Short Poems About Love

-
I AM A CHARACTER
You reminded me of the time we
danced in the boozed halls of Wimberley.
You in your boots, me in my pinstriped suit
that I put in your box of mem'ries.
A Gwadodyn
SUNRISE, PERSPECTIVE
In the sure
silence of black space,
you will not
find a sun-
rise. Up, and around, though, you'll
see a thousand more.
A Shadorma
HEY (NA) KU
Beginnings
remove the
need for goodbyes.

MISCONCEPTIONS OF LOVE
Calligraphied words whispered through
rose petals, candles and a kiss,
cheek-to-cheek dancing, love so true,
we found love's arrow won't miss.

But, soon we forgot how human
we can be. That for this union
the love must be holding you still
when the body has lost its will.
-JR Simmang
A I have no idea what type of poem

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A short poem dedicated to my daughter in the womb

-
TIDAL WAVE They say, in March, my life will be a tidal wave. But, I don’t know if they know how tidal waves behave. The water recedes from the shoreline, laying bare the ghost of its silence, showing us the upset coral of thousands of stranded souls who never quite made it. Then, off in the distance, the penitent potentiality rises up to the sky in prayer, and hurtles itself, with all abandon, against the rocks and muck and grime as if shouting will never work the same way it had in the past. Its hammer-fist renders the cliffs to melting metronomes, the beach becomes an avalanche. Floundering, staccato becomes the life, and the line between earth and salt and water is erased by the hands of an angry toddler, who, incidentally, is crying to be held only to be shushed by a spinning, lighted mobile (the one with the soothing sound effects that could never replace, nor should ever replace, the beauty in the lullaby). If there were people, there aren’t now,
Read more

Creativity, and the Pursuit of Happiness

-
I don't know when the change happened. Seriously. It used to be that people would work, and they would do so without constant carping or waging war on their bosses. People would travel miles underground in soot and filth, emerge completely covered in charcoal, go home and sleep, and wake up the next day to do it all over again. Were they happy? Sure. But, was this happiness a result of comfortable complacency, or did people truly, honestly love their livelihood? It seems to me that people in those old, iconic photographs are smiling most often when they are engaged in their lives. They laugh when they have been completely and utterly submerged in the company of creativity. Sorry for the alliteration. Creativity is a sticky wicket. We have a tendency to look at solutions to major problems and say, "my that was a creative solution. Howsoever did you concoct such a unique answer?" We also will look at a painting and say to ourselves (because it's bad form to speak
Read more

Digest me slowly

-
Treat me as your oroborus. Devour me tail over head. Taste me and destroy me. Wrap me in your cocoon, driving me through and out your nostrils, digesting me from the outside. And keep destroying me, and keep destroying me, and keep driving me further and further into your sevenfold stomach. Where shall I go, then, knowing that my head is your head, that my tail is your tail, that we share the same beating heart and thinking mind? The problem comes when there is nothing left. Infinity becomes more than just a problem and becomes more real than the sun, transforming us both into eclipses. How does it taste, knowing that every bite you take takes you that much closer to your head? Is it comforting knowing that you can see the end? Is it comforting knowing that you can become the end? Is it comforting knowing that you can feel the wind and the sun and the frailty of it all makes you feel whole? I am still a part of you. I am still the part you that rides upon
Read more