I'm not any good at poetry.
When I speak of you, the words don't come
Measured in stanzas and sonnets.
When I look at you, I don't think
Of lilies or daffodils in spring.
Your voice, while mellifluous,
Doesn't make me think of song.
When I look at you, you're all I see,
My world encompassed in a face.
My universe is bounded by your skin,
Which bewitches me with a touch,
That I cannot think of does.
I can't explain the way I feel
When your eyes look up at me
With perfect rhyming similes.
I have no golden metaphors
To express the way your laughter sounds,
For when you laugh, it's all I hear.
No, I'm no good at poetry---
I love you far too much
They say that first impressions matter. Well---
Mine was homosexuality.
Only gay men are so beautiful,
Correct? The second was when you so frightfully
Glared at me---such penetrating hate
For such little cause! Had I done
Some grievous wrong unknowing? It was fate,
I think, for from any other one
So fair I would have disbelieved your troth
When you came to make it---but having viewed
The change to love from terrifying wroth
How could my heart deny you? I won you
Over, and by winning I am lost.
Never have I so little cared the cost.
I believe in love at first sight.
I was prepared for it,
the strong swift strike,
the sharp barb to the heart.
I saw the danger,
Locked it out,
Denied it entrance.
And when I wasn't looking,
when the lights were out,
and the moon was dark,
It stole around the garden wall
And crept
Slowly
Stealthily
Sneakily
In.
Like the slow vine that climbs and binds,
It encircled me,
entangled me,
enticed me.
And when I wasn't looking,
The cheese was yellow. The bowl was blue. He pushed the last few macaroni around in the bottom of the bowl. Yellow ships in a blue sea, he thought. Yellow and blue. The macaroni made a ring. The yellow was more orange, he corrected himself. Orange like his truck. It was almost like the rubber ducky in the bathtub upstairs. Orange-yellow. Yellow-orange.
He played with the elbows in the bowl. There were four. He pushed them into a line. One, two, three, four. Four yellow. Yellow four. He spun one around slowly with his fork. It looked kind of like a clock with its hands spinning around and around and around. Four clocks in a
Someone is honking nearby. The sound is continuous: HOOOOOONK...
I wish they would stop. I have a headache. My arm hurts.
Why am I upside-down?
There is a steering-wheel against my belly.
I am in a car. It is my car that is honking!
Did I crash?
I can't move my arm. Why?
It is dark. I smell mud, and rain, and wood.
Surely this is just a bad dream. I will wake up any minute now. I am sure of it.
Dimly, I remember:
A van.
Honking.
Braking
swerving
darkness
Is this real? It cannot be real. I just had my brakes checked! I am a good driver! I cannot have crashed. It is a dream.
I am n
Breaking+Finding: Two Sonnets by kalany, literature
Literature
Breaking+Finding: Two Sonnets
1. Breaking
A man may be confused when love goes wrong,
When a woman's heart begins to sour.
They sit in lover's arms, but silence long
Betrays them. And so goes that dismal hour,
When love's great dreams are crumbling at their feet.
To stay is death, too high the price to part
—not so, she comments in an icy heat,
Then leaves him there, clutching remnants of his heart;
She, off to find "a way to live again";
He, damned for sins he does not understand.
"What life is this?" he cries in soul-felt pain,
"Without you, I am but a shadow-man!"
As time does pass, so fade his anguished moans;
All shattered, he accepts defe
I start awake at 10:44, someone is knocking.
I must take my medicine (I have pneumonia).
It is Tuesday, I have missed my first class.
One minute before my alarm would have gone off anyway.
In the kitchen, little pills out of orange bottles -
every 6 hours, two then three, around the clock -
pissing me off, why the hell should I have to be up so early
(never mind physics at 9:30)
My friend says something about centers, and gone, but
my brain isn't working yet, and I nod absently
as I gulp down water out of a blue cup
frosted blue plastic with an insulating filling of water
looks funny with water in it.
10:50, my pills a
A warm weightless blanket sits on my back
From the tall window I know is beside me.
A cool breeze ambles from the double doors
and a chalky taste pokes in from 26-204.
Stickiness on the hard wood bench,
The smell of old coffeespills,
flypaper holding me down
by my tired head.
Clicks below me, faint, fingers on keyboards.
The elevator chimes.
The bench is hard, and varnish taints my throat.
Just like the DeYoung bench was,
Going to see the Water Lilies.
Down the hall, in the Medieval Tapestry Room
Musty fabric and old mugs under fake glass.
It was cold.
Voices from the Monet
Filtered through the centuries in b