Thank you
though you broke my heart into pieces
that never quite went back together the same way again,
Thank you.
You said I knew you better than anyone. I floated on those words
hopeful they meant forever.
You knew and every word was true.
But knowing didn’t mean staying.
Knowing meant facing painful truths
Knowing didn’t erase you,
it released me.
Thank you.
When I think of you,
Longing rises in me like weeping.
This must be love
Duty bound
following obligations
social necessities
tolerant smiles in public
irritated scowls at home
Where is he going with that?
He’s in the man cave
staring at the tube
occasionally laughing
When he emerges
he ignores her as she does
her thing in
her space.
He’ll walk past and head to bed
without a word,
and she’ll watch him in the hall
wondering whether
everyone feels lonely.
I whisper you
You whisper me
I murmur you
You murmur me
I chortle you
You chortle me
I extrapolate you
I expostulate you
I lose you
.
.
This is my 1900th post to the blog!
It’s been a busy 5 years!
Arms are
the consolation
the comfort
the consideration
arranged around artifice.
Arcing constancy.
I told you
I’d love you forever
You told me you loved me
and we’d be friends forever.
I meant every deluded nuance.
You figured optimism works out
but you also said you couldn’t answer
to what would happen if I snuck into your room
and you woke to my face hovering above you.
That intriguing notion made me giggle at the joke.
But you kept your door locked, just in case.
Did you hear the door knob rattle?
Then the plane took off,
without me hiding in your luggage
as you’d suggested I could.
Our next phone call clarified
the kindness of lies.
and the length reality stretches
to cling to an illusion.
I’ve been grateful for
the elasticity of spurious delusion
every day of my life.
I craft my reality in my imagination:
You are whoever I make you to be.
Do I cover you with armour?
Compel piano mastery?
Some loves last through time:
mythical love need not be mocked.
What you hear, is never what truly was.
It’s what was crafted to tell the tale that needed to be told.
You are a character in the love story,
and I can always kill you off in
literary impunity.
.
Shape poem of a chess piece. Clear? Metaphor of the game. Get it?
Perhaps when
. you are dead
I will find a cache
. of hidden love letters,
. diaries,
. poetry
all proclaiming your passionate
. yearnings,
your adoration recorded
. day after day.
Moments captured on paper
. trapped filaments of bliss
. flashes of us through your eyes.
Perhaps
I will find a cache.
Perhaps
. not.
As these lines came into my head, they came on a suspiciously familiar tune, so I think of these as song lyrics, and I will have to see if my harp and I can turn them into a song at some point. In the meantime, they’re a poem. (I wouldn’t hold your breath for the music, just so you know).
.
You don’t look.
You don’t see.
You don’t hear.
You don’t speak
words she needs you to speak.
You’re not listening
when her heart weeps.
You don’t hear.
You don’t hear!
Please come here.
You must look.
You must see
what she’s trying desperately
to help you see.
You must hear
how she’s struggling with her fears.
You must speak,
whisper love,
for that’s all she truly seeks.
Look.
See.
Hear.
Speak
Love.
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt in honour of the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere is a poem on a theme of rush and hurry.
(and today I was delighted to discover I am the Day 18 featured poet for yesterday’s social media poem. How lovely!)
.
.
When it’s true
there’s all the time in the world.
Slow down.
.
They say
“Marry in haste, repent in leisure.”
.
I remember seven months
when time stood still
and you were the air I breathed.
.
In haste, married,
then filled a house with babies.
Now they’re gone, but you’re still here
Our leisurely repentance
is luxurious reward for our haste.
.
.
Happy 30th engagement anniversary to my love. (4 months after meeting and 3 months to the wedding!)
Shawn L. Bird 