Poetry Month 3: Love Poems (I Promise)

A little belated St. Valentine's Day present-- some legitimate love poems, not my usual unrequited odes. Love one another.

Some of these poems are in the collection Eons and Other Love Poems.

Eons

It seems all at once

perfect and inconceivable

that these two leaves,

one golden brown,

the other auburn,

should brush against

each other from the deep,

sweeping gust of wind

blowing in this dark forest.

in the middle of November.

They have been spinning

in centrifugal motion

ever since they fell,

holding close to each other,

skydivers attempting a tandem.

In the branches, they were alive,

but separated. But, autumn

came to free them from the

branches and gave them air,

inevitable as belief.

The brown leaf blushed,

the tender auburn gazed

at the eons of time in the stars.

Veins, stems, tips touched.

They fluttered and rustled

in the bracing air.

When the leaves shift down in the shuffle

of others one day, they won’t

soon forget the time they soared

from life to more life, together.

Promise

Lean in closer, hold my hand, make a promise.

For promise is all this is—capacity

to move and learn, a chance to live.

Of course, what kind of promise?

Can they be kept? Why not?

I’ll keep it if you’ll hear it.

My promise to be open

and help make possible joy,

let no one take it from you.

Don’t let them take my promise

to open myself to you

(if you’ll have me)—eros or agape.

Oh hell—let’s make it eros (just for fun),

then agape as the pulse steadies.

No, let’s just hold to the promise

(the capacity) (the pilot light) (the flintrock).

Lean in closer, I’ll make a promise

(and why not) (let’s be amorous)

(give it a go)I promise to believe in your promise.

Will that be enough? (I hope so)

Through the Panic and the Fury

I cannot touch you.

I can only see snapshots of your life.

I only know I want to be

     with you

     near you

     in your wake..

I want to crawl inside

your photographs and reveal

myself inside your mind's eye

     no regrets

     not like before,

     a real life...

not ruled by remorse

but through the panic & the fury

and wake up in your arms

     rested

     ready

     filled with hope...

Poetry Month 2: Stormborn

Stormborn: A Poem

Peter, come out of the clouds.

You fly too high.

The virtues of the ground

outweigh reaching for the crib.

            Born of the storm

            of the mind’s psychic violence,

            you cut to the quick.

            I hurt in equal measure

            to how I’ve been hurt.

Come up from the ground, you say.

I’m content here. I won’t call you

down from Never Never Land,

but will let you soar in self-denial.

            You never should have

            taught Wendy to fly.

            Now we all fly too high.

            Electrical skyfire.

            How can we not be burned?

Poetry Month 1: Three Poems for Madeline

I've decided February is Poetry Month on the ryanctittle.com blog. Seems an appropriate month. It brings out romance for some, sadness for others, and it's still cold enough to sit in one's home and dream, much like the process of writing poetry, at least for me.

For those who are aficionados, you might not like my poems. I don't have the grace or beauty of the greats. I use, as my poetic model, Raymond Carver. Best known for his short stories, Carver's poetry is a marvel, distilling even further his ideas, emotions, and reflections on life that made his stories so beloved. But, they were also earthy and bereft of too much heady stuff. I like that. That's my model.

A note about the haiku. Haiku are traditionally about nature. My haiku are about human nature.

For week one, three poems for Madeline. Bon voyage!

Daylight and Damask

the sun rose           rising sun

Damask rose         dew drops

time to go             leave she must

wish I might          cannot speak

interrupted            rip in fabric

the cheek blush      painful tears

rather remember    wild laughter

         your hand to your mouth

         and simultaneously

         stopping mine

for the best           the old fool

time to go             Damask rose

she rows               he goes

blood on the dew   rain rushing

nothing to say        rose and rose

ocean to cross        rows and rows

never let go           wild laughter

         be open anew

         for worlds unto you

         not mine

Descent to Timon's Cave

I wanted to play in irony

And disguise my intent

(so it would make you laugh)

(your hand to your mouth)     

No, sincerity’s in order

You brought me recognition

That I still had a soul

And I need nothing more

Than your apricot shoulders.

                                                                      (I keep giving

so freely of myself

                                                                      to those

who do not care

who are not there)

A Haiku

In two minutes’ time,

Your world can come crashing down

Must let her go now