So many wonderful words we write,

When we dream of a seed and sow it.

A novel or sonnet may come to light

If we take the time to grow it.

And many are they but plenty are we

Who would yearn to be the poet.

Lovers embrace on the moon tonight

Should our pens' pretenses show it,

And an angel's wing will want for flight

Should the villain reveal what's below it

For limitless bliss or the fury of those

Who would yearn to be the poet.

From the dawn of man at the start of time

One would pick up a verse and bestow it

Upon thirsty mind set afire by a rhyme

A fine lyricist would overflow it

And words were like wine dripping down upon those

Who would dare to be the poet,

Or might care to undergo it

Remember the past or ignore the day

Come the troubadour, minstrel, and bard

Leaving doubt behind, keeping woe at bay

And distresses, disregard

When the words of a beautiful, dutiful voice

bring a healing to the scarred.

Very few children understand

And many who do outgrow it

The Raven, Silence, Fairy-Land

And his name, you surely know it

For it was Edgar Allan's hand

Which put the Poe in poet

And as a child, remarkable he

Was a poet and didn't even acknowledge the fact.

(Robert Frost was arguably the finest classical style poet of the 20th century. I would never put myself at his level, but this one does capture a little of the feel of his work.)

To greet the dawn, I crossed a meadow green,

still blanketed in jewels of morning dew.

I sat upon a rock, still and serene,

and watched the sky transform from black to blue.

Even before the silhouettes of trees

defined the border of the unborn sky,

I heard the morning song of chickadees

and listened as a loon bid night goodbye.

The entrance of the sun brought colors forth

in hues that brightened slow from dark to light;

'twas not for me to judge this beauty's worth,

but merely to record the glorious sight,

and then to make my way from whence I'd come,

with miles to walk to find my way back home.

-------------------------

© 2023 - dustygrein

*In the style of Emily Dickinson . . . or at least I tried*

I do not think I could survive

Without you by my side –

Your hand, your heart, your name in mine,

And no one can divide.

But life is not eternal;

We are promised but today,

And I fear the separation

That will part us on that day.

I wonder if I will be first,

Will breath rip from my throat?

Or will I be left alive

While Death and God both gloat?

In truth, I know that on that day,

Should you be torn from me,

My heart, my body, and my mind

Will join you rapidly.

I have lots of favorites but if I had to pick just one it would be Allen Ginsberg. Here goes…

oh feminine beauty

oh curves and muscle

breasts and perked nipples

curve of ass

lick of soft hair

eyes with long lashes

sutra vagina

light of sun and day

clitoris the window to ecstasy

you are the only true poetry

the only true song

the only music

you are the infinite

the enlightenment

the blip in the mind of Buddha

the only true bodhisattva

you are dreams and consciousness

you are life and death

you are the reason, the meaning

the only truth

you are that which turns the world

This side of my skin only layers

It shows the story of my kin

A story that can't be shown by numbers on paper

It shows my family history, in virtue and in sin

This side of my skin is gold

Youthful and hard to hold

First soft like grains turned to flour

Then calloused in an hour

But even as my skin frays

This story on the side of my skin will stay

You’re an exciting site to see….like the vision of walking into a surprise birthday party with everyone’s eyes on you….everyone clapping. Balloons and streamers decorating every wall.

Your love is like the special feeling of knowing that everyone showed up for you but could be anywhere else in the world....doing anything else there is to do in the world.

You sure know how to make a person feel special. You make a person feel worthless when you leave. Like absolutely nothing special to no one when you left me. You were the decoration to my life. The pearls on the icing on my favorite cake. The decoration to my life….the canvas of my existence. Just a painter waiting for your every desire so I can paint into reality any of your needs. All your wants. Ready to command to your life all and any ...with no questions....your insistence. You're exciting like seeing the ocean for the very first time. How vast, deep, ever changing is she. Simply exhilarating. Sharp as a bolt of lightening, soft as a summer breeze. Your voice sends me shivers, your laugh makes me weak, your cries bring me to my knees….if only I could at least hear you scream. If only you were here...I'd take anything...your love, your hate. I'd love for you to run to me...to throw your arms around my neck and solve all our problems....to fix and forget our past with a passionate kiss. Shit, Id take you back in any form....wouldn't turn you away if you ran at me yelling and cursing passionate insults was the way you used those delicious lips. At least Id have you back as mine....break my heart dead... Make it flatline.

You make a heart fly like diving from a mountain top. Free falling and enjoying every second. No thought of the ground until you reached it….i reached it….and fell even further. Like a meteor crashing deep into the earth. Alone without you....stuck in a hole of depression one could climb out of never....that is until you come back again....like you always do to make things better.

A scrape is the description for any and every pain felt throughout an entire lifetime if put together, compared to the excruciation of losing you. A moments boredom is the sum of sorrow compiled throughout a lifetime when placed beside the depression of you having gone. At first... knowing I would be able to see you was like a snow day away from school. But now...If only I could see you again would be to get a second ticket to live. Another chance at life that was so suddenly ended when you left…. The ability to get up…to finally!! Once more run again… far far away from one’s death bed. To have you forever would be heaven….my heaven at least. I had hoped it would be yours as well. I can still taste your milk & honey smell. The feel of your skin gliding past mine. Our love was divine...something will I never again find.

The sheets on the bed lightly clothing, yet sliding away to the floor. Our bodies connected to the core. In the morning ....I loved to stare and take in it ALL. Like the cute...uniquely your own...constellation on your arm. The way the sun shone through the window and played lines across your beautiful face. I declare that this is what the angels must paint. This must be what god dreams of. Everything.... I was always feeling....this is the definition of love.

Ohhhh but how a person can turn to black and fall apart.

If only you would once more walk through that door. The candle lights dance to your name. Without your love...The plants dry out and go insane.

The photos on the wall stare down the empty halls. They watch each other…each reminding the other of happier times. Memories lost in each other. Before you lost me and I left my mind.....no....I didn't say that right.....will anything ever be alright when nothing's going right?

Each noise echoes without your background sounds to fill the empty spaces. I see you in all places....your features on all the faces.

Stars twinkle without meaning. They no longer hold the history of the false stories that you gave them. No more than hollow lighted gems. You left me to solve all your caused problems.

People….o the vast population, the sky of faces, the sea of clouds. Nothing make sense in a world where down is up and the past is now. How to turn back the running feet of time to hold your hands again? One more day I would spend….and when we fall asleep at the nights end…away you would go….and I would continue to sleep…to dream….to create a reason for you to stay with me. I could live an eternity in a false reality….happily. How I wouldn’t mind to be a fly on your wall…in fact I would stay and never fly away. ….you can walk all over me. I would remain….but on your carpet as a stain. Putting back a life with missing pieces will never be the same….will never be a work of art….could never be framed. Its not worth a damn. Neither is freedom to the insane. One gets used to seclusion. Comfortable in being alone….satisfied dwelling within a memory….being outside and calling it home….running back to whenest we come. But I don't think I can be like that....can't get use to anything when all I want is nothing else but the past or a future with you back. Like a parched lizard in the miserable desert I am sucked dry…no longer can my eyes cry. Physical pain has taken over….actual suffering has begun. How much longer must I hear the sound of a clock? Are you getting closer with every tick? Or further with every tock? How you did crave me once….need me, obsess over me, lust for me….truly love me….only to suddenly not. This house of stone is molten rock, melting and shifting, flowing and burning away. Soon I will be completely exposed. Unsheltered, unclothed, unable…incapable…unloved and all alone….consisting of nothing but fear and self loath. Why wasn’t I enough? How much am I worth? Oh the cost of emotion given everything by the beggar only to be cheated and left with less than when come. I stay here only from fear for I know not what is after death. Such hell I should suffer now in agony awaiting the day you will come to me. But should I die and be rebirthed…the harder to find you between the spaces and parallels of universes. Should I die and go to heaven might be pleasant for I can float above, sweeping above the earth. I would guide and guard you, watch and admire you, adore and love you from afar. At least then I could see you. Watch you grow. No longer stuck on repeat would the memories continue to rerun along the ribbons of tape in my mind. If there was only a machine that could turn back time. I stay here to not admit to defeat….not to come to terms with you giving up on us….still hopeful that prayer and time might bring you back to our love….never facing that you have left me.

(inspired by Joshua David, a new favourite among many)

We don't read poetry slow enough.

We don't wade into the depth of each other's souls.

We tumble, or more so heave our stupid little hearts over the cliff.

It feels like we're flying.

And for that split moment, at terminal velocity, maybe that's the closest humans get.

Maybe utter hopelessness is worth the risk.

The glory.

For some, their souls are clutched by 'the one' and they either tether themselves in ecstacy, or go down together.

Yet the ricochet hurts, and every jump takes a new parachute, convincing yourself it's worth it this time; takes longer and longer, and we start to close our eyes.

We don't look both ways before we cross the street anymore.

I think we hope we're hit, to feel something again; to blame someone else for our aching bones. Without assessing the damage we cause in our wake.

But what was I supposed to say?

You gave me yourself by taking it away.

Why am I mourning something that never was?

What fresh power the word “you” has in every strike of creativity.

Dys' and dat'

'Topia and 'a

Meet at up so many I-n-Os in

n out

In ouch,

ouch out

Snitches lose r/itches

Resilience is overrated

Over/revoR Good Dog/goD

yeS Yes yEEEs

I am not Sam I am

Green eggs an ham

Ain’t my jam

I’ve counted the one fish

The blue fish

I‘ve been from here to there

Looking for the funny things everywhere

I have read this and that

Been the Cat in the Hat

I do have brains in my head

And my feet in my shoes

I can be whatever I choose