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.

Black Holes

What are our chances?

We could look

for the primordial lifetime.

Although far away,

we observe such intensity,

frequency,

as if

there were

positive evidence.

Tell us

there can be more.

Make one source,

draw toward common times-

even if…

   Image by Mary Bach

Over at dVerse Bjorn asked us to try Blackout Poetry.  The idea is to find poetry in others’ words.  Simply select a book-page, print it and black out everything you don’t want. Copy down the text (keeping it in order). Add line-breaks and or punctuation marks as you want.  In keeping with the title I chose for my source A Brief History of Time (page 113) by Steven Hawking.  Here he talks about, among other things, black holes!  

Welcome Traveler

Not terribly happy with this, but evidence that I am trying to write. Um...I just finished reading The Hobbit and...well, maybe that has a little bit of influence on what I'm writing today.

Welcome Traveler

Won’t you stay
For a crust and a cup?
Have a seat,
Have a sup
My hearth is warm
Outside it’s cold
Come on inside
That’s not too bold
Won’t you stay
For a cup and a crust
Is this true love
Or merely lust?
Either way
Come, stay

Empty

Here is a little offering. The lines, "Inspiration stalks us/ through gloom" are from HD's Trilogy. It's an amazing piece. I just went back and read it again, and it leaves me awed. HD you rock!

Empty

Some days
The words don't come
And the rain does
As HD said
Inspiration stalks us
Through gloom
But she is not always a good tracker
And the page remains
As empty as
My heart

Autumn

It isn't officially autumn for a couple days, but it feels and looks and smells like fall in Wisconsin today. This is a poem I wrote awhile ago that I still like. I think it describes September in Wisconsin pretty well.

September

September is the turning time.
As Monarchs move to warmer lands
They foreshadow
Flashing, falling leaves
Of Autumn’s cloak.

She empties her cupboards
Feeding us left-over summer,
Grown limp and wilted
Towards the end,
Making room for fresh fall days
And mellow nights.

She is generous with her garden.
Treasure lies buried in potato hills,
Round, red raspberries bejewel bushes,
And golden mums heap
Beyond the wildest dreams of Midas.

September gives us faith.
There is enough;
We can move past the point
Where light and shadow
Balance on the fulcrum
Of autumnal equinox.

Then scarlet Sumacs
Wave good bye to Summer
And beckon Autumn, “Come.”

Emma

This all started through procrastination. This morning when I couldn't sleep I was looking at Sunday Scribblings, thinking I'll get in there early and do their weekly writing prompt. Well, this week's word is 'Treatment' and nothing much stirred in the 'little grey cells.' Soooo I decided to look at last week's word, since I didn't then, when last week's word was this week's (got that? good, glad one of us does). So, last week the writing prompt was 'Wait' and I looked at a few other people's peices on waiting, and started thinking about it. And then I started thinking about things worth waiting for.
And then Emma, my 12-year-old, Chocolate Lab-bat cross, who can tell time, comes to me, wagging and expectant at 6:42 AM. Meal times for Emma are 7:00 AM and 5:00 PM, but she lives in hope. She lives in hope that I will ignore the curse of the digital time read out at the lower right corner of my computer screen and just FEED HER! So I caress her head, scratch her ear, look into those lovely brown eyes - and melt. For Emma the wait is over. And my procrastination, which has led to musings on waiting has led finally to a little poem about hope!

Emma sits
Beside the dish
Hoping
I will forget
That meal time is
At 7:00
Hoping
At 6:42.
But I do not forget -
I relent

Free verse poem #1

So, February is over. It's March. The short poem/short month idea didn't pan out so well. This month I'm just going to try to write a lot. A lot of poems. So far I have two poems which I'm not terribly pleased with, but maybe by the end of the month, if I keep it up, there will be a few that I like. So, here is the first... I actually wanted to talk about appearance vs. reality, but it ended up a little off kilter in both poems. Still, maybe the next one will come closer to the mark.

Pretty as a Picture?

From the outside
Looking in
We make a pretty picture -
One could almost say
A work of art.
But all that’s seen
From that vantage point
(From the outside
Looking in)
Is a flat, varnished finish;
No one can see
What’s beneath the surface
Or the way the colors
Have run and separated -
Not so much a masterpiece
As a failed still-life.