned a curse from them?

I know it’s sin to commit murder, Lord,

I hold thy commandments by my bedside,

Yet they had caused injury further, Lord,

And so their punishment was eye-for-eye.

 

But now I hear my Geatish men burning

At the hands of an insatiable beast,

And I wonder if these Christian learnings

Are just the ruse of some fraudulent priest.

For it was my will that slayed these monsters,

Not the holy relics of olden times.

Mayhaps it be you were an imposter

To convict one’s enemies of false crimes.

 

But what the truth is, Lord, I do not know.

All that I can do is reap what I sow.

And if this cruel dragon would kill my men

Then I think it’s high time I kill again.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #37 – A JOURNEY

It was the end of the world.

The streets were burning,

The oceans were churning,

And that’s when I realized

That I loved you.

 

I was there, running,

From a monstrous beast

Through a collapsing hallway

When it hit me

That I loved you.

 

And when I felled the beast,

I knew I had to find you.

 

So I traversed the sea,

Climbed mountains, and

Walked miles,

Ever telling myself

That I loved you.

 

I bloodied my arms,

Battered my limbs, and

Endured sleepless nights

As my mind screamed to me

That I loved you.

 

I crawled wearily,

Weak from malnutrition,

Afraid each day was my last.

My only respite was

That I loved you.

 

And when I had crossed the last street,

And used the ends of my strength

Just to knock at your door.

I knew it was true

That I loved you.

 

And then you opened the door,

 

And eternity passed between us.

 

The hate, the anger,

The pain, the love,

The lost friendship,

The bitter words.

 

Like a wave from the ocean,

It all washed away.

 

There you stood:

Shorter than me,

Yet somehow tall.

Perfectly beautiful

And shocked.

 

I opened my mouth,

But my words

Abandoned me.

For no words,

Could compare

To how I felt.

 

And to my surprise,

You grasped me,

Held me, and

Cried on me.

 

I felt the words

I love you

Fall out of my mouth.

Though I had not

Bidden my tongue to say them.

 

And you turned to me

And whispered

That I love you

Too.

——

 

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BUS RIDE TO THE THEATRE

We were on the local bus, and it was about seven-thirty. They were probably on their way to school, and I was off to start my second week as a movie theatre clerk. Unfortunately, I had to bounce from bus to bus to get there, and even leaving home at seven often resulted with me being late. My attention was turned to the video. It was rude of me to look at the screen over their shoulder, but when I heard the solemn violin music playing I had to check it out. The two kids in front of me—really young adults of about sixteen—had their iPhones out, giggling from video to video. The title of the video displayed in a bold red “This Ad Has a Powerful Message About Domestic Abuse.” It was some breakdown video about how an advertisement had tried to humanize the abuse victims.

Maybe it was the cynic in me, but it seemed to fall flat. I mean, how is it that all the victims are the hourglass figure girls? Aside from their black eyes and bruises, they all had perfect skin. Which was ironic, since the ad was for swimsuits, and the women all didn’t want to be seen for their bruises. Of all moments to talk a realistic body issue, a self-conscious swimsuit girl wasn’t a good moment?

I was spurned from my thoughts as my second change of buses came. I left the two kids to their laughter. The second bus was busier and I had to stand. The soles of my feet would ache from the swaying and speeding by the end of the trip, but aching was something I had grown used to. The freeway flew by as we sped down the road to our destination, and eventually I was lost in my own thoughts. I felt my eyes glaze over, as I looked around at a room full of mothers, daughters; sons, and fathers. How many of them were abused?

My mind turned back to the video. What had been that “powerful” message? Oh yes, that women shouldn’t stand for domestic abuse. Duh. More specifically pretty women. But how else does a company sell bikinis if it can’t use perfectly rounded butts and a body devoid of stretch marks?

Still, my mother was battered and beaten by her father, and then again by mine. I remember the welts, the lumps, the black eyes, and the shuddering tears. I remember the cold embrace of her arms as she told me it would be alright. I remember the night it became too much for her; the night she hung herself from the rafters. Her body was limp, listing about slowly. She had bitten through her tongue when the rope had snapped her neck, and it had left a dribble of blood from the side of her tired mouth.

The beam she had tied the rope to had sagged beneath her weight, and looked as though it may break. Her well-worn face looked tired, yet calm, in the way that a child looks fatigued as it naps after a long bout of crying. But the only tears shed that night were from me. My father was out doing…whatever it was he did after his night of drinking.

But we never talked about the middle-aged woman, with her wide torso and blotchy face. The judge never questioned her suicide when my dad came through the doors crying. No one listened to the five year-old child’s wails about the evil man her father was. They just saw a pathetic woman, a noose, and a broken family; who were just like the thousand they had seen before.

It stung to get off the bus that day, and see the glorified posters of happy families and perfect couples as I walked into the theatre, but life is never without its stings. I was lucky to be on time today. Mine vices—past, present, and future—were just another mark on the list of what people experienced every day.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #31 – CONFESSION

I have a confession to make

I think I love you.

And for once in my life,

Things might finally get better.

 

I love your eyes, I love your lips, I love your hair.

I love your kids, I love your hips; the way you stare.

The way you lie, the way you frown, the way you shout.

I love every single thing that you’re about.

 

I love your dad, I love your mom, I love your twin.

When your mad and when you’re bold and when you sin.

I love your white, your black and your blue and red.

I love your light, your back and your hue in bed.

I love the wine, the drinks; your tattoo dove.

And the signs you make to show your love.

I fucking love you.

 

And for once in my life,

I think,

Things might finally get better.

——

 

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