It's a Little Early for The Valentines Day Masacree

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings


It's beautiful isn't it? ee cummings is one of my favorite poets, and this is one of my favorite poems. When someone asks "what do you want out of life?", it's not money, or fame or success that comes to mind(though those things would be nice). What I crave above all other things is that poem. I want to feel that way about someone, and have someone feel that way about me. Those who have found it I envy with a dark slimy green intensity that sometimes catches me off guard.

Some would say it's a fairy tale, that there's no such thing as that kind of devotion, but for as long as I can remember I have believed that I was destined to find that one great love. Even now, at my age, and being so very very *sigh* very single, I still buy the "happily ever after" bit. Maybe I'm being naive.

Naive? Okay, I'll admit it, but I'm also afraid. In my deepest darkest most secret place, I'm afraid I'll never find it. What if there is something intrinsically wrong with me, and I'm simply not capable of being open enough to let someone in? What if, deep down inside, I know this and I'm using weight as the ultimate weapon for shutting people (men) out? How does one go about unravelling something like that? How does that naivete and that fear manage to coexist?

My head hurts.

This was going to be a quiet little post about a beloved piece of poetry, but obviously I've digressed into a swirling pit of poo. So sorry Mr. Cummings. I'll hold my naivete close for now, and quit while I'm ahead before I start ripping the wings off of the Tooth Fairy.

Starting Small

I have been called out on the mat by She who Tap Dances to post some of my poetry out here in blog land. Well, I went digging through old journals with the best intentions of pulling out my 20 year old angst ridden- unrequited love filled poetry to subject you to. I read it all and Oh the Horrors it was AWFUL! Bad beyond bad. Bad like Debbie Gibson and Stevie Nicks got together and had a love child,and that child wrote poetry bad! I'm telling you people, it was stinkaroo.

So I wrote a couple of new ones. Little ones. Haiku(s)specifically. I figured I would start small, and maybe revisit those stinky poems later. While these bits of poetic sushi are far from being good , at least they don't sound like a bad country western song.

Here they are


#1
friend revisited
charming and recalcitrant
can never return



#2
Burger of my dreams
clings to my thighs looming large
awaken to fruit

When in doubt, post a poem.

I've been wracking my feeble brains all day to try to come up with a post worth reading. I'm sad to say I have absolutely nothing of interest to say. I feel sort of empty. Perhaps it's yesterday's soul sucking that's catching up to me, and today was more of the same. It could be that it's cold, and dark, and all I want to do is curl up in a comfy chair with a good book and cup of tea. It is time to hibernate after all... but I digress.

Instead of a post of my own, I want to share a favorite poem of mine. I hope you enjoy it.

Overweight Poem
biscuits with honey running down into the deep crevices
thick dark bread cut into fresh chunks and butter waving over the terrain,
red berries and yellow cream

am I thinking of these things
or you?

Love fills my body,
all the crevices
for the first time. and I feel
heavy
like the September limbs of an apple tree.

Feel opulent

and don't like this opulence.

Coming from a man who knows less than I,
one who, like my father, talks big
and goes away;
one who, like my father, loves deep, a lot,
and goes away/has many others.
And I want it all.
A man who is everything.
Everything I can find in the refrigerator,
or the fruit bin, or the oven, or the larder, or the cupboard,
everything in the silverware chest, the freezing
compartment;
I want him to be handsome and brilliant and
making a mark on the world, rich, responsible,
older. Someone to rescue me.

The British Museum, perhaps.
Something that will last well.
My favorite foods do not keep well;
must be gotten fresh each week.

I never know how far
for the sake of wisdom
to carry a metaphor.

Diane Wakoski(1965)