Thursday, May 31, 2007

Love Poem

I posted some manic-depressive poems a year ago; now why not some love poems? I don't have to be a poet to share what I wrote when I thought I was a poet, although saying this comes close to a tautology in its obviousness, more a redundancy, actually, just like my use of "actually." How I do blather! Ignore me. Or don't. And thanks for all the lively discussion that followed my last post.

Here:


Gift


You are a fever in my blood.
You douse the sun, turn the sky violet.

All my veins flow backwards.
Swollen with love, my heart seeks its double.

Your mouth seals mine,
inhaling all my purple waste.

Love, I am riddled with glory:
light pours through bullet holes.


Tomorrow I lead my first tour at the Fort Bragg Botanical Gardens as a certified "Master Gardener," one of the first in our county (though it's kind of like a medal from the Wizard of Oz; there are so many gardeners here who know so much more than I and always will).


Bouncing between kilobunnies and kilorats in a mixed state; little things piss me off, and I'm not just speaking of my anatomy,

CE

3 comments:

  1. Bill Moss9:15 AM PDT

    Hello, C.E.,
    The problems with love poems
    The poems with love problems
    The love with problems poems
    The poems with problems love
    permutationally, well, OK:


    The fact is, it's about
    my toes.

    Never have I been
    a poet. As a no-way-
    ever future ex-poet,
    I cannot write a love
    poem (standard issue
    LRE--lovepoem ready
    to eat) without new boots
    I'll have to get someone
    to buy or steal. The love
    poem (LRE) is a sack (or
    your coining for vessel
    of passion here) atop
    a platform (altar? Go
    ahead, make this blank
    your own) of solid caustic.
    First drop of tear or sweat
    or piss or blood or the new
    electrolyte drink you keep
    telling us about or secret
    as the secret of your
    youth makes a solution
    whose runoff eats
    the duct tape over
    the hole in the ones
    I have now.

    Bill Moss
    (The Powers That Boo pronounce me that as a Non Poet, I may retire, may retread.)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Well, your Longfellows seem properly encased but perhaps you need to let them breathe more from the overload of sweat which can cause ravaging tinea pedis and onychomycosis.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Bill Moss6:48 PM PDT

    The weird thing about it is I did,
    and now the tell me I need a total
    knew replacement. I'm looking into
    rentals. My lungfollows were normal
    though, or I'd not be able to move
    to Ecuador (WAY nicer than SMdeA).

    Bill

    ReplyDelete

Please share your opinion!

Unexpected Light

Unexpected Light
Selected Poems and Love Poems 1998-2008 ON SALE NOW!