Candled Darkness
She dazzled—
blindingly brilliant.
I was humbled, dim and dull—
overwhelmed by sadness and shame.
Yet, in her glitter and gleam,
She loved my blackened heart,
kept me close, when other
men were blinded by her glare
She smiled.
Au contraire, mon amour.
Darker nights make brighter stars,
the moon shines even more.
Look both ways but listen with an open heart.
Mind the gaps for that’s where stars shine brightest.
My seventh day NaPo adventure is to write at least two poems structured in forms that have a specific number of lines and specific syllable counts per line: the shadorma, and the Fib.
A shadorma is a six-line, 26-syllable poem. Each line’s syllable count is 3/5/3/3/7/5.
A Fib, besides being a white lie, is a six-line form where syllable count is based upon the Fibonacci mathematical sequence of 1/1/2/3/5/8. I may reverse line syllable counts after the first six to 8/5/3/2/1/1.
In both forms, I may use multiple six-line poems to create one multi-stanza poem, provided I use six lines per stanza and the appropriate syllable count per line. Neither form is mentioned in any of my books on poetry, including the Third Edition of Turco’s, The Book of Forms.
Intimacy
dance with me
be my love partner
hold me close
i hold you
step with time to forever
let’s dance into love
forever
i am your lover
music plays
steps we know
we endure as years twirl past
we dance together
(Inspired by the songs “Dance With Me,” by Orleans; and “Dance Me To the End of Love” by Leonard Cohen)
Tree Hugger
All
Life
Is one.
Together
In this challenging
World of delicate us and truth.
Symbiotic mutualism
Will still save us all
Together
We are
One
Life.
(Inspired by this quotation, “It cannot be said too often: all life is one. That is, and I suspect will forever prove to be, the most profound true statement there is.” From A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson)
Look both ways in life and love.
We are not, and wouldn’t survive, alone.
Mind the gaps, plant trees, and be kind to animals.
Yesterday, Morris Mac Davis (January 21, 1942 – September 29, 2020) died, as did Helen Reddy (25 October 1941 – 29 September 2020). Mac was a country music singer, songwriter, and actor, originally from Lubbock, Texas. He was one of (if not the) my wife’s favorites. I wrote this poem a few weeks ago. I kind of relate it to his song, The Words Don’t Come Easy.
Grant Me the Words
I want words to share with her,
to impress her, to draw her closer.
Are there such words? Is what I feel
a force? One that words can’t say?
Words must say what I want. This world isn’t
perfect. People have people issues,
life is life, it is all relative. Except love.
Love is not relative. Love comes in thousands
of different flavors. That love is not this love.
Each is special. Each unique. Each its own.
The pain is not the love, it is not the passion,
it is not the physical or mental human reality.
It is the inability to tell another human being
how much you love them. How much you care.
We suffer most not because we love, but because
we lack the humanity to share our words of love
with the world, because we don’t know what they are.
But we try. We must always try.
Look both ways at the good things in life, like love.
Mind the gaps for lessons and reasons. Always try.
They don’t come easy but find the words.
Our Literary Journey 