#5

There's chalk on my shoulder.
Mice skitter across the floor
And little birds tweet.
In the streets the birds and mice
Chitter, chatter, flitter about
With words thoughtless,
Feet flying and eyes darting here and there
For scraps and food.
And I walk clad in frock with hands in my pockets
And thoughts wordless.
Is it too much
To pull away the curtain
And look into the world?
The mice crawl under the doors,
The birds to the chimneys,
The air stands,
The frocked man stands,
Time stands.
Is it too much, is it really too much
To open a door and see a smile,
A warm hug and a sip of tea for a while?
Is it too much to open a door
To take my hands from my pockets and body from frock,
To enter smiling and quiet,
To hang the coat and sit?
The mice and birds talk too much.
The shoulder of the coat bears chalk.

#4

The people, they walk about
Smiling and talking.
They come and go, you learn and you grow.
But they do go.
Better now that the rolling teeth and sweeping spheres
Counted it all out;
The smile, the embrace, the grande from town-
Defensible in the picking clicking ticking
Heart tricking tripping
Because you loved the way she's sipping it.
And she does go.
But she comes, too.
Better now that the teeth are rolling and the spheres sweep,
Counting it all out;
The auburn blond red raven what have you without a sound
Trip away and swing back again, and away, and back and
Thumping jumping pumping clock
Ticking precisely the way she doesn't
Measures out time not your time with ease
Because you learn and you grow
To love to watch picking clicking ticking
People leave.
And rolling teeth and sweeping spheres
Count out comfort for when people go.

#3

He opens a door and enters the room within.
He hangs his coat and finds a chair to sit in.
In the room the air is hot and dry.
The paper is full of old news.
There is old talk of sports;
Of yesterday's state of the sky.
Instead he sits and wonders and dreams.
In his mind filled with all time,
An eternity passes in a minute; in seconds.
And after so many eternities,
The time passes, the clock chimes,
And, roused from his pondering,
He returns to his wandering.

#2

To see a mouth part
As if about to say a word
But then gently close and stop the word it starts
Because it decides that a sound is insufficient;
That is what is and all that matters.

The soul aches to find its pair,
Ripe with a dream and a hope,
Cracked and chapped in loneliness, and there
A toothy grin now shines through the lips
When the glass between us shatters.

I can't see through there,
But I'm told there sits a goddess
With a grinning face and raven hair
A winning grace and pervasive cheer, and
That is what is and all that matters.

Lingering, quiet, passive eyes
Saw not before the beautiful world
In a beautiful soul in a beautiful person, unwise
Eyes that missed a blessing now see
When the glass between us shatters.

Love Poem Anthology - #1

This year, I'm going to make it a personal project to compile a series of original love poems or poems about love and romance as a sort of senior-year creative project. This will prove to be interesting, I hope. The poems will be without title, number only.

So, here's number 1.

The stars are unsettled.

A trespass has been made
Upon their glory in night-shade,
And the leaves enviously stir
When these footsteps are heard,
For some crime has here been done:
The white of the moon, the blaze of the sun
The glittering glamor of the peppered sky,
The silent grace of the butterfly -
All gone. Gone from the day,
Gone from the night, gone from the trees,
Gone from the earth and its deep dark clay,
Gone from the eye of the beholder in all that it sees.

The hunt goes on for the thief.

The wise rocks have duly confirmed
Such a crime could only be termed
"Grand theft beautiful."
And the birds, ever dutiful,
Search with their eagle eyes
Hoping that they might espy
A clue, a hint, a tell tale trail
A misplaced fiber in the hay-bail,
But no. The thief can't be caught;
Too quick, too clever; with a trick, not a track -
Oh, all the envy you've wrought.
Nature would truly like her beauty back.