The (Im)perfect Love Poem

Over in the Imaginary Garden we were given the formula to write "The Perfect Love Poem."  It is as follows: x (p + b + c + o), where P = Pattern (meter and rhyme,) B = Brevity, C = Comparison (describe the love or lover with a comparison), O = Obstacle (the difficulties inherent in a love affair), X = Mystery

But I was told there would be no math, so I didn't quite follow the formula. Instead I give you two imperfect love poems: 

My first love  poem is more like y(p+b+c+o), where y = humor.

Love Poem #1

Your love is like the bite of a tick

unnoticed at first, then making me sick

with fever and chills, aches and pains.

I hate that my heart doesn’t have any brains

when it sees this disease

that brings me to my knees.

If there was an injection

to stop this infection

I could save my heart from your rejection.

but I seem to be a philosophic waxer,

and a crazy, wild-eyed anti-vaxxer.

And my second love poem is sort of x(b+o)

Love Poem #2

You are 

the feel of wind

on my face,

the moon’s reflection

in my eyes,

the lens through which

I see the world.

You live

in the hollows of my bones,

in the lining of my skin,

in my dark center,

patient, waiting.

AnOther Folly

I started my project years ago,

with great enthusiasm.

I began without a blueprint

but as time went on

I dreamt up ever more

elaborate and outrageous designs.

But it seems the walls were built

without enough support
or a proper foundation.

Corners didn’t meet and

dovetails didn’t slide together

but from a distance it looked so lovely

I couldn’t bear to tear it down

and start over,

so I’d just add the next bit,

assuring myself this part would be better

until the haven I intended

was empty and labyrinth-like,

echoing with the sound

of broken promises

and better times that never were.

I tried staying there,

but it couldn’t hold up to the last big storm.

It’s been condemned;

declared unsafe.

From now on

I think I’ll just rent.

This is for the Imaginary Garden where Hedgewitch asked us to write about a folly; the kind that is, "...a building constructed primarily for decoration, but either suggesting through its appearance some other purpose, or merely appearing to be so extravagant that it transcends the normal range of garden ornaments or the class of building to which it belongs." - Wikipedia

Pending

I ask you if your love is true

but your response is pending.

I use my phone and email too

in asking if your love is true.

Unlikely reasons saunter through

my mind - excuses never ending.

I ask you if your love is true,

but your response is pending.

The triolet is a short poem of eight lines with only two rhymes used throughout. The requirements are straightforward: the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines; the second line is repeated in the final line; and only the first two end-words are used to complete the tight rhyme scheme. Thus, the poet writes only five original lines, giving the triolet a deceptively simple appearance: ABaAabAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.  Also, ideally the lines should be iambic tetrameter, but  I am rather rusty at this form,  and played a bit loose with this. :o)

Escape Clause

When we converse

all I can think is

escape.

Does the panic show

in a white-rimmed eye,

if you bothered

 to look?

I can feel your words,

smooth, sweet, dangerous

sliding down my back.

I am wary, ungrateful,

as I silently begin

chewing off my foot.

Domestication

does not suit me.

For PAD and NaPoWriMo, Day 16

The Art and Science of Desire

     Image: medanth.wikispaces.com

It seems my want

has a half-life.

No matter

how long you are gone

there is still

some longing left.

And with even

the smallest bit

I can reconstitute it,

whole,

like a geneticist

reconstructing

the now redundant

Dodo

from a tiny strand

of DNA;

despite the Law 

of Diminishing Returns.


This, of course, is for G-man and his final FF55.  Thank you for all the great Fridays that turned into kick-ass weekends.   We all love ya, and we miss ya already Galen!

Abandoned

     Lee Plaza Hotel, Detroit by Bonnie Beechler

Why do you leave me

like this when you know housekeeping

is not my strong suit?

Check out The Mag for more responses, or add your own, to the prompt by the lovely Tess Kincaid.

Leavings

The crumbs of your good intentions

are scattered on the table -

sweet, but not filling.

And tonight the scraps of

left-over promises

are enough to sustain me.

But in the wee hours I wake

hungry, wistful,

dreaming of banquets

and second helpings.

But there is never enough

to go around.

This is for G-man and his FF55.  Follow the link and see it for yourself!

Handle with Care

   I

   gave

   you my

   heart, freely,

   little knowing what

   you desired was a trophy

This is a Fibonacci poem (or Fib) is a multiple-line verse based on the Fibonacci sequence so that the number of syllables in each line equals the total number of syllables in the preceding two lines.  Technically, the first line in a Fibonacci poem with n = 0 has no syllables, and therefore constitutes a moment of silence.  So the syllables per line is as follows: 0/1/1/2/3/5/8/13/21/34/55 etc.  Mine is 6 lines long, 7 if you count the 0 syllable moment of silence at the beginning.  The image is from The Mag.

Image: the grave of Aleksandr Bakulev at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow

Opponents

Your move;

I wait  

You take your time to

take your turn.

I wait.

This is the game we play:

Your move,

while passive, patient,

plotting, planning,

in my head

I grow bitter

for this is the game we play.

You take your time to

take your turn

I wait.

Your move;

I wait.

Image from toptenz.net


Go to the dVerse pub for a belly full of amazing poetry from some very diverse poets!

Lack of Time

Tic, tock, tic -

Hurry.  Stop.  Hurry.

Tyranny

of small clocks,

imposed patterns, divide us

keeping bliss on hold

Image by Daryl Edelstein

This poem is done in response to a wonderful photo by Daryl Edelstein.  This picture and others and the written responses they evoke can be found at IGRT (Imaginary Garden w/ Real Toads).  Also, the poetic form I used is a Shadorma, which consists of 6 lines with the following syllable count: 3/5/3/3/7/5 

Why Bread Triumphs Over Death

Whenever I bake bread
Grandma is here.
I knead dough on

the board in her kitchen,

scoop flour from her bin

She hovers, ibbur-like

as I settle the dough to rise

in her thick, ocher bowl

I slide glistening loaves

in the oven and wait

in her arms

breathing in the aroma

of warm bread

This is for G-man and his kick-ass FF55 where you can read lots of cool 55 word long bits and pieces.

Image: realbakingwithrose.com

Discarded

At the curb on big item pick-up day,

battered and threadbare,

sits our dingy, faded love.

Smelling of dirty socks and rancid peanut butter,

It has been re-purposed.

Now we sit in comfort,

if not in style,

watching the parade go by.

This was written in response to the visual prompt at Magpie Tales.  It is also posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry.  Both are great sites for readers and writers; check 'em out! 

Love?

Love

it strikes 
like a bolt of lightening
out of the blue
and we are left
wondering 
where to hide the bodies

This is a repost that seems to fit OSP (One Stop Poetry) Friday Poetically's theme.  Click on the title to go there.

Poetry Potluck - Love, Bonds and Relationships

This is a little poem I wrote in an earlier with another love poem. I'm reposting this one as it fits the theme this week. Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Love...

It strikes like a bolt of lightening
out of the blue;
and we are left,
wondering where to hide the bodies

Lyric 2 Poem - Flash’s Song Lyrics

My Sister-in-law (Flash) challenged me a long time ago to write a poem made up of lyrics from 17 songs she chose. That means country western music, which generally makes my ears bleed!So, of course I did the only thing I could - I promptly lost the word doc. with the lyrics and my notes. I recently ran across it though, purely by accident, so inspite of great personal risk, I finally completed the challenge. The following poem is the result.

My story’s infinite
I have seen the ocean
I have seen the sky
and the birds, the trees, the falling snow -
no they were not made for me.

Sure as night will follow day
I’m certain that I am alone
(And) afraid of being left
I keep crawling back to you

We have crossed the Rubicon
let’s see how long
we forget
how the game goes
and I lay you to rest
just
to feel the give
and take
trying to hold on
I keep crawling back to you

It’s a hard road
creating want by
holding back
so my darling just
let it go by
you’re scared of what you’ll lose
or what you might gain
I ‘m afraid of crossing lines,
I’m afraid of flying blind
(so) I keep crawling back to you

I should have known better…
but now here I am
the world’s gotten colder
and love is not your stranger
it shattered slowly
it’s broken through-
so that’s today’s memory lane
with all the pathos and pain
(and) I love you more than I should
so I keep crawling back to you

The bad news is I never found the original doc. with all the titles and artists, so I can't properly give credit...unless Flash saved it and can help with that.