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Literature Text
This is a love poem.
It's not a very good love poem
because I don't dot my i's with hearts
or doodle cutesy images on the sides.
It doesn't have rolling images
of romantic moons or meaningful momnents,
and it's lacking in cliched images
and oh-so-lovely-obvious wordplay.
It's not an epic, it's not a sonnet,
and I've not compared
her eyes to stars,
her lips to colors,
her skin to textures,
her breath to flowers,
or her breasts to fruit.
I haven't even said if she's pretty,
or that I love her for or in spite of it.
So what if I don't metaphor her into
a heroine of old,
or a fiery goddess,
or declare her my Helen of Troy,
and go to war with a thousand ships?
This is a love poem.
It's not a very good love poem,
but I don't care.
This is MY love poem.
It's not a very good love poem
because I don't dot my i's with hearts
or doodle cutesy images on the sides.
It doesn't have rolling images
of romantic moons or meaningful momnents,
and it's lacking in cliched images
and oh-so-lovely-obvious wordplay.
It's not an epic, it's not a sonnet,
and I've not compared
her eyes to stars,
her lips to colors,
her skin to textures,
her breath to flowers,
or her breasts to fruit.
I haven't even said if she's pretty,
or that I love her for or in spite of it.
So what if I don't metaphor her into
a heroine of old,
or a fiery goddess,
or declare her my Helen of Troy,
and go to war with a thousand ships?
This is a love poem.
It's not a very good love poem,
but I don't care.
This is MY love poem.
Literature
Icarus
Icarus
The dreamer who dreamed too high.
A myth to subdue glory-seeking youth.
It's the tale of a foolish boy who dared to try to reach the sun,
But the heat was too great,
and his make-shift wings melted,
Dooming him to the frothing waves below.
But is that really the truth?
Maybe it's not a cautionary tale,
But one of hope-
Of hope for all dreamers to come.
He didn't fail to touch the sun,
Rather he touched the greatest glory.
He soared past the bewildered birds,
On past the highest mountains,
On past cold reality
And cruel calculation
Blistering
Blazing
Burning
Literature
The Rumour of Icarus
Icarus—
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails
Literature
You should never attack a poet,
we are the best at exploiting weakness.
the night you took a scalpel to my chest
& fed my heart to the stars,
you told me i could hate you
if i needed to.
with an exorcism
i tried to cast you out
of my body.
i was contorted limbs:
the language of tongues
trying to find myself
in the cosmos
of lit kerosene fingertips,
& the kinds of habits
that only choke me at 3am -
when my eyes aren’t yet heavy
enough for sleep;
my mind tells me to do awful things.
between fucking &
i-don’t-know-who-i-am-
anymore,
you are the calories
in the mathematical equation
scribbled &
scratched out
of me.
i think of shy moons
an
Suggested Collections
This is a classical poem of mine. I try to break the rules- I don't need to be cliche to get the point across, but I -can- be poetic.
© 2007 - 2024 Revosh
Comments4
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All love poems should be like this. Love is unique to each person and everyone will see it the way they want to anyway, so why not let a love poem reflect that? Love it!! =^-^=