Some Old Poems

 I only consider myself a poet in the most basic sense. I am a poet the same way someone who cooks a grilled cheese sandwich is a cook: they created the object of that particular art, so inadvertently, they are a practitioner of that art. I have a difficult relationship with poetry; it is the old friend that I love but I seldom call to check on. Poetry isn’t my strong suit.

However, being in a particular mood, I revisited some poems that I wrote a few years ago and thought my readers would like to give them a glance. They are all about love. After all, that’s what poetry is supposed to entail, or so I’ve heard. 

Drink

I want to drink! Oh, I want to drink.

Passion and love from your mouth.

Pour me a cup of this drug

That numbs the senses and makes me feel

As I did when I was foolish and young.

You being near me awakens something 

That has been slumbering in the lonely Winter.

The fox, the bear, sunlight and warmth are calling them.

Awaken, awaken, come to the trees

Stripped of their white cloaks of snow

And now displaying the Ever Green.

We are too young for love,

But take this poem and hide it in your desk

Or in your book next to the pressed daffodil 

That you stole from the lake. 

I want to drink, oh please let me drink.

Passion and love from your mouth. 

Cream 

Perhaps I want a girl, who twists her finger

In the ponytail of her hair.

Biting her lip, thinking

Staring at the yellow pages of a book.

The scent trapped within her perfume is of old coffee.

Her lips sweet with cream.

Her eyes lost in worlds architected by words and phrases.

Her leaning shoulder on a shelf of tomes.

Too oblivious to acknowledge bland reality.

And when she’s not reading, she enjoys an artistic mood

Of paints and music. 

Dancing 

The windows howl with a chill that is December Black

But in the room is a bright candle glow

Where the embers of eyes linger on one another

And warm fingers mingle and twist.

Black shoes and heels clack

On the honey-colored floor

And music, old and exciting, permeates the air.

It burrows into our ears.

Dancing, there is so much dancing

So many flurries of skirts and flashes of pale limbs.

And I see you from across the room…

I see you smiling

I see you dancing

I see the dark curls of your hair prancing

And I see the glowing shimmer of your eyes

Burst with joy and life.

And it makes me think that maybe

Romance 

Is not a fool’s errand

After all. 

This article originally appeared in The People-Sentinel Newspaper. All photos are from https://pixabay.com/