Can I forget you,
And your memories-sweet?
Can I need you not,
After all we've been through?
Could I find one day
That my heart loves another,
That my soul's bond is not of one trail?
Could I, in my need of you
Mingle my heart's life in another's cup?
Would I falter in my love,
Looking in another's eyes?
Would I learn to love another,
If I tried?
Should I need you less
When I could have so much more?
Should I run from this fate
So beset with baleful sorrows?

No. Nay. Never.
I love you, I love you.
I love you, and only you.
What is time to me, when it stands still
Whenever you leave my world?
What is joy, if not mingled
In your delightful sour-sweetness?
What is a silver lining in the clouds
If the sun is absent from the sky?
What is peace,
If all that's left is empty loneliness?

You cry a lot,
You mope at times.
You laugh at me,
You belittle me too, sometimes.
You can be mean,
You can be nasty,
You could be all I really didn't need right now.

But...
You make me smile,
You make me sing,
You make love last
And shine through in everything.
You keep me company
Even when you and I are both blue.
You hate me,
And still tell me you love me too.

And I do need you,
Love you
More than you will ever know.
I dare not speak of letting you go.
I dare not hope for anything more than this?
For whomever else, could make me swoon
And know pure joy in the simple boon of a kiss?

You are love to me.
You are the spice of life.
My love.
I love you.

The bitter wind cut through
As razor sharp as needles
Penetrating skin and bone
I could not see
And relied on the guidance
Of passing lights
Foot falls were anticipated
Seeking new, hidden dangers
As feather-white precipitation
Sashayed to the ground
And off in the frozen horizon
I heard your call
But as we crossed paths
There was no warmth
Between eye to eye
We were strangers

© Donna Roberts

all broken hearts and broken skin
eventually need some medicine
eyes dull and brain coughing up
images of pain
nerves taut and ears sharpened
to the point of no return
now only the path
leading towards madness
is the easiest road to take

your hands could mold love into perfection,
or break every
single
thing.

The trains don't run on New Year's Day.
We had no need for tickets anyway,
prompted to take the chance
to walk the tracks
as we'd always wanted to.
You can't say it's not one
of life's finer pleasures,
laying down your destination on the rails
and following to see where it takes you.
All the same
it had been the thrill of uncertainty
that had brought us here.

He played gymnast,
balancing on beams and dancing over rocks
as I made to topple him, grinning
(and feeling, rather blissfully)
like a five-year-old
set free from rules
and the threats of authority.

And when we reached the bridge
the tracks formed on the river
I kept on,
intrigued at whether or not he
would follow.
I looked back at him;
his hesitation was palpable
but follow he did,
and then I could not doubt him anymore.
We both shivered
from the cold
and the danger
of what should happen if a foot were to catch
or the wind were to blow too fiercely.
He kept at my side
faithfully
and we didn't quite make it out to the middle
as our courage failed us at last.
But the thought that we might have
or one day could
was enough of an adventure for today.

We strolled across the footprints we'd left
and raced back into town,
oblivious,
and I thought it so unfair that I couldn't enjoy him like this
every second,
that I would never appease his desires;
for it was not me
whom he had eyes for.
I knew not if one such existed,
but it was clear it was not --
nor ever would it be --
me.

So I delighted in his presence
at the stagnant trainyards,
grateful for his time
and that he called me friend,
and playfully, lover.
And I half-wished there had been a train
to act as a quick getaway
to remove him from my mind
to make the day worth it.

Instead I watched the tracks,
motionless and ready to receive,
and all of a sudden I needed
more than trains and submarines,
more than tracks that lead nowhere,
more than this.

--dlf

i'm standing at
the edge

and the world is at
my feet

and it's waiting right under
my nose

just waiting for me
to leap

Note: This is by no means meant as an insult to Jesus. The man is fantastic, even though I am an atheïst - I was raised as a Christian. Please don't read if you are a strict believer and have a problem with Jesus being mentioned in silly poetry with a deeper thought.

Excerpt:

Couching
The spoons that sprung from the cupboard
Leaving their spouses, the cups far behind
Hid safely behind the large red couch, aboard
Of the dust bunny ship a-sail away to the far

The rest can be found here.

In this New Year
my quill lays unsung,
parchment slowly curling,
like Time's fetal unfurling.

Oh you ragged vane quill,
poemless much too long,
spill thy burden of ink onto
this skin of stillborn lamb.

Release me from this
frozen time, this place
where thoughts are dark,
poets lonely and silent.

*I always love feedback/critiques/suggestions. Thanks for readings

Flower Heads and Grain

We were conceived
as vulnerable spindles

w/ ballet eyes

made of metal & glass.

In a palm or on a femur,
sleep is a pulley.

We revise:

Rest
is not gained.

We hit the pummel horse
like street drummers.

Tribal rhymes.

In the kitchen sun,
apples melting in a pot,
silver whisk
& crank.

In a cabin
w/ Henry, pen
& lantern.

We leave behind
ink fingerprints

smudgeclouds on the
tabletops.

We are the undeniable

walking through
phonetic arches while

Whitman continues
to heal Newark.
We prove & define.

______________
http://thebroadset.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/Broadset

Loves Splinter

and yes i know your souls on fire
i see your heart
i see your splinter
i see the wound that festers and refuses to heal
and your eyes tell me
show me the story
laid out in plain
for all who care to see
how the splinter became lodged
by the hand that was loved
the trust that was broken
and the pain of the memory
that's forever burned in your eyes

hold my hand dear i'm
getting wet feet and
i know it has been
awhile, quite awhile
but you make me want to
feel the way i used to
feel all over again.

Under the oak
I stood there
Waiting
As leaf began as bud
Full of promise
Until hues of greens, reds
And tarnished golds
Were falling, twirling free
And thoughts
Awashed my mind
Of my Father
And how he came to pass
We were of the same seed
Does the apple
Not fall far
From the tree?

© Donna Roberts

i am a mountain climber
i climb mountains
over there is a goat
he too climbs mountains
i contemplate Olympus
and long for ambrosia
he already believes he is a god
this may explain why i sometimes slip
yet he does not
some of us will eat anything
those of us who do not
are victims of scarcity
my philosophy is now that of the goat
i the satyr
sing songs
sure footed, iron gulleted
i am now the conqueror of life
never shall i tumble again

I feel the emptiness of your soul even though you’re not here
I feel the heat of your coldness even when you’re no longer with me

The lights go out and you still glow
The dust fades out and my mind flows

I feel the loneliness of your smile
I feel the man who pretends to be an isle
I feel the shape of an endless exile

Touchless, Thoughtless, tenseness
Fearless, loveless, Relentless

The ice melts after a cloudy day
The sun paints the sky with blinding rays
You’re the brightest in heaven
The very image of hell’s decay

When in my eyes there’s only you
I can’t even feel the pain of yesterday
All I yearn is for a quiet peaceful delay
As I dance among the ashes of fate

I bathe in the night, when the full moon rises
I clap hands when the time freezes slightly

I quietly wait for your heart to bloom someday
So I can feed the beast which took my heart away
And pour out these feelings that drive me insane

I feel your presence when I look away
I wish I could beg you to stay
I smell your scent when you slip away
I hear your breathing when I’m not awake

Faceless, sightless, ravenous desire
Restless, merciless, sadness pyre

Lend me the key of your neverending happiness
Let me set you free from the shackles of forgetfulness
Lead me to the depths of your body and soul
Man, and Creature
Pain, and oblivion