Love Poetry? Ha.

Well even though not many people read this blog, sometimes I feel embarrassed to post every poem I write because they feel so personal. And then time goes by and I think "Ah, who cares." That's my current mood. So maybe I'll reconsider later, but now I'm going to post four poems that aren't really love poems, but I could see people calling them that, so whatever. I've worked on these poems a while now, but as always I appreciate constructive feedback so that I can improve.

I Wish
my muse sat still across from me
while the outdoor café bustled beneath the glimmer
lamp posts, car lights, a weary moon
somehow, we talked about dreams
and I said they were like fortune cookies
printing happiness with fake futures
adding color where there was only gray

she said that rainbows did the same
the hues were as hidden as the pot of gold
when the sunlight hit the final raindrops
I expressed a wish to see beyond such dark clouds
but she only smiled because it wouldn’t be enough
certain dreams drizzle on the mind forever
and some make sense and others make art
the restaurant paintings that I recognized
the people eating at the wrought iron tables
schoolmates family and friends

this is when I realized the gray about her
the hair the eyes I couldn’t remember
or why we had come together like this
when did her voice begin to sound like mine
it was then the morning light opened my eyes
to a ceiling shadowed by shutters
and my body embraced by a quilt of falling stars

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The End of Magic
My heart is warm with magic,
but restless nights of being left in the dark
leave me colder every morning.

I can’t be the wind forever,
untouched until I touch you.
You take no more notice

then to pull the hair from your eyes.

I wish you would seek me like water,
As a thirst within you, I’d be everywhere.
You could find me if you wanted.

But imagination like this is a cold thing.

Even if I were fire, you add nothing.
Surely you feel me, but you sit and smile,
watching me smolder and die out.

I wish I were already cold,
when hope’s glow flickers in and out.
Give me that magic, or I’ll turn to stone.

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High-School Crush
You were the gust of wind
that I believed I could never catch,
yet I would chase you all over again
if we were children once more.
I have long forgotten the feel of butterflies
turning in sweeping arcs within me,
but not the warmth that seeped from your smile
to my innocent bleeding heart.

I bottled you up in a jar
and placed it on my desk by my journal.
In time it leaked onto the open pages,
but the stains were beautiful, if black.
Out spilled the moments when I saw you.
Once you cried outside our classroom.
Do you know how powerless I felt?
You taught me the meaning of “crush.”

Another time you asked if I was shy.
I answered truthfully that I was,
but I didn’t mention how you opened me
little by little on young hinges.
When I was lonely on prom night
we danced two dances -
One for hope, when you asked me,
and one for courage, when I asked you.

We watched a sad love story together.
In that black room I didn’t know
the answer to your simple question –
Did she die, or was it merely a dream?
I thought I only made mistakes and fools,
so tell me, did I ever understand?
I wonder, sometimes, if you hid these memories
and put them in your small jewel box.

Is the first day buried deep inside there?
You were new, left behind, lost.
I found you and we walked around together.
Perhaps the wind blew past us both.
These are all memories I remember,
with a far-off gaze into nothing,
and laughter tinged by regret.
You were my high-school days.

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Caged Dreams
When my small dreams escape their cages,
I imagine they wander down the hallway and the stairs,
between the buildings and the trees over to your place.
Do you also hear the knock on your door?
Nobody’s there, but you look out anyway and wait
in case reality takes the form of your hope.
It’s silence that plays these simple tricks on us,
that makes us open up to strangers.

And my dreams speak with you as you leave home;
they keep you company and ask you about your day.
Perhaps they are coaxing your dreams to come out
to see if they are beautiful, if love is no nightmare of yours.
If only you would reveal that I am inside of you,
we could know that we are more than these dreams.
But every morning they return to me with tight lips,
leaving me more tired and confused then when I slept.

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Well, there we go. Hope you enjoy them!