This is for you

This is for you
Mr. Secret Agent Man
Who bought me milk when I ran out
Who washed my windows and cleaned my room
Who stayed up with me when I couldn't sleep
And who sang the theme songs of my youth.

I love you.

To go or not to go?

I've been feeling happy recently. Yes, that's boring, but it's a rare feeling for me as well. Also, note to self: Never go to cycling class again. The seats hurt.

Oh, and I have an assignment from my creative writing group to make up the first five lines of a story. Then, when we meet again, we're going to swap them and finish each other's stories. I'm thinking about writing a story from the point of view of a ghost. Or maybe of someone with split personality disorder. Something interesting. Or maybe I should do a happy story like bringing a pet home for the first time or waking up to find that you have cool superpowers.

Lastly, open mic night: To go or not to go? And if I go, what would I do? Interpretive dance? LARPing? Poetry slam? So many options.

Love Poem for the man on the train who stole my sandwich

I remember you running
Down the railway
And how you
Leaped over the turnstile
And dash away with my heart
And my sandwich
(That was my lunch you know).

I remember your coattails
Flapping in your wake
Waving goodbye to me enthusiastically
I should have slipped my phone number
In your coat pocket
That way
You would call me
And I could find out who you are
And where you were
And get my sandwich back
(That was my lunch, you know).

Too bad the police didn't know
That they were chasing after you
For only a few thin slices
Of measly turkey
And limp lettuce
And one tomato
With suspicious purple spots

I remember your big brown eyes
And how smart they looked
Well...
I hope they water
When you taste
The spicy mustard I put on it.
The sandwich, I mean
Not your eyes.

Here's my number.
Call me
Sometime
Mr. Turkey Sandwich Stealer
From the A-Train.
Because I do believe
I have fallen in love with you

But mostly,
I just want my sandwich back
(That was my science project, after all).

Landed

I had just gotten off the bus.
A hundred dollars in my pocket.
Nothing left
But the clothes on my back
And the hope in my heart
Fluttering and sad,
Dying with the morning light.

I landed on your doorstep.
"What are you doing here?'
"I don't know."

And here begins my story:

I met you five years ago
On a dark winter's eve.
It was three days after the new year
And the first day
Of life as I knew it.

You looked plain then.
Nothing special.
Nothing
Out of the ordinary.

We became friends
Had talks over tea
And perused over old films
Discussed disco and diplomacy
Forgoed conclusions.

I liked the way you moved
Steady and quiet
And you liked the way I was kind
Like a home you suddenly remembered.
We laughed while looking away
Too hard to breathe
Too easy to stare
Too perfect to let go...
But I did let you go

It wasn't until you were gone
Out of my life
That I realized your eyes burned
With soft fire
And my eyes were rimmed
With starlight.

Your arms encircled me
To hug me goodbye
My feet stayed rooted
To keep from running away.

I don't want to say goodbye
I don't want to say goodbye.
So I didn't.
I let you leave
And DIDN'T
Watch you go.

And now I'm here.

"I'm here to say goodbye, I guess.
I didn't get to say it
The first time around."

I said goodbye
When what I meant to say was
I love the way your eyes
Move over a photograph
Steady and searching
For glints of starlight
Only you can see.
I love the way you walk
Deliberate and sure
But never earth-shattering.
I love the way you cook
And knead dough
Mash potatoes
Feed the cat.

I love...

I can't say it.
I won't.

"Goodbye to you, too," you say.
We stand in the doorway
Starlight in our eyes
And soft fire emanating
In its coals.

Goodbye means hello
And I miss you
And how are you
And...

"Would you like to come in?"
"Yes. Yes, I would."
"Then come in. We'll have tea
And discuss why
You came three thousand miles
Just to tell me goodbye."

The tea had never tasted so fine.

Commander's Tea

The commander of
Starlit time
Ripped out truncated
Sacks of black jasmine tea
Purloined from the wells of
Dragons, romantics,
And old widowers.

He struck a
Broken match
A broken chord
A broken bargain
Hoping to regain
A gasping chance
Of living past this night

His ship lay swollen
With the members of its
Ragtag crew
Deep in its endoplasmic underbelly

The parabolas of the hull
The circumference of the helm
The parallels of the coaming
And lacing of the crosstrees...

Ah, these he knew too well
He had none other
Than these for companions

The stasis of the ship
The purpose of the trip
Was gone now
Deliquesced...
Like the honey he had
With his tea

Drinking slowly
He looked up
At the ceiling of water
And watched the sun
Make its rounds
Over the tops of the waves.

Everything sacred

We tasted like ice
And burnt cinnamon
Fire sizzled down your throat
And the plaintive mews of yesteryear
Caught in the turn
And twisting
Of my marzipan hands.

You
Of only stark-white
Bone
And magnesium bright
Crossed the nexus
Laying succulent passion fruit
And fury sap
At my feet.

My dainty
Palace feet
Bound and chained
Longed and yearned
To run to you
Heaving and dry--
With the anguish of yesteryear

When will the music fade?
The jazz notes
And blues of smoky
Risque clubs

My palace feet
Will never know
Never conquer
The agony of your earth
O, sing to me
Bring to me
Muses of Ancient times
Of Sicilian olives
And branches most divine

Connect my world and yours
Twisting, twirling
And falling to ashes
Everything sacred
Was found in your balmy eyes
And my palace feet
Never danced again.

Until you come
Bringing me yesteryear
And olives and fruit
Of passion most divine

A Hate Poem (inspired by "Ten Things I Hate About You"

I hate ! I hate! I hate!
What doth I hate? Well, let's see...

I hate the way you care for me
I hate the way you're nice
I hate how you're always there for me
Without ever thinking twice.

I hate your princely manners
I hate your oozing charm
I hate the way you're gentle
And never mean me harm.

I hate the way you dress
I hate your sexy hair
I hate your personality
And how you're always fair.

I hate your sense of humour
I hate that you're never mean
I hate the way you tease me
Yet treat me like a queen.

I hate how the way you hold me
I hate how hard you work
To really get to know me
And all my little quirks.

I hate when you insist to walk me home
I hate the joy you bring
I hate the way you talk to me
Like I'm your everything.

I hate you with a passion
I hate you through and through
But as for how my heart feels...?
Maybe the opposite
Of hate
Will do.