Show’s Over

Image credit Andrey Kuzmin

The production commenced
with actors on stage
portraying the love we once had-
the grasp of her cheek,
the look in her eyes,
as he folded over himself
to make her swoon his way.

Amongst an empty crowd,
the curtain’s now drawn,
the actors have gone home,
the final act is done,
it’s time to get on.

Hanging on for an encore,
hoping for another show,
relishing in the memories
and never letting go,
I can still feel that soft cheek,
feel those eyes resting upon me,
and those chains not letting me free.

The show’s over
but it plays on
relentlessly in the forefront
of this lover’s mind.

With Headphones On… [with audio]

Image credit: Spectral-Design

I cannot help but stop
and look at the whispered tapings

Pay attention closely to the postings,
the most discretely transmitting of all

Does it make you shiver?
Does it make you quiver?

Capturing statistics
day by day
poem by poem
Is it you watching?
Is it you listening?

Through your pair of headphones,
are you alone?

Do you make sure
no one else is around?

Are my words rising that piece of flesh?
Or making your heart race?

Are you wishing my words have only reached your ears?
Hoping no one else knows this feeling?

Smoothing and intoxicating,
repeated over and over again

What goes on in that mind?
Are your thoughts racing in time?

The rise, the soaring
from those sweet sounds

O, I wish I could be there
seeing your reaction
when a lustrous new track
has been found

Click here to listen to my poetry on SoundCloud, where almost 100 poems are available

Recording Sessions [with audio]

If you’ve ever wondered how a recording session takes place…

I set up the laptop, open up GarageBand,
plug in the headphones, adjust the mic settings,
pull out a poem, and hit Record.
I remind myself to speak clearly,
to make sure I have the exact tone,
to express the meaning of the poem.
I start to fumble over the words, it’s a first
pass, it’s normal. It’ll get better the next
few rounds.
I give it another go. A few lines in
and then a tap of the mic. Bugger. Delete.
I go several rounds.
A dog barks. Delete.
The kids run in circles above my studio. Delete.
Now I’ve lost the intended tone. Delete.
My throat is getting too dry. Delete and grab a drink.
I give it one last shot. This one has got to be it.
Now for the backing track. Music or sound effects?
Match the theme of the poem or make it offbeat?
Ooh, a nice saxophone and bongos would be neat.
Pulling it all together and listening on repeat.
That’s it! This recording is now complete.

Dear love

Dear love,
Thoughts of you the other day brought smiles. Today thoughts of you produced overrun swells in my eyes. The many years we’ve been separated, but how our hearts have always been close, how many more years will it be like this? Living in fantasy and memories all of the time is no way of living. The truth of what can never be, will I ever set these feelings free? This arrested state of bliss, of dreaming of our next kiss… and the pain of knowing that it may be a million years away. We’re so close yet always out of reach. I sit and dream of you, and wonder… will our dreams ever come true.

Solipsistic Angst [with audio]

She comes into the house unannounced
doesn’t bother a quip when asked to speak
slams the door shut
and takes to her room to retreat

Behind the locking door, music blares
her demeanor tells everyone she doesn’t care
her closeted persona is darkness deeper
than the black eyeliner coupled with black hair

She’s never known love
never been the center of affection
lies, misdeeds, and betrayal
stem farther than the daily rejection

Her parents plead with her in this game of life
but more and more she becomes recluse,
to live intentionally amongst the trials
she spares only an excuse

Dancing in the yard

Image credit: Andrey L

It was a long summer afternoon
a crackling fire lit the yard
the southern sun was setting
while I strummed my old guitar

It was her way of moving to the music
she captured the glowing cinders in her eyes
she danced with the slightest sway in her hips
and her heavenly body torched my skies

The Warm and Longing Heart

Have you ever used a poem generator? The following was composed with a few nouns and adjectives plugged into a poem generator and written to the structure of Robert Frost’s ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’. Not something I would normally do to construct a poem, but it may help those looking for ideas.

Whose heart is that? I think I know
Its owner is quite tragic though
It’s a sad tale of woe
Watching her, I cry out a hello

She gives her heart a shake
And sobs until the tears make
The only other sounds that break
The distant waves and birds awake

The heart is warm, longing, and deep
But she has promises to keep
Until then she shall not sleep
She lies in bed with ducts that weep

She rises from her bitter bed
With thoughts of sadness in her head
She idolises being dead
Facing the day with never ending dread

Undying Flame

Images and words
suddenly appear,
words I’ve longed for
hitting deep
as they wrap around
and envelop me,
overwhelming yet satisfying.

Since our last meeting
your ghostly presence arrived
in the oddest of places:
romantic restaurants,
quaint cafes,
art galleries,
long car drives,
concert halls,
walking in a park,
every room of the house,
and late at night in bed.

Days leading up
to the most significant life events,
it was you
always there
and me not finding the right words
to express the emptiness,
the loss,
the longing,
the wanting.

Reunions are great, they say,
as long as you don’t have to deal with the past,
as long as it doesn’t control your present, and
as long as the flame doesn’t consume you.

Yet, here I am standing steadily in the burning flames with you again.

Him, Me, Us

It was the rippling in his hair,
the currents which ran through him
and I caught in his riptide,
always wondering if it was true.

It was the crinkles in his skin around the eyes,
years of wisdom and sun-kissed days,
the spaces that I would soon settle in.

It was our passion that bonded us
as we fluttered with every touch
and floating past each other
not realizing how much
we held each other so dear.

Skimming around what our future would hold,
we knew there was a chance
as long as we were both alive.
Our distance was only a pause
as our dreams and memories
held each other close.

A song, a scent, a fleeting moment
bringing us back together.
A movie, a scene of lovers reminiscing,
that could be us realizing
all of our precious dreams.

And now here we stand,
lovers reunited
though we never parted.
Our story is still young;
dearly loved, deeply devoted,
our hearts still beating as one.