12 comments on “Monday, April 21st – Here’s your theme:

  1. “Wanted”

    “What is this?” He grabbed it off my nightstand
    As he straddled me playfully,
    Tickling. Teasing
    This girl of order, of rules.

    “They’re my post-its!”
    I reached out to retrieve it.
    He held the square pad aloft.
    “I write myself notes
    When I need to remember something!”

    “Like something important?”
    He held me down,
    Spoke as though he weren’t even paying attention as he
    Breathed in my collarbone,
    Nosed his way up my neck,
    Kissed along my jaw.

    “Y-y-yeah… Important… Things.”
    My logic, my lucid speech

    He snatched the pen near the lamp,
    Scrawled quickly,
    Ripped the yellow paper from the rest
    And stuck it to my forehead.

    “Hey!” He held my hands
    Over my head. Helpless.
    Happy. Hopeful.

    “Shh. Leave it. You said it
    Was to remember important things.”
    His lips covered mine.
    Hungry. Hot.

    When all that remained of him
    Was his scent on my sheets,
    I scavenged for his note among the pillows.
    The word he’d crowned me with,

    To make sureI’d remember,
    Written quickly but surely:


  2. I was never much for poetry, written in prose. I just can’t write it, and frankly when I read it I don’t quite get the connections. My mind just does not work that way, but I think that poetry is really all around us…not just in words.

    For instance, I am a pilot. I just learned how to fly a vintage aircraft called a Stinson. It’s is a very difficult airplane to handle on the ground because she is what we call a “tail dragger”, meaning that the third wheel is on the tail, not the nose, making her very suspetable of veering off one way or another. But once she is in the air she is a dream.

    But landing her…and taking her off…wow, I was having so much trouble getting everything coordinated and together. Every takeoff and landing became a torturous event. Then…out of no where…just like riding a bike, I got it!! She became like silk in my hand, and suddenly I felt the poetry that exists between man and every flying machine ever built by man from the Wright Brothers to NASA.

    I guess that makes me a poet…and I didn’t even know it!!! 🙂


    • Rob, that totally does make you a poet! Anyone can rhyme words or use a thesaurus and throw down some fifty-cent words! It takes the eyes of a poet to see a rhythm and beauty in the world around us! Good for you! And thanks for commenting!

      • Gabriella…that is a very nice complement. I forgot to say that I always WANTED to enjoy poetry. I just always seemed to reach for something outside of my grasp. But I do think that everyone has their own medium for artistic expression. Even the tool and dye maker who can lathe raw metal into a part needed on a complex piece of machinery. Is that not an artist? How about the gentleman’s club dancer who goes on stage and seduces hundreds of guys a night with just her eyes? Are we now back to “vices and verses”?

  3. Misha, Your poem is lovely! It is neither ridiculously cheerful, nor desperately black. It is life as it is, to be enjoyed whatever it deals to you. Keep it up!

  4. Wanted

    All I’ve ever wanted
    was for you to look at me
    the way you looked at her

    All I’ve ever wanted
    was to catch you unaware
    smiling as I walked by

    All I’ve ever wanted
    was for you to notice that I’d left
    before you walked out the door

    • Sad but strong, gorgeous in its attentiveness. I would bet that everyone has felt this way – even the “her” described in the poem. So relatable. Thank you for sharing this.

    • (I posted this the other day but I think I put it on the wrong page – this is where it should have been)
      This rings so true for each of us at some time or another, I think… Wishing to be longed for the way we long for someone. I think what you wrote has a subtlety and a resigned calm that makes it even sadder. Love the image of his obliviousness. Thanks for this!


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