“Winter”
Today I look west over the mountains
And I see the sun sinking below them.
Snow coats them, and I dream briefly
Of distant oceans, islands, tropical
Paradises where the sun will not set for
Hours and the people have never had to
Wear clothes with long sleeves and the
Only skiing to be had is done behind a
Boat, and I remind myself of why I
Stay where I am, in a land that gives me
A proper winter.
There are doors leading through
This and every other life, and we
Cannot see beyond any of them.
All we can do is trust that a door
We have chosen to open leads
To another series of paths and
Choices, neither better nor worse
Than any we have made before.
A maze, perhaps, but one that
We all must tread, no matter the
Twists. Everyone must find their
Own way through it, though we
Might sometimes ask a fellow
Traveler which way they would
Suggest. All we can offer one
Another is advice. We cannot
Lead them down any one path.
If we are lucky, we might have
Companions by our side for a
Part of our journey. We may
Say goodbye along the way,
But if we’re lucky, our paths
Will cross again someday.
soft lips cry out with gentle
passionate bliss.
a boy entwined with
his goddess
always faithful through time
heaven and hell have
no power over his soul
for he has paradise
in her velvet embrace
“Want”
I want to sit with you,
Coffee in hand, under
Your favorite blanket
As rain streaks down.
I want you to lean up
Against me, look into
My eyes, and tell me
How your day went.
I want to share all of
The words that are in
My head and heart and
Let you know truths.
she was a dream
a beauty like music
a frantic need
I pictured her
watching rain and mist
my love by the sea
“Camera”
The camera cannot capture
The vastness of the sky.
Only fragments,
Memories of that summer
Afternoon, many years
Ago.
I’ve managed to wrangle a little bit of work time to craft another Magnetic Poem for you.
Muahahaha! Still getting paid to do this.
As per last time, copyright info for Magnetic Poetry can be found here. I just use the product to come up with ideas for you, dear reader. I’m not sponsored or anything, though that would be awesome. *cough* HEY! MAGNETIC POETRY PEOPLE! *cough*
The text of the above pictured poem is here.
“I ask only for you to
lie near me my goddess
sing of light and beauty
live for when the moon loves
like we do
recall love and soar”
“I Feel You”
I feel you, touching at the edges of
My consciousness as I sleep, dancing
The dance we never shared and laughing
Brighter than the sun that peers through
My window
I feel you, distant but never lost
In the darkness that has filled me
Since I cast myself into exile
And set upon my path, questing
For redemption.
I feel you, my muse, reaching for me,
Struggling to find your way to me,
Hesitant but bold, timid but daring,
Seeking courage in contradiction as I seek
Your inspiration.
“The Girl Who Smelled Of Pine”
Once, I met a girl who smelled of pine.
I saw you from a distance,
Winged goddess of death and
Beauty, pale, raven-haired,
But baring a smile that belied
The danger behind it, and
So I was drawn irresistibly
To you, heeding no warning.
Your eyes are a distant green
Light across the narrow bay.
Every whisper from your lips
A siren song, beckoning me.
I grew closer to you with each
Passing year, and yet you
Remained elusive, hovering
Just beyond my reach.
I know that I will find you again,
My lover who smells of pine,
No matter how many years or
Lifetimes may pass us by.
And I will never forget the
Scent of you, the brightness
And laughter that has faded
But will return in its time.
“She Too, Wonders Why”
Umbrellas dot the square, round tables
Surrounded by chairs beneath them.
Beers sit slowly seeping condensation
From their frosted glasses as they’re
Sipped by hipsters too poor to afford
A second and forced to make the first one
Last til last call. Soon the sun will set on
Belmar and the fountain burble will fade
Until morning.
A young girl paints pictures of the flowers.
She sells them to tourists to pay for her education.
She dreams of becoming an architect,
But when her paintings fail to sell,
She grows desperate.
She has a true talent, but it will not be
Noticed by the right people until it is
Too late.
Her body will be found in her dorm
Room bath, the final dollars in
Her checking account used to buy
Not paints but painkillers and vodka.
A tragedy, but lo and behold a collector
Comes along and buys all of
Her paintings of flowers.
The money pays for her funeral and her
Mother and father’s growing stream of
Antidepressants.
Why didn’t she call home?
Why didn’t she reach out for help from
Her parents?
Maybe only her girlfriend knows,
But no one knows that
She even exists now. The only one
Who ever cared is being buried
A four hour flight away, and the
Family wouldn’t want
Her there anyway, and so
She sits alone in the square,
Sipping a beer from a frosted glass,
Tears slowly rolling down her cheeks
To match the condensation soaking
Her coaster.
She too, wonders why.
The Swords of the Ancients 