Love Letters

[Tzara]

Isn't she remarkable? Her poetry is often quite formal, which leaves me even more awed. Palinurus was one of my first encounters with her.

She is a fantastic poet. I love Ms. Stallings so much I even wrote a bad variation on her excellent Triolet on a Line Apocryphally Attributed to Martin Luther:

Variation on a Triolet by A. E. Stallings

Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?
Does one have to be Evil to know how to dance?
Is that why my feet move like leaden balloons?
Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?
At least once in a while God should give Good a chance
To be Fred and Ginger, not prancing baboons.
Is that why the Devil gets all the good tunes,
Because God thinks it's Evil to be Good at dance?​

She's kinda swoony looking, too.

Or, I guess more properly, swoon inducing. For me, anyways.


Welcome back, Mr. Dog. Long time no read.

 

[corndog_]

It is good to see you, as well! I'm surprised we haven't knocked heads in our common swoon pits.

Stallings' "Olives" is even more engaging in light of her (not so recent) move to Greece.

 

[Tzara]

who are some of your favorite contemporaries?

I'm currently reading Mary Karr's Sinners Welcome, which includes "Revelations in the Key of K."

 

[corndog_]

Ha! Wonderful!
I'm reading Jane Hirshfield's After, following the loss of a close friend. While it is not a collection of elegies, there is certainly something elegeic about it.

The Heat of Autumn is from that tome.

 

[ArchLady03]

Written for my long gone muse. He broke my heart, but gave me a voice.

My Mind is the Guilty One, 2008

For fear of loving that moment of clarity
that seduction of words, that feeling of need.

I need you,
I need something to keep this up,
I can’t do this by myself unless I want silence.
What I really need is what makes me ache.

This silence is slowly suffocating me,
dragging me back to depths of hell,
into the death where words hold no meaning.

And yet you scare me, as I know this can’t last.

Terrified by the feeling of your hands on the back of me,
pushing me over the edge.
So I go willingly, a perfect prisoner to the inevitable fall from divine grace.

Rather to go knowing than being thrown in like a beggar
pleading for another day of sun,
another day of light another line of beauty.

I am in love with your words and yet they are not mine.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Written for my long gone muse. He broke my heart, but gave me a voice.

I have been breaking my own heart for years in pursuit of a few cheap lines. I write the best love poems for that which does not exist.

 

[RunningJib]

To an Old Flame

D,

Yesterday, amongst all the din and noise, I saw your face and suddenly the chattering crowd had dismissed. Do you realize that you have that affect on me?

Do you realize that we were twenty or so feet apart at the Union this morning? No, you didn’t. But in your unassuming way, you made your way to class. While I, the lucky observer, took a moment to experience your eyes, colorful check and those delicious lips. Oh, how you give me pause

Unlike you, I’m quite ordinary and I am humbled by your beauty.

Dinner tonight?

The above I wrote to a college flame. She broken my heart into a thousand pieces three months later.

 

[Angeline]

Dear Mom,

Surely there's a cure
for sadness, some satori
past breathing without oxygen.
The moments counted in tick tock
and coffeecups. Endings that shrink,
lost in details and minor keys,
the green gray pointillism
that bleaches out the joy
of a mountain.

There must be something
to counterbalance this transition
from outer to inner world,
one where you are only
in my thoughts and I inherit
your purse and address book.
Are they donations, historical
artifacts, relics? Surely not trash,
or will I discard them
months from now, tell myself
sentiment is for fools, but wince
when they're carried off?

There's just me
and these thoughts plus
a little flotsam that no one
else understands. In truth
there is no satori only me
and Johnny Hodges who can
still make me smile, slurring
insoucient that he don't
get around much anymore
and Joe Williams who has the blues
every day.

 

[bronzeage]

This is all about love letters. I have written some of the best love poetry and love letters in times without love at all. In my world, I make it all up, as if I were in love this is what I would write.

If you have a letter or have written a letter, sharing would be sweet.

I think I have written some incredible love letters, but no record is left. It was before the days of computers and emails and hard drives. If any of them still exist, they are bundled together and tucked inside a drawer or box, waiting for someone to find them, and wonder.

In the following years, I have rewritten each letter, over and over. Careful editing removes all the superfluous words and what remains is something like this.

We have to not talk.
There is something
I have to not say.
What does it matter
what it cost me
to give you up.
When the choice
is all or nothing
and all is not mine to give,
can I gift wrap nothing
and make it pretty.
If I give you nothing,
how can nothing take
so much out of me.
I will say nothing
or risk one kind word
or smile from you
and weaken my will,
because when I said
I would leave
before I hurt you
I never thought I could.

 

[vrosej10]

To My Husband

I love you in your entirety
Never tiring of your mind or body
But living to be at your side in the night or day
Whatever may come of our lives together
Never wanting another.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I think I have written some incredible love letters, but no record is left. It was before the days of computers and emails and hard drives. If any of them still exist, they are bundled together and tucked inside a drawer or box, waiting for someone to find them, and wonder.

In the following years, I have rewritten each letter, over and over. Careful editing removes all the superfluous words and what remains is something like this.

We have to not talk.
There is something
I have to not say.
What does it matter
what it cost me
to give you up.
When the choice
is all or nothing
and all is not mine to give,
can I gift wrap nothing
and make it pretty.
If I give you nothing,
how can nothing take
so much out of me.
I will say nothing
or risk one kind word
or smile from you
and weaken my will,
because when I said
I would leave
before I hurt you
I never thought I could.

I understand this in its entirety.

 

[bronzeage]

I understand this in its entirety.

Heartbreak is the universal language.

 

[serpentwrap]

Heartbreak is the universal language.

Indeed. Another ode to a heartbreak...

You ain’t what I imagined to be

You were meant to be the curl of the leaf
coyly, slowly, gradually,
unfurling into a wanton splendour
of grace, beauty, sensuality and oomph -
the innocent, laughing green, erasing all grief.
Alas, you folded up, a withered soul,
holes in the vein, crying like a banshee
You aint what I imagined to be


You were meant to be the turn of the phrase
delicately, smartly, cleverly
carrying heaps of load, a twist at its
waist, a casually uttered mumble -
plundered the core of the soul, its glow ablaze.
Alas, you turned out quite a cliché, words akimbo
like the pathetic scarecrow on a field of green pea
You aint what I imagined to be


You were meant to be the midnight blue of the night
Stealthily, soporifically, numbly,
Creeping insidiously like the sheen
Of a Barnett Newman painting -
Whisper like approach, impact dazzlingly bright.
Alas, you got swallowed, the blood of darkness
ran riot in your veins, the leafless autumn tree
You aint what I imagined to be

 

[Angeline]

Indeed. Another ode to a heartbreak...

You ain’t what I imagined to be

You were meant to be the curl of the leaf
coyly, slowly, gradually,
unfurling into a wanton splendour
of grace, beauty, sensuality and oomph -
the innocent, laughing green, erasing all grief.
Alas, you folded up, a withered soul,
holes in the vein, crying like a banshee
You aint what I imagined to be


You were meant to be the turn of the phrase
delicately, smartly, cleverly
carrying heaps of load, a twist at its
waist, a casually uttered mumble -
plundered the core of the soul, its glow ablaze.
Alas, you turned out quite a cliché, words akimbo
like the pathetic scarecrow on a field of green pea
You aint what I imagined to be


You were meant to be the midnight blue of the night
Stealthily, soporifically, numbly,
Creeping insidiously like the sheen
Of a Barnett Newman painting -
Whisper like approach, impact dazzlingly bright.
Alas, you got swallowed, the blood of darkness
ran riot in your veins, the leafless autumn tree
You aint what I imagined to be

This is excellent. Thanks for sharing it.

 

[vrosej10]

A Quicky for the Broken Hearted.

should you choose to leave
this evening to be with her
I might break myself to pieces
make myself a fleece of shards
so no one bears to touch me again
or I might shove myself at any man that asks
basking in the fleeting glow of one night stands
but one thing I do know
that if you leave this evening
I will never grieve for the man you never were​

 

[bronzeage]

This is getting depressing. Time to lift the mood a little.


Let me be your Stud Buckly
and you can be my Scooter Pie.
Hang your love on my neck
and I can kick the sky.
Spread the blanket on the grass
and feed me what I eat.
Smear jelly on the biscuits
and mustard on the meat.
When lovers roll in the grass
and laugh like lovers do
kiss me with your sweet lips
and I will roll with you.

Let me be your Pup Lover
and you can be my Mindy Moll
I'll carry you in my arms
and toss you like a doll
I'll hold the string in my teeth
and you can fly me like a kite
or hang me in the apple tree
and pull me down for a bite.
Pour wine in my open mouth
and feed me bits of bread
Make a pillow of your lap
and let me rest my head.

Let me be your Bottom Dollar
and you can be my Shiney Dime
I'll drop you in my piggy bank
and keep you for all time.
Spend me like a sailor
or steal me like a thief
I can be a millionaire
or a bankrupt on relief
Pin me to your shirt
and wear me like a pearl
And I will shine like all day light
Riding on my sweetest girl.

 

[sweepthefloor]

should you choose to leave
this evening to be with her
I might break myself to pieces
make myself a fleece of shards
so no one bears to touch me again
or I might shove myself at any man that asks
basking in the fleeting glow of one night stands
but one thing I do know
that if you leave this evening
I will never grieve for the man you never were​

I really like the last three lines, especially the last line, because how many times do we make of a lover what they are not? We must blame ourselves, even when it hurts.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I like reading love letters. Thank you.

 

[vrosej10]

I really like the last three lines, especially the last line, because how many times do we make of a lover what they are not? We must blame ourselves, even when it hurts.

I am so glad you like it. This whole poem was written on the fly with no editing in about 5 mins. The last line just sort of popped into my head at the last minute. I think the idea has been rattling round my subconscious for a while. I had a friend who had a really unrealistic idea of who her partner was and after a long and messy break up, she finally cottoned on to his shit. I am in a very happy marriage and it always surprises me how much tragedy leaks into my work. I think I must be a bit of a drama queen!

 

[sweepthefloor]

I am so glad you like it. This whole poem was written on the fly with no editing in about 5 mins. The last line just sort of popped into my head at the last minute. I think the idea has been rattling round my subconscious for a while. I had a friend who had a really unrealistic idea of who her partner was and after a long and messy break up, she finally cottoned on to his shit. I am in a very happy marriage and it always surprises me how much tragedy leaks into my work. I think I must be a bit of a drama queen!

Sometimes the best words just spill out, even if they are not drawn on our hearts patch, does not matter. Inspiration comes from everywhere- it is not my life- it is ours. It is not the man that loved me yesterday, it is the one I have not met yet, or the one I loved five years ago- It just comes out.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Dear Lover,

There is this picture that I can’t get out of my head. I am dressed in a plaid Catholic schoolgirl uniform- and I am young and I am grown. How easily, I went to you, knowing that you know what I know about everything because you were there. I thought that somehow this connected us and you would know exactly how to treat me. Lover, remember how I rushed to your home on my work break? To slip you little lines of cheap poetry?

There is this picture that I can’t get out of my head. You are wearing a black leather jacket and a black engineers hat. Your hands are covering your face as you sit at my kitchen table. I see your sailor tattoo on your forearm. Remember how you were going to write the best selling novel, and I was going to stop writing for once in my life?

Lover, we are nothing but pictures that I can’t get out of my head.

Love,
Lover

 

[sweepthefloor]

Daniel Greene

I wrote this for a homeless veteran- an old man living in the streets of a big city. I was young and in a way- I loved him- one of the ways we love.
----------


I find you on my street all day and night
Sitting outside the liquor store all
Dirty and smelly and broken
You shake and you tremble and look like
A seizure waiting to happen



Your name is Daniel Greene
I give you my last dollar

While looking in your eyes
For anything that resembles sanity
I find none and know that you are sick
And I take you home and
Force you to eat some soup

Your name is Daniel Greene
I wash your urine soaked clothing

Standing before me undressed
I see your collarbone is fractured and deformed
And your body has scars like none I ever saw
As I wash you clean in the shower
I linger on the chain around your neck

Your name is Daniel Greene
And you are wearing military tags

Reveals your name, number, religion and blood type
We get in a taxi, or rather I shove you in-
All clean and trembling with tremors
We get to the veterans hospital
Everything I learned in school seems a lie.

Your name is Daniel Greene
And you are still in some jungle



When the story repeats itself for us
I will not give up on hope, or on you-
Because everyone has a story worth reading
I wash you again and again and
My every last dollar has your name written on it forever



Your name is Daniel Greene
And you are homeless combat veteran soaked in urine with the shakes.

*and I don't know who I am- and it does not matter.

 

[vrosej10]

Sometimes the best words just spill out, even if they are not drawn on our hearts patch, does not matter. Inspiration comes from everywhere- it is not my life- it is ours. It is not the man that loved me yesterday, it is the one I have not met yet, or the one I loved five years ago- It just comes out.

I so agree. A lot of my most heartfelt love poems are written to women I just past on the street and in one case, a weird deja vu about a romance between teenager lovers not unlike the dream that inspired twilight. The muse is everywhere and she is BUSY.

 

[bronzeage]

Why pine and not some other tree?
Why pine for you when you pine not for me?
If my pine dies, what remains?
The Longleaf will grow too tall to climb
and has no leaves, anyway.
The tallest pine will fall one day.
Someday the last green needle
browns and throws itself to the wind,
bark flakes, soft wood softens and falls away.
Buried in true leaves, the pine knot remains,
too hard to chew, too bitter to eat,
waiting for a fire that leaves no ash,
consuming all till nothing is left.
So I pine for you,
till I pine not .
And leave nothing of my pine
but the knot.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Why pine and not some other tree?
Why pine for you when you pine not for me?
If my pine dies, what remains?
The Longleaf will grow too tall to climb
and has no leaves, anyway.
The tallest pine will fall one day.
Someday the last green needle
browns and throws itself to the wind,
bark flakes, soft wood softens and falls away.
Buried in true leaves, the pine knot remains,
too hard to chew, too bitter to eat,
waiting for a fire that leaves no ash,
consuming all till nothing is left.
So I pine for you,
till I pine not .
And leave nothing of my pine
but the knot.

I am the grass that the ill dog eats on purpose to induce vomit.
He can not digest me. It is a circle of sickness.