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Tag Archives: Poem

Who Is This Guy?

I believe I wrote this poem in the early nineties. It was, at least obliquely, addressed to a woman I had fallen desperately in love with (this would be the last time in my life I fell that stupidly, at least until we adopted and I became a father.) The love of one’s child—especially the first—is far more powerful and nuanced than any other type of love I’ve ever experienced.

This poem, however, speaks to my desire to see this woman* open up and face some of what I thought were self-destructive fears that were keeping her from enjoying her life. It was complicated, as was she . . . and it just wasn’t to be. I have little doubt the somewhat crazy depth of my desire was just too overwhelming for her. Hey! I was just a kid . . . in my late forties.


There exists in all things
A strength and beauty
Unappreciated by those of us
Who have suffered the constraints of narrow education
Yet . . . it exists
In repose
Silently waiting for the moment of discovery
In many of us it is doomed
To remain unannounced
unapprehended and, yet
Undeniably
It is there
And there are those of us
Who by some mad twist of fate
Crush the beauty in ourselves
Divert the strength
And smother the fragile wonder of our lives
Beneath pain and isolation
Which we call self-protection


* I will not use her name in deference to my wife and children. She is a part of my history, but only relevant today to explain the motivation behind this particular bit of communication.

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To Nameless

I really like the first stanza and the way it rhymes. The second isn’t too bad, but it falls down a bit at the end. The third I’m not pleased with at all; it ends rather unspectacularly. Nevertheless, I wrote it . . . it’s been collecting dust for over two decades . . . and I’m putting it out there. In case it’s not obvious, this was a love poem to someone who has been long gone. I’m not even going to use her name in deference to my current life.

If ever it should pass
that i should start to tire
and somehow lose the fire
that you and i have made
you’ll be the first to know
when the glow begins to fade

If ever i should feel
that your love is not enough
and i need some other stuff
to fulfill all of my dreams
you’re the one i’ll come to
to relieve me of these things

For it’s only you i want
yes, you’re my heart’s desire
and each day i just get higher
when i think how i love you
and i think of what it means
to have the love we do


Was This Me?

I recently shared an old poem I’d written. A short little ditty that rhymed and everything, though it was – as I said – short. Here’s another I wrote about twenty-five years ago, when I was a mere pup in my late forties. I had fallen desperately in love with a woman who, as it turned out, had a few too many problems. It didn’t last, but it didn’t end ugly either. None of my relationships has ever ended ugly. I’ve been able to fall “out” of love, but I’ve never been able to stop loving someone I once loved.

!Warning!

I think my writing style here was heavily influenced by Kahlil Gibran. I’m not sure I did a very good job but, in the interests of preserving my old writings, I’m willing to risk being embarrassed.


What wonders have I known since first I met you
I have tasted of your lips
Yet it is the thoughts they have expressed
Which ring in my ears
I have suckled at your breasts
Not early as a babe
Yet it is the aroma of your flesh which haunts me in my reverie
And the sound of your sweet sighs which fills my memories

To taste of the flesh is a simple thing
Too easily exalted
Too frequently abused
To taste of the soul is a wondrous thing
Too seldom found
Too seldom used

It is not just your eyes I see
But the depth which lies behind them
It is not merely your lips I crave
But the ideas which they convey
These remain with me during the days
And calm my evenings
That I may lie
With images of you to lull me
Softly as I drift to sleep

Your smile floats before me even now
Your laugh softly fills my mind
And I crave your presence
Even as its memory fills me with joy

I have found in you a person worth cherishing
A woman whose value I deem boundless
And who soul I have already partaken of
I ask for little more
Than to entrust me desires
My hopes and dreams
With one
As sharing
As giving
As you


An Old Poem

My oldest is almost 18 and, as a result, one of the things we need to do is transfer ownership of several documents to her. This is turning out to be a bit more problematic than I had hoped. I can’t seem to find a couple of documents I thought I knew the location of. I have some serious searching to do or we need certified copies of a few things. I’ll have more to say about this but, while I was searching I found an old, fairly silly poem I wrote about 30 – 35 years ago and I thought I’d post it here so I can throw away the paper on which it’s written. So . . . here goes:

I can write a poem
I can pen some verse
I can make it florid
I can do it terse
I can be profane
I can wax profound
Or lay it on real thick
And sling it by the pound

I know. Makes no sense; means even less, but I wrote it and it’s my poem . . . and I’m stickin’ to it. So there!!


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