Backwards
It used to be so
you would beg me not to leave.
It used to be, too
I would be heavy weighted
when I knew I had to go.
But now you shrug and nod
"see ya, I love ya"
and now I only remember
the things I used to just forget:
the homework, the cleaning, the daily plod.
Can't we just go back to see
the way it used to be?
Between
The words sat between us
like the sun between Heaven and Earth.
Our future illuminated,
our happiness risen with the morn.
We spoke them once,
we spoke them again.
We spoke them gently,
we spoke them with passion.
"I Love You" sat between us
like the nose between your shimmering eyes
The word sat between us
like the moon between Earth and Hell.
Our futures now obscured,
light enough only to see the loss.
"Goodbye" sat between us
like the sneer between your too taut cheeks
My Year of Writing Dangerously
On the spur of one of my (increasingly rare) moments of inspiration, I decided that in order to maintain my artistic integrity, and because I can't keep calling myself a writer for much longer without actually WRITING something, I am going to write a poem a day for the next year. The first poem will be posted on August 10, 2010 and the last poem will be posted on August 10, 2011. (Unless, of course, I decide to keep going.) Not all of the poems will be good, and DEFINITELY not all of them will be interesting, but I will gaze around my kitchen, my living room, and Coming Home Cafe until something inspires me, then write a poem about it, as well as my random thoughts on the mundane things that no one notices, but which it is my goal to immortalize over the course of this year.
On the spur of one of my (increasingly rare) moments of inspiration, I decided that in order to maintain my artistic integrity, and because I can't keep calling myself a writer for much longer without actually WRITING something, I am going to write a poem a day for the next year. The first poem will be posted on August 10, 2010 and the last poem will be posted on August 10, 2011. (Unless, of course, I decide to keep going.) Not all of the poems will be good, and DEFINITELY not all of them will be interesting, but I will gaze around my kitchen, my living room, and Coming Home Cafe until something inspires me, then write a poem about it, as well as my random thoughts on the mundane things that no one notices, but which it is my goal to immortalize over the course of this year.
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