That One LetterDear lover...,That One Letter3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is the one letter I couldn't send
It means too much for to hand it over
There isn't much for me to write because I am no writer
No fancy words, just the straight out truth
You still surprise me, even if I don't show it
I know we just can't be over
I can see it in your eyes, you haven't lost hope
As long I can still feel you are still holding on, I will keep trying
I know I am not perfect but I keep trying
That's what I said I will do from the start
One chance I have to make it right
If I miss it, it will be too late
Remember who you are and forget what people said about you
You are beautiful; don't let others say you are not
I won't let you fall, even when I am wrong
I always remember that you like hand-written letters
A letter had more emotion than a text or email because you can see the mistakes, the eraser marks
The emotion is true in each word I write
I don't want you to fade away like everyone else has, I don't want to wake up one morning and realize that you a
Hollow Memory of a Distant ShoreYou are like a long passed season.Hollow Memory of a Distant Shore3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As delicate as the footprints of sparrows in freshly fallen snow.
Intricate, yet so easily disturbed when care is not taken.
Somehow, you have managed to persist after all these years.
Residing in the same quiet place you carved into the woods so long ago..
Only a short ride from the sea.
When you cross my mind, you carry with you the scent of that shoreline.
Harsh and thick, yet somehow placating.
Though the weather was perpetually gray, misty, and cold.
Much like your heart had become..
Just before we painfully, and slowly, parted ways.
I recall with deep longing your fascination with foxes.
With the way they would trot up and down the beach in the early morning,
Their coats most often wet and muddy from crossing into the tide.
I could see the subtle enthrallment in your eyes as they dug for clams.
They would thrust their forepaws deep into the muck, throw it backward..
And at times, to my assuagement, you would smile.
Now, it feels more dist
Harvesting Stars and building Castles.We harvest the stars from the skyHarvesting Stars and building Castles.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And hide them in our pockets
Cage them within jars of glass
Like fireflies on a midsummer eve.
We build castles of sand and air
Devastated as the tide reclaims them
Breathing deeply in quiet sobs
As the sand runs through our fingertips.
We long and yearn for something
Never quite able to define what it is
Reaching for straws to keep above water
As the tide washes over us.
And the wind
in the sand.
Something's MissingI will not miss you like a child misses a blanketSomething's Missing2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or a year misses a season which has just passed
or as childhood is remembered from furrowed brows;
the parched lips that had once drunk from
the fountain of youth.
nor will I miss you like a widowed lark
that stays up all night believing in
melodic necromancy -
- I do not believe in such things,
as I do not believe in a god I forsook,
when I realized I did not miss him
as I missed the comfort of ignorance,
Nay, I cannot miss you like a poem misses its muse
which miss her till eternity dies
or a juvenile favour that leaves one
benevolent and misses benevolence for all of its days.
Instead I must miss you like an accepted part of every day -
- the ticking of clocks, the buzzing of gadflies,
the first few moments after awakening that misses a dream
or the Korean vase upon the chiffonier
which misses last week's dahlias
or the street dog misses its late keeper-of-crumbs
or an ink quill misses the words it bore
or a poet m
CryptographyI cannot talk to you right now.Cryptography3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't part my lips
and spill conversations out:
the sentences grow barbs,
my mouth doesn't work,
my tongue seizes up,
and the words catch.
I am choking on them
and I can't spit them out.
The only way I can speak
to you is in code.
I have to tell you
that I am growing moth wings,
that the deep blue Atlantic
is writhing under my ribs,
that the butterflies in my stomach
are trying to bite their way out
and I am swallowing bottlefuls
of hornets to sting them quiet.
That I have stopped being a man
and have started being a pillar of salt
trying to learn how to rain dance.
That I am eating smoke.
I am trying to tell you something
but I think the cipher is written
on the marrow of my bones
and I don't want to know
what you'll need to do
to crack me.
Bottle of SadnessYour little red mouthBottle of Sadness3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a bottle of sadness
and you think you keep
it stoppered up,
but the cork is cracked
and the seal is loose
and you drip
little splashes of sorrow
every time you speak.
In the morning,
I wake next to your wet sheets,
your pillow soaked through with it.
It smudges on the rims
of glasses you drink from,
it tastes of salt and dusk and blue
on your lips
and even when you laugh,
it boils away and steams
in the air --
the room fills with fog,
you stop laughing again.
I used to think
you had only liters in you,
but some days I think
you have the whole deep sea.
The World Is a RoomThe world is a room*The World Is a Room2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the walls bedaubed
with the green paint.
A mite is running in it**
she doesn't know her purpose
or does she like it.
Two bigger moppets***
have some claims.
Their voices are raised
like the hill growing
in the suburbia.
In the end one of them****
becomes a crumb.
She lifts her hand up
and spanks the mite,
not knowing her trespass.
At evening it's time for going to sleep***** -
the fingerling goes to her bed with rails,
being very sad and sure of a given lesson:
there's no point in enjoying yourself,
cause the sadness will always come later.
*nobody knows its magnitude,
unless it is a person
described in this poem,
trying to figure it out.
**like an old hamster
in its spinning wheel,
with the same knowledge
about her destiny.
***because they're also wee
in the front of God's face.
****probably the one in a skirt,
although you can't be certain.
*****you'll have a dream about
a child with a vile face