An Impromptu Blog Post: Poem Reading at Poetry Performed

A reading of my poem, In(Re)trospect, is up over at Poetry Performed. Please click the link to give it, and other poems, a listen!

Thank you, again, to A. S. Freeman for connecting with my writing and wanting to read it aloud.

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Love Songs

They exist in
a contradictory courtship
between the abstract and
specific.

Proclamations attesting to
the Divine
nature of love.

Laments of
time lost. Shrieks
of regret and
betrayal grating at
the worth of it all

How many were written
in hopes of gaining? How many
were
premature?

Which describe
the actuality?
What if they’re all just
pleas
for what can never
truly be?

Are they love songs,
or just songs about love?

A Miserable Creature

(A Plea)

There is a creature
that isn’t quite
alive.

Rather,
It simply seeks to
survive,
thriving on what It believes
is owed.

Taking an
emotional tithe and
fabricating frightening fantasies of
intimacy
and growth.

Its hosts can’t
blame
others for
choosing to
live their lives without
It;
but that doesn’t mean they
enjoy It either.

It slithers from
one to the
next; imprinting Its
ideals and
wants and
needs
onto subjects undeserving of
such psychotic symptoms.

It is envious
and apathetic
all at once.

At Its most microscopic, It is not
made of cells, but
interlinked insecurities.

Its very
presence is

paralyzing

and warrants
nothing
but the
destruction of its
desolate form.

(A Dismissal)

But It is necessary for
the protection of one’s
heart.

It seeks to procure for
Its host
in the least selfish way
possible.

It is self-aware,
knowing Its beneficent nature and
sarcastic sadism.

(An agreement)

There is a creature
whose only goal is to
feed on the happiness
of others, and this time

It wins.

In(Re)trospect

The beads of summer
sweat coated your upper lip;
a foil to the chilly
distance of
my heart’s malcontent.
Cheeks would blush.
Flushed.

Your hair, a
curtain of auburn mimicry,
brushed my brow with
each lustful kiss.
Pressure enough to
freeze time.

We marched through
our passion, always
just out of

step.

I wanted what was best; you wanted
me.
Burns and scars forced
me to pave the road to hell.
You never wanted to
hurt me,
just yourself.

How many have I pined after
in your wake?
How few reciprocated? How
could I replace what was
lost?
But a relationship cannot be
built on lies and
no matter how much I wanted you,
it just wasn’t
meant
to be.

I hardened my heart
in the hope of
saving yours.
I left you crying
amid the laughter of children
on that summer day.
Such promise; such potential
gone
because of my best intentions.
So many false starts, swearing oaths
I couldn’t help but
break.

I wanted you to get
better;
and you did (I think).
You met shortly after our split.
A decade later and
you’ve been together
through it all.
For what seemed an age,
I watched from afar and remembered
who we used to be.

Ten years on and we’re different people.
A gold band now tips the scale of your left hand
while the pair of mine remain
balanced.

It seems a
lifetime ago.
It might as well have been.
And the worst part is

I couldn’t
care
less.

The Warrior & The Valkyrie

Who was she that left so deep a mark
upon a warrior covered in scars?
Gather closer to the fire and
allow this
humble skald to
recount the tale.

There was once a warrior
deeply in love
with a woman of
self-professed,
unconventional beauty.
Her eyes were the captured,
cerulean waters
of the fjord.
Her laugh was
the life-breathing wind.
Her silken hair,
the ruddy brown of
freshly peeled
tree bark.

But be assured, such joy
does not last,
and a pest crept into the lovers’ hut
one night.
It passed over the warrior,
knowing that
a far worse fate
awaited him.
The next morning, her
life
was drained as that
malevolent cancer
struck
without warning.
An enemy that even
the mightiest warrior
can not defeat.

Shattered by
grief,
the warrior gave her a burial befitting
her splendor, and
threw himself
into battle with wild abandon.

He could find no consolation
from his comrades,
and on one of the
many
battlefields, he was felled by
another’s spear.
Looking down, he saw
his lifeblood
cascading
from the wound in
his chest.

All thought of pain
left him as
his gaze lifted
with relief and saw
Her;
His love
transformed with
cascading braids of gold
in the visage of
a Valkyrie.
He knew then that
he had been chosen for Valhalla,
where he would
gladly
be a thrall
in her service.

But the Norns had a cruel joke planned,
and rather than
cutting his life’s thread, they
severed
his connection to
the Valkyrie. Just
as she was about to speak
words of comfort,
his soul
plummeted
back to Midgard
into the ruined tissue of
his flesh.

And what did she leave?
Regret and the
backward translation of
lost language
never to be understood.

Finding himself no longer in bliss,
he shrieked a
black song
toward the heavens:
“I will drink of
Kvasir’s blood and
speak
my love back into being.
I will make
a mountain
of skulls to climb
and find you again.
I will carve
my name into
the histories of men;
challenge the
bravest, the strongest, and the hardiest
Until I find one who is
worthy enough to
return me to my beloved.
This, I swear.”

The warrior trekked across
craggy peaks and
dark ravines to find
the Mead of Suttungr;
but mere words were
not enough to conjure.
As an age passed and
drifts of snow began to patch his beard,
the warrior carried on;
hoping to
meet his match.

He continues
his search; a man
aged beyond his years.
But, if asked, this
lone warrior would tell
you not to weep for him;
he has
purpose and the
terminal knowledge of
his quest’s end.
And while his memory
remains true, he never
travels
alone.

An Impromptu Blog Post: My Favorite Poem

As a brief beginning to letting you all know me better, I thought I would make a short post to introduce you to my favorite poem. It is called You are Tired (I Think) by E. E. Cummings. This poem is a comfort to me in times of exhaustion and uncertainty, and I have periodically spent time memorizing it every couple of years; I hope it can give you some solace as well.

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.