As a blogger, I know the frustration and the maddening silence of the vast majority of my readers. The ones that never comment, never answer a poll or a question, never show me their existence except in the mysterious numbers on my stats charts. But oddly, I also know the…
LiesSmall lies, white lies,Untruths, fabrications,Great deceptionsEasy, familiar wordsOr even none at all They must weigh somethingThe truth as heavy as it is, just won’t compareFor that lie stands,seemingly a smokescreenBut really a solid wallBuilt on the crumbling foundation of your face It sinksEver so slowlyDown from your eyes, into your…
Writers are sad people,
stewing in the acrid juices of their own guilt
frustration, shame, impotence
hoping to turn a spicy marinade or a fine wine at the end.
We were talking at cross purposes. We were enjoying domestic reverie together. How did it blossom into completion?
You reached out your heart to me. What I found, tied me to you. What we are, is a kite.
My heart is a sieve. Shot with tiny holes.
Some conversations are traps, some are escapes.
I run with my wordsRacing my thoughtsGetting ahead of my emotionsBecause I’m scared you’ll turn away before I’m done But then I pauseTo catch my breathAnd realise you’re still listeningAnd also that I’ve forgotten what I was saying Then you hold me closeIn a way, I’ve never knownBut, which makes…
My smile is like a neon lightLighting up all aroundAnd drowning out all elseBrilliance in personIt says, “I’m happy!” Yours is like a candle flameA single flicker in the darknessEnveloped in a warm embrace of shadowsGentleness personifiedIt says, “I make you happy.” And you do. *Read my other Love Poetry….
“I miss the good old days when portrait painting was the only form of visual reproduction. But of course, you are too young to remember that.” I read the words in a tiny glass screen in the palm of my hand. Not a muscle moved, not even an eyelash flicker….