I know it’s called a fall
But is love really supposed
To last for just a season?
Category Archives: poetry
The Pandemic Calendar
This Year: 2020
Next Year: 1984
Truth
The hardest substance known to man: it bends; never breaks
Archive
Don’t file me under: disability, deserter, despair
File me under: battled, loyal, hopeful
Sometimes it’s important to think about how we want to be remembered, because it helps us go toward something higher. Try to divide negativity into something positive, because, after all, it takes two negatives to make a positive (according to mathematics). I want a plus sign above my head in the end. How would you want to be filed away in an abstract sense?
A Couplet For My Future Wife
You’re the queen
Of my foreverdom
Sadness
I have no words
For that word
Only broken images:
Burned bridges
Fallen trees
Slanted flowers
Clouded light
Why We Failed
You cannot build
a relationship
out of
wood.
Better yet
You cannot
build a relationship
out of
wood and water.
Eventually
the water infuses
the wood and
turns it into
a pile of
warped
mold and mildew.
We built our relationship
out of wood and water
and that is why
we failed.
Crystal Balls
In my possession I have
A pair of crystal balls
Would you believe that
Sometimes they can predict the future
Upward to nine months?
Meditation On Seasons Of The Body
Summer comes first. Always, summer comes first with a sunlight-like weight upon your shoulders. Everything, everyone is a light bulb, a candle that cannot be blown out despite the murderous winds. Pleasure dresses the unknown. Wonder builds an unexplored city. Doors open doors that open doors that expose your eyes to the play areas of enjoyment: mountains of dreams, slides of hope, clouds for trampolining. But spring comes next: the realization of the mirror, the blossoming of other eyes upon you. Thorns grow where they’re not supposed to and bars fence in your heart. Winter storms in like a hic … cup. Here, frozen faces stop smiles. Invisible clouds shield you from the forgotten warmth of yellow. Longing impregnates your mind, swallows softer thoughts until they sink below the surface of love. And finally you enter the fall, lose your footprints amongst the leave-carpeted floor. Some days your eyes are green and some days they are red. But most days your eyes are so black that you forget about the changing of the seasons.
(Originally published at the Eunoia Review here.)
Have You Written This Poem, Too?
Where all the words
Are the same … and
Nothing comes out but:
I love you I love you
I love you I love you
I love you I love you
?