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Wednesday, February 13, 2013

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photo credit: Stewart Ferebee

This is Not a Love Poem

I.
Through the warped glass of the bedroom window
she watches him, in the garden at night
amid a teepee of pinto beans
killing earwigs and roly-polys,
bent with a hammer in one hand, a flashlight
in the other.  Her teeth press lips against glass.

II.
With a leg over the saddle of his hip
sinew of thigh             he inhales
she opens an inch                     he exhales
she seams herself to each mole
nipples, belly button, cesarean scar          he sleeps.
At rest, her elbow on his shoulder
book in hand
licks a finger
turns a page.

III.
Three days of cheshire and a cuckolded moon
she does not miss him.

Four days--
she works the air for his scent.
Four days--

she thinks she sees him
but it's a rotting pine, a stellar jay, a ski lift, no--
a forklift.
She does not miss him.

 originally published in the The Cold Mountain Review


14 comments:

  1. When you've loved someone,
    As much as you're capable of,
    Just let them go. Even better,
    Don't write about them- ever.
    If you must, let it be once only
    And let that be as their epitaph.
    Let the seasons and the wind
    Sweep away the painful memories
    Don't try to re-start fire from a faded puff of smoke.
    And give yourself some time to recover.

    If you must write thousands of lines
    About what went wrong, or why,
    For gods sake burn it- burn it quickly
    Don't leave it lying around for others eyes to see
    And for the dance line to start forming behind you:
    The Designated Mourners of decayed, extinct love affairs
    Don't forget to leave some room for the next good thing
    Which has been waiting patiently at your door
    While you've been existing only in the past
    As a one-dimensional loser.
    Remember, there's only a one letter difference.

    This poem was written by Patti Masterman

    LVasquez

    ReplyDelete
  2. I Don`t Miss It....

    But sometimes I forget where I am,
    Imagine myself inside that life again.

    Recalcitrant mornings. Sun perhaps,
    Or more likely colorless light

    Filtering its way through shapeless cloud.

    And when I begin to believe I haven't left,
    The rest comes back. Our couch. My smoke

    Climbing the walks while the hours fall.
    Straining against the noise traffic, music,

    Anything alive, to catch your key in the door.
    And that scamper of feeling in my chest.

    As if the day, the night, wherever it is
    I am by then, has been only a whir

    Of something other than waiting.

    We hear so much about what love feels like.
    Right now,today,with the rain outside,

    And leaves that want as much as I do to believe
    In May, seasons that come when called,

    It's impossible not to want
    To walk into the next room and let you

    Run your hands down the sides of my legs,
    Knowing perfectly well what they know.

    By Tracy K. Smith

    VGarcia

    ReplyDelete
  3. Anti-love Poem
    Everyday you wait,
    Until the time comes,
    And when his lips touch yours,
    you think, is he the one?

    I thought he was,
    until that horrible day,
    when he said those words to me and
    I had to walk away.

    With tears in my eyes,
    I could hardly breath,
    I kept wishing he'd take it back
    and put his arms around me.

    I was hoping he would be the one,
    My first and only kiss,
    But now everything is different,
    Because that was just a wish.

    This is just the beginning of
    many other heartbreaks
    And now I have to move on with life
    and avoid any other heartaches.

    By: A Burgos

    ReplyDelete
  4. I Would I Were a Careless Child
    By Lord Byron

    I would I were a careless child,
    Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
    Or roaming through the dusky wild,
    Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;
    The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride
    Accords not with the freeborn soul,
    Which loves the mountain's craggy side,
    And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

    Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
    Take back this name of splendid sound!
    I hate the touch of servile hands,
    I hate the slaves that cringe around.
    Place me among the rocks I love,
    Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar;
    I ask but this - again to rove
    Through scenes my youth hath known before.
    Few are my years, and yet I feel
    The world was ne'er designed for me:
    Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal
    The hour when man must cease to be?
    Once I beheld a splendid dream,
    A visionary scene of bliss:
    Truth! - wherefore did thy hated beam
    Awake me to a world like this?

    I loves - but those I love are gone;
    Had friends - my early friends are fled:
    How cheerless feels the heart alone,
    When all its former hopes are dead!
    Though gay companions o'er the bowl
    Dispel awhile the sense of ill'
    Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
    The heart - the heart - is lonely still.

    How dull! to hear the voice of those
    Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power,
    Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
    Associates of the festive hour.
    Give me again a faithful few,
    In years and feelings still the same,
    And I will fly the midnight crew,
    Where boist'rous joy is but a name.

    And woman, lovely woman! thou,
    My hope, my comforter, my all!
    How cold must be my bosom now,
    When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!
    Without a sigh would I resign
    This busy scene of splendid woe,
    To make that calm contentment mine,
    Which virtue know, or seems to know.

    Fain would I fly the haunts of men -
    I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
    My breast requires the sullen glen,
    Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind.
    Oh! that to me the wings were given
    Which bear the turtle to her nest!
    Then would I cleave the vault of heaven,
    To flee away, and be at rest.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Verse from Bible

    1 Corinthians 13:4–8a 

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. (ESV)

    DB

    ReplyDelete
  6. Romance

    Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
    With drowsy head and folded wing,
    Among the green leaves as they shake
    Far down within some shadowy lake,
    To me a painted paroquet
    Hath been- a most familiar bird-
    Taught me my alphabet to say-
    To lisp my very earliest word
    While in the wild wood I did lie,
    A child- with a most knowing eye.

    Of late, eternal Condor years
    So shake the very Heaven on high
    With tumult as they thunder by,
    I have no time for idle cares
    Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
    And when an hour with calmer wings
    Its down upon my spirit flings-
    That little time with lyre and rhyme
    To while away- forbidden things!
    My heart would feel to be a crime
    Unless it trembled with the strings.
    --Edgar Allan Poe

    I view Poe as one of my favorite authors/poets. I also thoroughly enjoy the poem "Annabel Lee" but did not find it sufficiently "anti-love", however morbid. (T Tully)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. "To a Stranger"

      Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
      You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
      I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
      All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

      You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
      I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
      You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
      I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
      I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
      I am to see to it that I do not lose you.


      By Walt Whitman

      Delete

  7. "To a Stranger"

    Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
    You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
    I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
    All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

    You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
    I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
    You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
    I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
    I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
    I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

    By Walt Whitman

    ReplyDelete
  8. Movement Song by Audre Lorde

    I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck
    moving away from me
    beyond anger or failure
    your face in the evening schools of longing
    through mornings of wish and ripen
    we were always saying goodbye
    in the blood in the bone over coffee
    before dashing for elevators going
    in opposite directions
    without goodbyes.

    Do not remember me as a bridge nor a roof
    as the maker of legends
    nor as a trap
    door to that world
    where black and white clericals
    hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators
    twitching their shoulders to avoid other flesh
    and now
    there is someone to speak for them
    moving away from me into tomorrows
    morning of wish and ripen
    your goodbye is a promise of lightning
    in the last angels hand
    unwelcome and warning
    the sands have run out against us
    we were rewarded by journeys
    away from each other
    into desire
    into mornings alone
    where excuse and endurance mingle
    conceiving decision.
    Do not remember me
    as disaster
    nor as the keeper of secrets
    I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars
    watching
    you move slowly out of my bed
    saying we cannot waste time
    only ourselves.

    M. Martinez

    ReplyDelete
  9. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Aw, love, how delightful is your sound,
    That in chests, hearts you cause to stir and soar;
    Since to men, as ascending birds, you give wings,
    And vibrant as the sun, your colors resemble dreams.
    How distant from my gate does your bliss depart,
    That your face be strange and no longer recognized;
    But the farthest you may seem to be or fly,
    The closest you approach to the not seeking eye.
    As the essence of the night you are mysterious,
    And though you are gentle and novel as a knight;
    With trumpets your arrival you do not announce,
    And before your arrows hit, your essence be unrecognized.


    How fast, how slow, may your fervor manage time,
    That your intensities may baffle the eye and heart.

    E. Mares

    ReplyDelete
  11. amagallon
    Are there no shadows where you are?
    I can see everything as day,
    problems that you try to hide away,
    they're pushing me aside,
    could the winter cold come twice?
    because your heart seems so cold tonight,
    search for substance somehow isn't right,
    it's killing you inside, it's killing me inside

    Are you so naive to right and wrong?
    How could you watch innocence forgone,
    does what we've done ever really belong?
    It wasted me away, I feel so wasted away,
    God if you can hear me out alright
    please take these feelings for her inside
    my chest hurts when I breathe tonight
    It's wasting me away, you're wasting me away


    ReplyDelete
  12. I'm a guy, but this part really resonated with me:

    "This is why I hate when I hear: "you will find someone else. you'll
    find other guys." Yes, fine, Visites the Links Meditation Blogs

    ReplyDelete

  13. Sasha Rene
    English 22


    "Sigh No More"
    BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
    Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
    Men were deceivers ever,
    One foot in sea, and one on shore,
    To one thing constant never.
    Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
    Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey nonny, nonny.

    Sigh no more ditties, sing no more
    Of dumps so dull and heavy.
    The fraud of men was ever so
    Since summer first was leafy.
    Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
    Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey, nonny, nonny.

    ReplyDelete