Thursday, June 28, 2012

98. Chocolate

Deep and dark;
bitter sweetness on my
eager tongue.
Soft and sensual;
little florets
bloom within my

When all the children are asleep
and the evening’s work is
how nice it is to sit in the
silent darkness,
thinking of nothing
doing nothing
but enjoying this sinful

in a moment’s
single, solitary
alone and awake
in the dark hours,
only with a box of chocolates
and nothing else.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

97. L’Inconnue

Faithless one!

In her despair,
drowned herself,
drowned herself in
the faceless Seine.

After so many soft words,
covert glances, what was she,
but a simple country girl,
he sophisticated.

It was inevitable;
it was too predictable
that he would take a wealthy wife,
and never think of her.

So many wasted days,
knitting sweaters,
daydreaming, and
nights spent sleepless.

Well, they say, it was
not all in vain,
it was not all for

The post-Romantics in their
sombre blacks, dramatic
oh, they fancied a martyr
to epitomize their horrid plights;
Her replicated face hung in their
parlours, denigrated,

Found in every incarnation,
CPR Annie, pale and plastic,
drowned again – does she need

Pound the ground, assess the
situation, administer
such a face saved so many

Paradoxically, the
spurned object of love
becomes the “most kissed face”
of all time…

Is this any consolation,
for a heart that breaks,
for a soul that languishes?

Abandoned and alone;
all sacrifices are in vain.
Posthumous fame,
mass-produced celebrity:

to a heart that lived and loved and
to a heart which spent its final beats
beneath the shining depths,
it is nothing,
it is trivial.
All sacrifices are in

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

96. Sketches of an Afternoon

It’s raining today;
it’s raining
quite a bit

I get out my notebook;
I am lying on my bed,
and I scribble down his
name, millions of
times, millions.
The curlicues cross into one
blurring into a haze of
spider webs or

I become nearly
cross-eyed and I
have to pause for

it’s hard to imagine that my
curly, swirly cursive
my love at all,
that this obscure,
dull word signifies his
being, his form at
all –

I take this criss-crossed page
onto the deck, into the yard.
I am soaked, bone-
deep, feet in the

and I tear the page to
shreds with the sharp end of my
black pen,
digging irregular
holes into its
watching as scraps
litter the eroding

ink melts, draining like
waterproof mascara,
which, after too long,
runs too –

my own words
trail strange greenish
paths into the damned
until I
can’t read anything,
I can’t even read

suddenly: it dawns on me that
I am wet and
cold, and that
the grass is getting long

but, no one cuts it:
and flowers lay, wilted and
trampled worms lay forgotten,
blood soaked into the
unforgiving patio

Monday, June 25, 2012

95. memento mori

Forgotten smiles float –
suspended in the ether of

Messages lay unanswered,
comments rest unread;
unchecked remains the
latest “news”…

Mementos of a frozen life:
smiles collected from adventurous days,
when we were young and
boastful –

Farewell, adieu –
a virtual graveyard left
vines grow unchecked,
obscuring what was,
and what remains,

Friday, June 22, 2012

94. Playing Tricks

Upon a warm and breezy afternoon,
the maidens in their sylvan silks
exhibit yet a wilder shade of green:

The impish breezes, by their own accord
(or else commanded by some sprite)
play naughty games of chase amongst their skirts;

And nestled in such trim and tidy dress,
hide dainty, little twiggy legs,
unmasked unto the lurid light of day!

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

93. Eyes See Me

Eyes see me:
eyes see me walking
'cross the street;
eyes see me in my
eyes see me

Eyes watch me
curiously, eyes watch
me, menacing…

Eyes see me as I
walk, I dance, I
slip, I fall:

Eyes are who I live for,
breathe for, die for;
eyes follow me everywhere,
eyes see me,
everywhere I

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

92. Visiting Mr. Guggenheim

To look at a painting –
look, not touch –
behold beauty at
arm’s length.

on a quiet weekday after
looking at a

Alone in the silence of
musing what was and
might have been.

I wish I could
look at you like a

walking back out into
the hum-drum day,
recalling the colours,
the proportions,
the brushwork

and simply forget,
lost in other images, other
realities, or
remember, from
time to time,
cold and

Monday, June 11, 2012

91. [Insert Text Here]

A teenager with a phone
is a horrid thing!
“Look at me!”
“Look at me!”
I want to yell.
I want to take you by the
shoulders, shake you.

Look at me!
But it's not the phone
you love; it is the
soul on the other end.
And I will always
be second

Saturday, June 9, 2012

90. Sagittarius

Gregarious Sagittarius:
so many friends;
this one, that one:
you have no time for me.

I was but another body in a
sea of other ones.
So I thought:
but you chased after me,
lit up the night, and I –
acquiesced –

Another night, when I was
slow and clumsy,
scrambling to get my things
together, I was afraid
you’d leave, find someone

but you stayed.
You waited,
and looked at me,
without question.

speechless, slightly
looked up at you, and wondered
if I really meant anything
to you?
This is what friends do;
this is what friends are for,
they say:
but why me, and
why you!

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

89. “See you tomorrow”

Each time we part,
it is like an affirmation:
that we will see each other
it is a hope, it is
a promise,

it is a guarantee.
Yet I must face the fact
that one day, it will
be a simple farewell,
because then –
our days together will have run

On one hand waiting for the next
on the other dreading the
finality of the past,
the austere future,
which instead tell me:
these little tomorrows
will one day be but
lost yesterdays.