February

Rivers
Blood soaked dreary memories stained
Tear soaked carpet
moaning
Pressure a thin reminder of rain soaked shirts clinging to skin
Hiding tears amidst storm
losing each other

Cold soaked bones
touch me
I am drowning
A foot away
a lifetime
choices I cannot make

That was then and now
alone
dealing with the aftermath
Purpose to sever
in cease
in ruin
to swallow the sun
Though twilight break
and souls damaged by the dreaming
dissolve into dust

This blood
drips from metal blade
drunk down by ground thirsty for life

Sipping the stream
cool water against the back of my throat
pain leeches away
Replaced by floating
in the static emptiness
consumed morsel by morsel
until
I am empty

Slinking towards the dawn cold
seeping into bones made brittle
etched by the passage of seconds
voice pulled out to shout in glorious triumph
lost amidst the grinding gears
winding down to infinity

You murmured and snuggled against me
a rare and precious moment of vulnerability
mine, yours, together?
a dream?

Lost in the drift
slit open blood spills out
please
…….
it’s much simpler than this slow leak of sand as hours and days pass without your words
your voice
despair insinuates in dulcet tones, “who would ever want you?”

Yet on waking effervescence weaves its way through
the darkness but a shadow of approaching future
small translation errors in perception

From which
Faltering thoughts connect to every desire
promises realized and hopes cede ground to reality until eyes burst
waking
my brain
the liar

A black sun swells on the horizon bringing heat
false darkness swallows everything
lost, unforgiving
paths and doors disappear
trapped bereft of choice

Cold filters past defenses
only the warmth of you is sufficient to stave off the numbness
the thought of us
locked in deep embrace
Followed step by step into desired future
or time and universe make mock
all slipping from our grasp
before eyes lock
before beginning removes doubt

Or cast aside concern
dance madness in reverie
spilling minutes
sing our joy
to a moon hung heavy with ecstasy
breathed in through each pore

A journey made present in blood and flesh
give me your hand
I’ll give you my heart
moving into the dawn or dusk
only us together matters

Distance or times illusion
dream us awake
more than a find
a fit
last remnants of darkness fading
in the unrelenting light
of a single deep blue eye

Poem by the day-February Raw

DAY 1
Rivers
Day 2
Blood soaked
Day 3
Dreary memories stained
Day 4
Tear soaked carpet, moaning
Day 5
Pressure a thin reminder of
Day 6
Rain soaked shirts clinging to skin
Day 7
Hiding tears amidst storm, losing each other
Day 8
Cold soaked bones, touch me, I am drowning
Day 9
A foot away, a lifetime, choices I cannot make
Day 10
That was then and now, alone, dealing with the aftermath
Day 11
Purpose to sever, in cease, in ruin, to swallow the sun
Day 12
Though twilight break and souls damaged by the dreaming, dissolve into dust
Day 13
This blood drips from metal blade, drunk down by ground thirsty for life
Day 14
Sipping, the stream cool water against the back of my throat, pain leeches away
Day 15
Replaced by floating in the static emptiness, consumed morsel by morsel until I am empty
Day 16
Slinking towards the dawn cold, seeping into bones made brittle, etched by the passage of seconds
Day 17
Voice pulled out to shout in glorious triumph, lost amidst the grinding gears, winding down to infinity
Day 18
You murmured and snuggled against me, a rare and precious moment of vulnerability, mine, yours, together, a dream?
Day 19
Lost in the drift, slit open blood spills out, please, it’s much simpler than this slow leak of sand
Day 20
As hours and days pass without your words, your voice, despair insinuates in dulcet tones, “who would ever want you?”
Day 21
Yet on waking effervescence weaves its way through, the darkness but a shadow of approaching future, small translation errors in perception
Day 22
Faltering thoughts connect to every desire, promises realized and hopes cede ground to reality until eyes burst, waking, my brain, the liar
Day 23
A black sun swells on the horizon bringing heat, false darkness swallows everything, lost, unforgiving, paths and doors disappear, trapped bereft of choice
Day 24
Cold filters past defenses, only the warmth of you is sufficient to stave off the numbness, the thought of us, locked in deep embrace,
Day 25
Followed step by step into desired future, or time and universe make mock, all slipping from our grasp, before eyes lock, before beginning removes doubt
Day 26
Or cast aside concern and dance madness in reverie, spilling minutes sing our joy to a moon hung heavy with ecstasy breathed in through each pore
Day 27
A journey made present in blood and flesh, give me your hand, I’ll give you my heart, moving into the dawn or dusk, only us together matters,
Day 28
Distance or times illusion, dream us awake, more than a find, a fit, last remnants of darkness fading in the unrelenting light of a single deep blue eye

One true love

There are 2 types of people. People who have lost some they romantically loved and those that haven’t. Let me be explicit. A person who died, either by violence or not.

The people without this get to have the luxurious illusion of the one true love. That somehow they have the secret. That they have their forever, their true, love.

On the one hand I am envious of their illusion. It is a warm place. A safe place. On the other, I fear for them. What happens when the glass bubble shatters. What happens when they know loss. Do they, then begin to wither? For one thing to be true for so long has the danger of becoming truth. And Truth is hard to recover from.

Those of us who knew loss early, know that each love is different. Each love has its own existence, its own feel. And, sadly, there is no one true love. Each love is flawed and each love is perfection.

Tragedy wakes us to this. We know that the one true love thing is a myth. We know because it can’t possibly be true. And, for myself, why I hate anything that speaks of predestination or everything happening for a reason. Things happen because of chance or because someone took a course of action. Often, several someone’s. But there is no grand design moving us all to some predestined ideal. This is another illusion.

I’m not saying that there is not powerful, strong love. I’m saying that the one true love is a trap. A lie that comforts. Treat each person with dignity, respect, and affection. Treat them with desire, if you desire them. Act courageously. Love completely.

But don’t fall into the logical fallacy of ‘one true love’. It not only isn’t true. It must not be true.

Poetry and the future

I wrote yesterday about a poem I had written for someone who I longed for who never quite returned my affection.

Today, I write about all the future poems that I will dedicate to the Goddess of my Heart.

I know, I know. Every artist dedicates at least one work to a current love. It’s inevitable. We are passionate about our work and passionate about our loves. It is inevitable that the two would intersect.

But I’ve dedicated many works to her already. Anything Hash tagged GMH is about or for her. Dedicated to her.

I’m a romantic. We all know that. But I know she reads these. And that is the best feeling. That she reads what I write. In some ways, everything I write is in dedication to her. She captivates me. I sometimes feel like a complete idiot. Because I write her and I ramble, as I am wont to do, and I think I sound like a fool. Maybe not, maybe I just sound romantic.

It’s the duel nature of the artist and critic.
Perhaps, I’m overly harsh in this regard.

But here I go, rambling again.

Poetry. It’s sometimes as little as a sentence and I am something of a minimalist, trying to distill down to the essential words. So that there is space for the reader to project themselves into the piece.

With every conversation
Your words etch into me
Taking up residence
in my safe places
Where my becomes our

The mind ranges back

there is a poem I wrote more than a year ago.  Something that was for someone.  An unrequited love who was intimate and sharing and all the great stuff.  But only on her terms.  Only when she needed me. And only as a ‘friend’.  No this is not a ‘nice guy’ or a friend zone post. We were more than friends.  More intimate than friends.  But by calling us friends she got to minimize what we were and make it easier for her to treat me as disposable,  I think, anyway.  I never really understood the point of lying to yourself about important things. I wrote this and she was not interested in hearing it.  So it sat on a shelf. Really a text file on my phone until I thought of the perfect last line today.
It was all about how I loved her and wanted her in my life, how I saw specific things about her and about us and all that jazz. But really, i was just a toy to her. Or I don’t know what.  But it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t good.

But I’m not sharing the poem.

Instead,  I’m just sharing the last line.  Because the last line says it all.


I love you
beyond your desire
to love me back

Musings on love

Love makes us fool’s, may I never be so wise that I fail to take a chance on love.
Love makes us blind, may I never see so clearly that perception keeps me from my loves arms.
Love makes us reckless, may I never be so cautious that I fail to risk little to win all.

Love is worth pain, worth bad choices, worth the how can I have been so stupid moments.

It is worth the risk. It is worth the effort.
Relationships are not easy. People are involved so how could they be? But where there is love, there is hope. Where there is hope, there is a chance.