Do Not

Don't write a love poem,

definitely don't write a poem about an infatuation.


Don't write a poem about someone you didn't expect to see.


Don't write a poem about her beautiful dress

no matter how well it looked on her.


Don't write a poem about a clever line she wrote,

even if it was perfectly brilliant.


Don't write about the moment she touched your shoulder.


Don't write about her saying she hopes

we can see each other next week.


Don't write a poem where you say

that you drove in silence all the way home,

thinking only of her.


Don't write about her embrace.


Don't write about that look in her eyes.


Don't write about her beauty.


Don't write about how much you want

to keep hearing that voice.


Don't be a fool.


Don't go to bed still thinking of her.


Don't fall in love.


Don't, or do,

it's all up to you.

Oracle Incarnate

Words appear as curves and shapes,

colors emerge into familiar shades.


Words take voice, their tone

paints a wholeness to you.


Warmth fills me, painted eyes blink,

a thought fills my mind-


they would have worshipped

you at Delphi.

What There Is To Talk About

Lets not talk about love,

we have better things to do.

Lets not talk about the world,

it doesn't worry about us.

Lets talk about this,

because there is always that.

Lets talk about the well

we all draw from.

Lets not talk about money,

it is more fleeting than our lives.

Lets not talk about work,

it drains the soul away.

Lets talk in dark places,

you found me in the corner,

my back turned to you

until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

The Goddess Venus

You're only jealous of 


Who &


What 


You cannot have.

Patchwork Puzzle Art

We walked into the toy store and quickly

found our way into the games aisle.


You reached into the shelf that held the

jigsaw puzzles.


The first one was a  bland landscape you

often see on the walls of dentists offices.


You looked around and made sure no one

was near us when you ripped open the first


box. "What the hell are you doing? Are you

nuts? Security will catch you!"


Your smile said, "No, they won't" as you grabbed

a piece from that first box before putting it back


on the shelf. You repeated that process another

dozen or so times. Each lone piece found a new


home in your purse. "Let's go" you said. I could

feel eyes on my neck as we walked through the


sliding doors. No one came after us as we got

in your car. When we got back to your place


you emptied the orphaned pieces out onto your

kitchen table. If those puzzle pieces were children


that had just been adopted you would have had

an international coalition of the unexpected.


You pulled an empty picture frame out of the

closet and pried the back off. I could only watch


in curiosity as  you set the pieces down one by one

into the glass before placing the backing on it once


more. A wide grin spread across your face

as you turned the frame to me and exclaimed


"Isn't it beautiful?"

Speak Easy (Draft 3)

The dark corners of the room spoke of

decades past. Heels clacked on the floor

as shadows danced by candlelight.

Words flowed like wine as we sat in the

well worn wood. A cool sweat reflected

on the glasses as the ice melted amidst the

sound of Jazz floating in air. A steady pulse

of time swung back and forth into a groove

as your finger tap-tapped on the table top.

We played the parts of film noirs past. Your

dress fit for the body of a movie palace

queen. When the candle wick burned out

and the wax hardened once more, we stepped

from that static age and into the rushing

tides of the city streets.  

_______________

Original Post:

http://thenoiseoftrouble.blogspot.com/2010/11/varnish.html

Revision #2

http://thenoiseoftrouble.blogspot.com/2010/11/speak-easy.html

Speak Easy

The dark corners of the room spoke of decades past,

Heels clacked on the floor as shadows danced by

Candlelight. Conversation flowed as we sat in the

Well worn wood. The sacrament of Dionysus was

Poured into the glass as the chattering voices fell

silent to our ears. Jazz floated through the air in a

steady pulse of time swinging back and forth into

a groove with your finger tap tapping on the table.

We played the parts of film noirs past, your dress

Fit for any movie palace queen. When the candle

Wick burned out and the wax hardened once more,

We stepped out from that static age and into the

Rushing tides of the city streets.

_________________

this is a reworking of a poem called "Varnish" that was originally posted Nov. 6th.