let’s take the train and go to Vienna rent a room for a night and then waltz in your arms the waist of the night trembles fingertips touch a blue door which is locked I sit barefoot on the floor the windows’ eyelashes are yellow and drunk your voice moves stones in a lonely graveyard to bury the tears I cry and lonely…
I used to lift free weights when I was a soldier, and marriage made me lazy because I no longer wanted to impress young women. I got soft over ten years and the damage to my spine slowly caused stenosis in my c-spine enough to need pain medication’s. I guess I wasn’t the guy she fell for at 17. I learned she’s very selfish and a gay feminist dark Wicca Priestess, who’s now in a coven in the Newport OR area. I guess she also was not the young 17 year old woman I fell for in June 1983, and married on valentines 1990 after cohabitation long enough to feel I could trust her.
The third consecutive night she found it uneasy to sleep Her heart and mind still on disagree but her soul long ago took the leap She knows the risks since that road was not much of a new trip She was finally ready to starve than to keep feeding on crumbs They say the heart […]
My Dear Readers, I was voted author of the Year at Spillwords Press NYC (2020). I am deeply grateful to those of you who voted for me. Thank you to you, and to the incredible team who runs Spillwords Press. I am deeply humbled and honored by this recognition. However, I’ve never written for the…
He comes back only when the Angel of God makes blue and yellow rings fall asleep on my fingers. One night he swore his oaths upon our unmade bed and the river Styx. His guitar swore its oaths upon a red rose. This is not the time of year when his tears – chariots of fire – fall from the sky. Neither that day of spring when I lie in bed covered by wedding veils. Those are the only times when his soul plays guitar behind the Japanese screen in my bedroom. You couldn’t hear him playing in the library. So, what did you really hear? Do you believe that his ghost hides inside his portrait hanging on the wall? Oh, no! This is not a Harry Potter fantasy. His soul is not inside any portrait. Now, I think it’s time for you to leave. Why? Are you asking me why? You saw the inscription below his portrait: granted just a quote he loved.
There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.
Here’s your answer. You can’t do any of those things. So, you better leave. No, his soul wasn’t here tonight. Tonight, it is I who speaks, not him.
I dreamed of you, I dreamed of us. I picked-up the phone. I was dreaming of your face, your voice, sweet like the German Summer wine. I dreamed of your long legs and I dreamed of your lips upon my lips.
I don’t dial the phone. I whispered to the darkness. Dear Ambrosia. Why did you allow me to dance the dangerous tango with you? Why my dear Abrosia did you promise me love and you awoke my need to love and dance again?
I remember you whispered to me on the dance floor. Be careful what you wish for. Great wishes make us wish for a miracle. Dear Poet, no miracles in this life. Just us wishy washy people who daydream love is sweet and forever. We are more Tomfoolery than honest when the song is good and the skin demand attention.
I remember you, I remember us. We went to the private motel room. You removed your clothing slowly, allowed my eyes to be blessed by your hidden soft and tender skin, your rolling curves of your perfect womanly body. You came to me you whispered, am I running toward you or away dear Johnnie?
I put the phone away and I whispered to the lonely night. Forget me not dear Ambrosia. We played lovers and we played liars. Two strangers seeking perfection and perfect love in a world where love is lost, forgotten. I do remember you.
TheCertifiablyTRUERavingsOfASectionedPhilosopher: Don't be afraid to think you might be a little 'crazy'. Who isn't? Check out some of my visualized poems here: https://www.instagram.com/maxismaddened/