Monday, March 31, 2008

The Search of a Scientist (1-Feb-1895)

This is one of my earliest efforts and since I have always fancied myself a science I have always like the sentiment expressed here. It is one of those poems where there is not any deep says what it says.

The Search of a Scientist

Climb Climb
Heave Heave
A glimmer!
Is it?
Yes, Yes.
I've found it!
It's beautiful.
I will put it in my pocket and
Keep it for my own.
Now I will go out again.
Look Look
Think Think
Until my pains become fruitful and
I find more of my treasure:

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Always (30-Mar-2008)

Here is the next in my series of 26 pleaides. I decided to cement my fate by doing the letter "A." Of course, the first word to come to mind was the one you find in every child's dictionary. This is an example of poetry that I myself don't really understand until after I am finished. Frequently, when I am done, I sit back and re-read it and try to analyze what it is my subconscious is really saying. This one, I suppose is pretty obvious.


Apples dropping from trees;
Always, Always, Always,
Asking for reasons to fall.
Almonds sitting in shells;
Always, Always, Always,
Afraid to be opened.
Always, Always, Always.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

The Gift (31-Jan-1987)

Written so many years ago for another person and yet it is a reminder that there are some things we are forced to relive.

The Gift

If I come to you,
And stand before your door,
Don't ask me why I don't enter.

Don't even let me know you're inside.
I need to realize you're not there
So that I can turn and leave.

If I loved you once,
Then it is my fault.
If I loved you long,
It was not long enough.
But the fault there was not mine.

I offered much but was allowed to keep my gift.
It rots in my hands and soils my heart.
It is the one gift
That once given
We must not give;
That once taken
We must receive.

Why is the punishment the same
For those who will not give
As those who will not be received of;
For those who will not take
As those who are not offered?


Friday, March 28, 2008

Nonesuch 5 (27-Aug 27-1987)

I know there was a Nonesuch 4 and even a Nonesuch 3-1/2 but I can't find them as they are not in my journals. Since it's late and I just got back from a concert I am too tired to comment...enjoy.

Nonesuch 5

A nickel for a dime
A penny for three,
If you come
I'll go with thee.
But why
But why
As in the background
Was born
A newborn infant
In swaddled clothing.
The summer sun,
The winter hawk.
Let me go
She screamed as he
Lithely upon the
New fallen snow.
If we all go
Merry Way
Merry Christmas
But Stan
Shouted Ollie.
Give up not ye
But to the poor
Giveth thy
He stood waiting for her reply
It never came
She was too
Far away
Eating them cake too.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Choices (27-Mar-2008)

Poetry is a funny thing. Some days you can't seem to write anything at all and others the words form in your mind when you aren't even trying. That happened to me today as I sat in ChickFilA. I have been wanting to write another pleiades so I seized the moment when these short snippets came to me. I need to keep track of the letters I have used because it seems like a natural thing to try and write 26 of them.


Crossroads are calling him;
Carelessly ignoring
Countless signs of loss;
Choosing a path of pain,
Congealed blood a stain
Covering his soul as
Crossroads are calling him.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The 5 Senses of Christmas (10-Jan-2008)

This piece of fluff was written for a Christmas party and is the last poem for my love that I can post without making this an adult blog. This one is full of little bits of the things that we shared that only we would know.

The 5 Senses of Christmas

See the hot bubbling water, the tender turtle dove.
There are beautiful fluffy cats everywhere.
Smell the warm vanilla.
The cats go out.
Taste the spicy soup, the smooth chocolate.
The cats come in.
Hear the gentle, sweet singing.
Fishing for cats.
Climb the stairway to heaven.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Rescued (1-Jan-2008)

Being in one play and directing another doesn't leave me much time for original poetry these days. Fortunately, I have a large collection from my younger days as well as some written for my recently lost love to post. This is one of the latter. I'm not sure why boats have fared prominently in some of my poetry as I have never lived near the water. I suspect it's because I find the open water to be a very lonely place and it speaks to me from that loneliness.

In spite of the fact that she did her best to shred my heart, she rescued my from a place much darker than she left me. For that I will always be grateful and I will always love her.

A sandy beach.
A distant squall.
A battered boat.
A weary man lies upon his deck.

An endless ocean.
A burning sun.
A ravaging wind.
A parched man lies upon his deck.

A hole in the boat.
A fleet of sharks.
A circling carrion.
A dying man lies upon his deck.

A fresh boat.
A gentle hand.
A nursing love.
A rescued man stands upon your deck.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Night Comfort (30-Dec-2007)

I always had a fondness for this one. I felt as though it expressed something basic about the human condition and the longing we all have to have someone special in our lives...and why we feel that need.

Night Comfort

When my sleep is disturbed
Darkness pulling at my mind
Your presence pushes out the evil
The darkness of the room
Fear and terror groping at me
Drowning me
Watching your smile as you sleep
Fills me with relief
Monsters from under reaching up
Trying to take me away
Your light breathing holds me
Grounds me to this place
I touch you and they shrink back
Defeated by your love

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Nonesuch 3 (22-Apr-1985)

After yesterday, I figured I should post something light. Here is the next in the Nonesuch series.

Nonesuch 3

Hello, there.
I'm not really here.
But if I were,
What I
would say,
I would
Say well.
Bien entendu
Comme d'habitude
In the sky!
It's a plain bird.
Or is it?
What if it?
Were that?
It were that?
There is that.

Only one more time
Can I say
What it is
I want to say
And say it
And just how often
Is this often
Only those know
Who know
Wherein lies the meaning
In these words

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Longing (6-Jan-2008)

Since my other two blog entries for today were about Juno and the permanence of love, I decided I should complete the set by choosing something from the days when I believed such permanence was possible.


Sunday morning
And I long for you.

My heart longs for your heart.

My ears long to hear
Your sweet voice whisper, "Good morning."

My soul longs for your soul.

My lips long to feel
Yours against them; breath warm.

My mind longs for your mind.

My fingers long to trace
Lines along your skin.

My body longs for your body.

All that I am and all that I will ever be
Longs for all that you are.

My life longs for your life.

My longing
Leads me to you.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Wounded Mosaic (21-Mar-2008)

Lazy as ever, here are this week's Three Word Wednesday, and Poefusion's Friday 5, and Monday Mural.

This took considerable time to work out and when I finished I realized I could order the couplets into a light rhyme scheme. But to do that effectively I had to lengthen the poem. I'm still not sure I'm completely satisfied with the result but it is what it is: finished.

Wounded Mosaic

broken Pieces
assembled Oddly
shattered Life
ever Tangled
fenced Mind
trained Harshly
spent Money
poorly Bartered
open Wound
never Kissed
provoked Thought
not Understood
cracked Smile
faintly Simpering
missing Self
forgotten Good
tear-stained Vail
fully Sodden
hurting Hand
wanting Gloved
brittle Soul
shamefully Hidden
lost Heart
needing Love

As promised, here is the original ordering of the lines. This is how they came to me. Somewhere around the half-way point, I realized they would need reordered and concentrated on just making the pairings. I initialy tried to find a thematic way to order them but after looking at them, I saw that there were some that nearly rhymed and used that to organize them. Once finished, I saw that I was short and had to create a few more.

Original ordering

broken Pieces
assembled Oddly
shattered Life
ever Tangled
brittle Soul
shamefully Hidden
lost Heart
needing Love
fenced Mind
trained Harshly
open Wound
never Kissed
cracked Smile
faintly Simpering
spent Money
poorly Bartered
provoked Thought
not Understood
missing Self
forgotten Good
tear-stained Vail
fully Sodden
hurting Hand
wanting Gloved

I must also admit to changing some of the words to meet the prompts. The original line, which I still like better, was

open Wound
never Healed

but I realized I hadn't used "kiss" yet so changed it. But I can see it either way as kissing a wound evokes images of a mother caring for a hurt child which does fit the sense of the poem.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

My All (24-Dec-2007)

I'm not sure why my lost love is so much on my mind today. I miss her dearly. Maybe this poem expresses the reason.

My All

All that you give is
All that I want.
All that you have to offer is
All that I need.
All that you are is
All my heart desires.
All your life is
All I want to share.
All your love is
All that I crave.
You are my all.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Nonesuch 2 (2-Feb-1985)

Since I got such a positive response for the first and because I'm to tired, sick, and lazy to do something original today, I'll post the second in the Nonesuch series. This one is far more whimsical.

Nonesuch 2

To be or not to be.
What we be we be.
Lo and Behold:
What is held
Forever be mine.
On Christian Soldiers.
Onward Harvest Moon.
The sand but yet blows freely
From here to Desert Moon.
A poem is but a poem,
A man is but a man;
If we are what we are,
Are we not ourselves?
Does any know?
On this questionable
(Questioning?) note;
I leave thee
And such ends Nonesuch 2

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

The Jailor (18-Mar-2008)

Offered without comment...

The Jailor

Keeping my


Monday, March 17, 2008

Nonesuch 1 (10-Nov-1984)

I realize that the prompt sites are meant to prompt new writing but I couldn't resist pulling out an old one for the Totally Optional Prompt of Get Surreal. In high-school I toyed with a form of free verse that I called broken verse. It's basically pure stream-of-consciousness poetry. This was the first of those that I wrote. I have carefully proofed this against the original and the layout, punctuation and wording are correct...whether you like it or not :-)

Nonesuch 1

This poem was meant
For other that human minds;
Its words not made of human words
It shall be forsooth and forsay
Never to be grasped by other than I.
Forever and for nay,
Merry and anon
Shall this poem stand
As a gate to misunderstanding;
Locked against none but closed to
All who would have it other than
The way in which it wasn't meant.
Shall we
Shall thee
Into the eternal darkness
Of what even the soul can fathom?
We may tread
So long as we walk.
Human Reason may guide he
Who walks where no-one ever walks
But even he cannot guide us
Past this time to our destiny.

Come, without walking
Fly, without thought.
By this may one conquer these words
Which even I cannot repeat.
How does one express
What he is able
Without saying that which
He does not long for:

For upon the hill
Where the flowers bloom
In an endless winter of passion's
May the that I could were?
Be mine,
Be mine
He cries upon her snow dried ears.
But she only replies,
Without a wanton calling,
Of course,
Of course.
And so they speak,
In each other's lace,
That maybe
Just once
They could

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Firestarter (18-Dec-2007)

This one is similar in content to the one I posted yesterday and comes from the same place. When things were going well, I had the deepest sense of awakening and I hope to keep the fire she revived alive. Sadly, whatever I awakened in her appears to have been completely suffocated.


Remnants of a fire
Left to die

Only one
Barely alive

Long lost fuel
Gently given

Resurrection from the ashes
Her Love

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Warmth (15-Dec-2007)

This was written on a cold day in December when the love between me and Ma Cherie was still burning bright. I never would have thought that a fire so bright could ever burn out. And maybe it hasn't...maybe it is still burning under the surface and waiting for a day it can burn anew.


As a bowl of soup brings warmth on a cold winter's day
So did my love bring warmth to my heart in the winter of my life.

When she touches me with icy hands to warm herself
Her touch still warms me to my soul.

Long did I stand Alone, Cold, and Naked
Before a world that did not care.

She came to me and covered me with her love
As a blanket that shelters me.

She took her love and placed it in my heart
And lit the fire I thought had died long ago.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Alliterative Loss (14-Mar-2008)

When I saw this week's Friday 5 at Poefusion, my choice of topic was obvious. My lost love has such a finely freckled face that I was immediately stuck writing an alliterative poem about my loss. As the lazy poet that I am, I also saw this as an opportunity to use the Writer's Island prompt of Spellbound because that is what she has done to me.

This may be the first time I have used such heavy alliteration in poetry and it turned out to be quite a challenge.

Alliterative Loss

Her finely freckled Face
fomented my feckless fate.
A suasion skilled sylph
singing simple siren songs.

Her cunningly crafted Cage
kindly corrected my careless course.
A riotous reckless rage
reducing reason to rabble.

Her dainty dipper Dots
delighted my deepest desire.
A hellish hunting harpy
holds my hapless heart.

Her fizzy fun Fellowship
found my forgotten fuel.
A leeched littered life
leaving Love's labor lost.

Pg. 123

I was tagged by Michelle to participate in this ongoing meme.

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Since she did one for poetry and one for prose, I have done the same.

Book meme: Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins
Take that off!
Although more accustomed to giving orders, Luc did as he was bid.
When the mask had been removed, it was easy to see why Claude reacted as strongly as he did.

Poetry meme: The Junior Classics, Vol. 10
The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll
And you were very nice!
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice.
I wish you were not quite so deaf---
I've had to ask you twice"

I tag:
The Average Poet
Russell Ragsdale

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Her Lies

The problem with running three blogs is that you occasionally make an entry in the wrong place. I made this one here even though it was intended for my My Time With My Love blog. I have decided to leave the post here, however, because of the lovely poem left by Thaleia in the comments.

I know she is trying to keep her life under control and I don't really fault her for it but she has now broken every promise she made to me. She is spiraling out of control and in her frantic efforts to maintain her own sanity, she has thrown me under a bus. I so wish it didn't have to be this way...and, of course, it doesn't. She has chosen this path and put us both on it. Why she chooses for us to walk this road is still beyond my power to understand. Why we should both be miserable when we could both be happy is so uncharacteristically irrational of her. Sooner or later, I will leave this road of my own free will and she will finally be alone...and it pains me to know that. I hope she realizes that I will always be here as her friend when she finally comes to the realization that she needs one.

Numb (13-Mar-2008)

I have been wanting to write a villanelle since I wrote a pantoum. I find these forms help to focus me which is something with which I still struggle. For this one, I decided to throw in the Three Word Wednesday words and I also used the Totally Optional Prompts theme of Smoke & Mirrors. In my mind, that is reflected here because it comes from a place in me where I realize that so much of what we believe of life is an illusion.

As always, I desperately struggled with a title on this one. For some reason it was even harder than usual. In the end, I decided to go with how it feels to read it aloud.


Blood drips down my thumb;
Trickling from my arm,
And I am numb.

My voice pinched to dumb,
But no sense of alarm;
Blood drips down my thumb,

Life began as a drum,
But has lost its charm
And I am numb.

An apartment dark and glum;
No door to keep out harm;
Blood drips down my thumb.

My heart no-one to strum;
No harvest on that farm
And I am numb.

I hope my time has come.
My pain shall death disarm.
Blood drips down my thumb,
And I am numb.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Standing In A Field (14-Mar-1985)

At the request of Poets Who Blog I dug out this old poem to help out Milou, a nine year old girl from Buenos Aries who is celebrating World Poetry Day with poems about earth activism.

Standing In A Field

The air smells good.
The sun is bright;
The grass is soft.
I'm standing in a big field looking over the horizon.
I see clouds in the distance.
A storm is brewing.
Maybe it will pass to the South.

The land is good.
The flowers are colorful;
The breeze is cool.
How long will I be allowed to stand here?
I see buildings in the distance.
Man is coming.
Why can't this, too, pass to the South.

But it will not.
The air will smell dirty.
The sun will turn dark;
The grass will turn hard.
The flowers will turn brown,
The breeze will turn cold.
I will soak this up for now, here in this field.
I see hills in the distance.
There is grass there.
Maybe I will pass to the South.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Lost and Found and Lost (10-Mar-2008)

I don't know if I believe this mythology or not. I'll admit it takes a bit of ego to cast myself in the role of Consciousness but it is how I feel. And now that I have met my soul-mate I believe I have met Sleep. And I should have known it would have come to this if this mythology be true. When I wrote the first trilogy, I had no idea the pain that Consciousness felt at having his soul clove in I do.

Lost and Found and Lost

I found you, Sleep, my darling.
Finally, after all these years we were one.
I thought we could be happy.
And we were so, for ever so brief a time.
But as when we were together before,
You stole behind me
And knocked me to my knees.
Why my darling, Why?
Why cannot you be content
To spend eternity at my side?
Is my company so painful?
Must you always run and hide?
I will wake and I will stand
And begin my search anew.
For this world will never be complete
Until I am bound to you.
And then as when we were made,
Our siblings will return from their sin;
And with the final setting of the sun
The next chapter of us all will begin.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Goodbye (13-May-1997)

I'm still an emotional wreck after seeing my expired love yesterday and knowing I will see her again tomorrow. As such, I just can't put together a coherent thought. Here is something from my past that compliments my current mood. I have no idea when it was written but I know it was under similar circumstances only much less intense.


Like a Thief in the night
She comes and steals a piece of my soul.
Once again I am alone.
My Hermia is but a stone.
With every step, with every move
I leave behind a piece of my humanity.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Why? (9-Mar-2008)

I saw my love for the first time today since she left me. It was only in passing and yet I miss her so and it reminds me of the one question I cannot answer. In an effort to provide some focus, I used the words from Three Word Wednesday and the Poefusion Friday 5. It remains a little unfocused but, then again, so am I.


I cannot answer this question.
I see a body at rest
On a cold slab of sidewalk.
I cannot answer this question.
The blood in my heart
Creates a racket that will not silence.
I cannot answer this question.
She smiles at me;
Pain coils me snug as a snake.
I cannot answer this question.
The past boggles my mind;
Was it real? Where did it go?
I cannot answer this question.
Our fertile green soil
Has been twice salted.
I cannot answer this question.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

memory song (6-Mar-2008)

This is the second collaborative effort between myself and the very talented paisley.

This poem was free-form in which I felt it was more difficult merging our disparate voices. In spite of that, I think the result is still an exceptional piece of work. As always, Her presentation is superior.

The lines in italics are again hers but most of mine should have italics on them also since she improved many of them as well.

memory song

claude - noir by *luve

rise above the ground and
look, hard into the night
paint a portrait,, dark, noir,
as the waning moon,,
becomes you…

close your eyes and
let the fear, wash away itself;
fetid, merciless,
tho it might appear
it has become your spouse…

listen to the emptiness,
believe the bone chilling cold
fleeting movements
n’er do well, yet linger long.
the bridal chorus has become,,

… a painful memory song

Friday, March 7, 2008

Strength Shared (9-Jan-2008)

Still getting over the flu so here's another recent one written for my love when things were going well. A poem like this is not "planned." It was not until the first half was done that the second half started to write itself as a reflection of the first.

Strength Shared

She brought to me a gift with open arms.
She gave me her heart and took mine for which to care.
She held me close and told me it would be alright.
She let my tears fall upon her breast.
She sheltered me from myself.
She gave me strength when I had none left.

Her strength has grown inside me.
It is a well deep and full.

I will offer her a gift with open arms.
I will give her my heart and take hers for which to care.
I will hold her close and tell her it will be alright.
I will let her tears fall upon my breast.
I will shelter her from herself.
I will give her strength when she has none left.

Her strength has grown inside me.
It is a well deep and full.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Fairway (6-Mar-2008)

This is in response to the Totally Optional Prompt site call for poems that are written in a voice different from your normal one. I actually pondered whether this is at all possible and whether any effort could be that good. But, always up for a challenge, I asked myself what "voice" I never use. I know how to capture love and wonder and, when those leave me, despair. But the one voice that seems to elude me is bitterness. My friends all tell me I should be bitter over the way I have been treated but I just can't convert my continued feelings of tenderness into something so vile. But, this call for a different voice was a chance for me to see what that might look like.


Welcome to the "Big K House of Pain"
Step right up and spin the big wheel
So sorry, so sorry, so oh so sorry;
Some will leave with a mild chafing
Others with a lightly bruised ego
But you have won the grand prize.
Fold, spindle, and mutilate the heart;
Rise for another beating.
Thrown out at the end
A Cooger & Dark ride
Your soul to rend.
Ever so foolish,
You stand to return.
Of that thumbish prickling
You never learn.

The Couch (5-Mar-2008)

This is in response to the Monday Mural at Poefusion. The psychology reference was too strong for me to ignore.

Tea Rorschach by Jennifer Hines

He sits in the office, waiting.
Should he lie on the couch?
Will leaches be involved?
A nutpick and cracker
to find the meat of his wounds.
Should he be any more honest
than he is with himself?
Will it change the past;
Or even his perception of it?
Will it return to him
that which he has lost?
Can it change his desire
to have it back?
Will he forget?
Will he regret?
He sits in the office, waiting.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Waiting (28-Jan-2008)

I'm getting over the flu so I haven't written much today. But I have plenty of material both recent and older to use. Here is one I wrote for my love when I thought we were waiting to begin a life together. As with so many of these, it is bittersweet.


Train sitting on the tracks
Waiting for the journey to begin.
Impatient to start
I close my eyes.

Enjoy this moment;
Relish this time.
It is special in its own way
And will never come around again.

There is excitement
In the waiting.
There is anticipation and hope
To be savored.

This is part
Of the journey.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

she (3-Mar-2008)

I was approached by a poet who goes by the name paisley who suggested we collaborate on writing a poem. I was flattered because I find her work to be exceptional; an expression of true talent.

I must admit that I was nervous at the prospect...largely out of my lack confidence in my abilities. I quickly found I had nothing to worry about. She brings out the best of my poetic voice and it is a pleasure to work with her. Her poetic companionsip continues to help me through a very difficult time.

She always pairs a picture with her poems and she chose the perfect one for this. The lines in italics are her contributions to what I believe to be a very good work. You should also take a look at her much prettier presentation.


High Society by ~Arsinoes

she stank of proper breeding,
blue blood coursing through her veins.

blackened ego bleeding;
other’s needs her soul disdains.

perpetually martyred mistress,
she orchestrates her savage games.

bloomless flowers growing listless;
shooting every horse she lames.

dark horizons chasing yearly,
every lover pushed away.
for his weakness, he’ll pay dearly;
plumage plucked by foul play.

as she wanders, ever weaving,
ornate webs of sheer decay,

he is cast off, blindly grieving;
with a heart of ill fired clay.

yet deep inside her, she is wanton,
a lonely child long ignored.
crying tears, of golden bullion;
for a love she can’t afford…

Monday, March 3, 2008

To Sleep (22-Sep-1995)

Here is the last in the Children series. I'm not convinced the series is over though and now that I am writing again, maybe I will be inspired to continue it.

Oh my sister, my kin.
Why do you torment me so?
Is it not enough that I have
given you my life.
We shared the earth at one time.
We walked together on its fertile soil.
Then came the night.
It covered us and when I awoke
you were gone.
Long have I searched and yet
you hide from me.
You refuse to leave the night.
And like the shadows, you darken my heart.
Please come home;
I am waiting.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Consciousness (Aug-1993)

I might as well post the whole series that I started yesterday. Here is the second of the trilogy.

I stood on the beach and watched
the Creation of the earth.
But then I came under a great sleep
and All was darkness.
When I awoke, all I could remember was
the Emptiness of the void.
But now I realize that I did not
watch alone nor slumber in solitude.
For we were a family and now we are
scattered to the four corners.
I do not know our number but we are
not Alone.
I have met my sister and her name
is Death.


Saturday, March 1, 2008

The Children (Aug-1993)

This is the first of a poetic trilogy that I wrote. I don't know if it really is a statement of belief but I like the mythology expressed. Part of it comes from the way I feel like an old soul and I cast myself as Consciousness in this series.

The Children of the Earth were created
in pairs as Yin to Yang
With the first being those that gave the Earth
awareness; their names being
Consciousness and Sleep
And the last being those that gave the Earth
purpose; their names being
Life and Death.
All the Children were necessary for they
provided balance for the Earth.
But one of they that came before the Creation
could not suffer to see how the Children
were loved and sought to destroy them.
To this end, he set the eldest pair against
themselves and when all was done it was
Sleep that overcame Conciousness.