Love (after Frank Herbert)


Love bids me closer still, yet as I turn away,
Revealing my redemption from a wasted day,
Love holds me tighter, yet as I lose my grip,
A rock upon which sits my sinking ship.

I say to Love, let go and let me drift away,
Deserve I not redemption on this wasteful day,
I say to Love, no sin if you should lose your grip,
It was a different rock that sank my listing ship.

Love answers, I could let you drift away,
Preserving the redemption for a different day,
Love answers, yes my hands will lose their grip,
To pluck your listless body from your sinking ship.


From Frida Kahlo, with love.


From Frida Kahlo, with love.

See it here on Marty McConnell’s site

I don’t generally post others’ poems, but this one, courtesy of myfairvagabond, i really liked.

Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell
by Marty McConnell

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses.
you make him call before
he visits. you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.


Songs of the Everyday

Daddy, you know, this floor,
it’s a puzzle of a whirlpool,
he said, crouching down in his pyjamas
squinting at the parquet floorboards
as I was trying to wake up.

And as I did I saw that he was right:
the grain and eddies of the wood
were jigsawed and reassembled
into a thousand discontinuities,
stitched together randomly
until it was safe to walk,
so we could live and love
without falling through and drowning,
or always thinking of the ever present
danger beneath our feet.

Four songs


I wrote a song of love.
We’ve seen it all before,
the idle lovers said,
demanding more.

I wrote a song of strife.
The soldier on his crutch
said, what do you know?
And I confessed, not much.

And then I wrote the horrors.
But the dying said:
such thoughts you twisted into words!
Yet there are bigger horrors
in our beds.

I wrote a song for you.
And we all stood agape
as raindrops wet our tongues
and filled the cracks in our skin.

One day


One day I’ll write my final lines
Because to write will hurt too much.
One day I’ll read my final verse
Because the pain will be too much.
One day I’ll say my last goodbye
Because I cannot bear the touch.
I already stopped listening to music
Because it hurts so much.

One day I will not feel the yearning
Because I’ll never earn that much.
I will not listen to those sermons
Because the love will be too much.
One day I will not feel the burning
Because it all feels cold to touch.
One day I will not feel like giving,
One day, when it will hurt too much.

And soon, I’ll cease to reminisce
Because the memories are bitter.
And soon, I’ll cease to take the pills
Because they do not make them sweeter.
And soon I’ll cease to take those calls –
Because I do not need their idle chatter.
And soon I’ll cease to have regrets –
I’ll know there’s always something better.

And I will keep on walking down the lonely road
Whether on my own or with another.
And I will shed a moment’s tear when they’re gone
Be it friend or foe or just my lover.
I’ll keep on losing everything I’ve earned
My pockets and my hands are full of holes
One day I’ll give up on my broken body
To salvage something of my soul.

But as long as you are here
I will write down my songs for you.
If you can just ignore my tears
I’ll read my lines out loud to you.
If you just promise to return
I’ll say those long goodbyes to you.
As long as you keep holding me
The hurt will feel so sweet with you.

– O –

Song lyrics.

My Heart

Songs of Love

My Heart.
(From “Songs of Love”)

I turn my head to you
I turn my heart to you
My heart, it yearns for you
My Heart, I’ll hurt for you.

So when the gates of Hell are sealed
And all the lies and truths revealed –
My heart will cry for you
I’ll burn, my Heart, for you.

And when the gates of Heaven blessed
Will offer me eternal rest –
My heart will plead for you
I will reject it all for you.

And when the prophecies transpire
And the final stars expire –
The void will call for you
There will be light for you.

I wrote these words about another kind
of love, a child of a pained and selfish mind.
But now, my Heart, I sing of you,
my heart, it sings for you.

– O –

Poem for F

Songs of Love

Let’s start off with something nice.  Here is something I wrote to the one in my life who makes it all worthwhile…

Poem for F (from “Songs of Love”)

Would I compare you to a summers day?
No, not to the day’s uncertain light.
I would compare you to the calming dusk,
Its steady blue the shadow trees carressing,
As amber panes entice the lonely traveller,
And working men return to homely blessings.

Well then, your eyes are deep like oceans?
Why would I want to drown in murky depths?
What I see there is something near and real,
A light to lighten up my cranny nooks
With clarity and understanding;
As shallow or as deep as he who looks.

Would it be true to say that you’re my destiny?
But why such narcissistic nonsense!
I’m just the hitcher with the lucky moves –
The destiny is yours and yours to keep.
So for the journey I wIll guard it closely,
And stroke your hands and fingers as you sleep.

Are you my heart’s desire?
What crass and petty limitation!
I looked for you with more than fickle heart,
And found you where desire fears to tread,
Where I can rest my head upon your pillow,
Where all is possible and nothing need be said.