Divorce, Single Parenting, Dating, Sex, & Self-Recovery

Posts tagged “poetry


[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

i have waited for her for so long
i am beginning to make up stories
tell myself lies
that when she arrives
i will be sure to wipe clean the slate
there are no known roads ahead
we have never been here before
and have no maps for what’s next
best to stay in the touch and now
in the shine and slick of skin
and not let our hearts get ahead
of what we cannot comprehend
nor predict


creative commons usage: peter burge, atlantic aveimage: atlanic ave, peter burge, creative commons usage


it’s just desire

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

dusky-walking-smthis cloud this haze this drugged moment
as if the dark air of loneliness
was escaping with a hiss
around the edges of my heart
breaking the fourth wall of reason
for something more dangerous

an ache
that before was theory
that before involved maps and strategies
there is no strategy for this feeling
no point in burning maps
they are all you know of the shore
the stars above twinkle
as the path winds into darker nights
knowing now what was missing
and if

aiming away from solitude
towards some idea
of risk and feeling
where the wild things are
what hungers
and leaps
in the spaces between touch
and touching
and anticipation of touch
wrestling to pull back the sail
before capsizing the journey
diving into a course
before the destination is shared

it is delirious and delicious
this ambrosia of moments
dreaming you into being
even as your strong signals
say yes
say slow
say hello

a part of our souls
have set sail
even in this imaginary boat together
we’re calling out subtle directions
affirming the small lines we have begun to trace
in the flickering light
of the map room



[from a coffee love letter – poetry]

ember - a coffee love letter - poemsi want to see what you see
when the joy lights up your eyes
i want to know that it was me
who caused this wonderous moment
i want to feel how your skin
goes from chilled to flaming
i want to break off a piece
of this fire i know of
and place it inside you
so you too are warm
as we part for days
i want the glow to remain
so you know
i am still


no longer vivid

[from a coffee love letter – poetry]

lady in black - coffee love letters - poetryif i had her breast for a pillow
i would never get out of bed
if her hair were in my eyes
i’d cry and arc with joy
if some sound was still in my ears
from her joyous moans
i would remember to not be lonely
but the images are no longer vivid
the ache now from emptiness
rather than friction and fire


outside edges

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]


i walk the outside edges tonight
seeking a warmth
stars are hidden by smoke or clouds
with the hazy coming of winter here
and you have still not arrived
though my prayers are swift
true and pure
it is me that still needs tending
in the burning desire
that turns in on itself


image: creative commons usage – lite-bright art

and you are alight

you are alight - poetry - the off parent[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

i am holding an open door
without demands or expectations
there is joy inside and music
an easy repose and repartee
to adjust your daily muse
and moods of blue and red and black
all find voice
and comfort
it is a symphony i seek
where the orchestrations are by choice
and desire
and hope
you are invited
to begin a journey
to join in with harmonies and melody
to sing with your own voice
i listen
i have grown tired of my own solos
even as I work to keep the wind vigorous
i am ready to throw open the windows too
and let the weather change everything
push the papers, sheets, and past around
and reconfigure magic
into madness of spirit
higher and brighter
and towards a still point
of such balance
where striving stops again
you have known this peace
where ambition is paired with contentment
as best of friends
and the flex and stretch
comes from energy and joy
and you are alight


image: used via creative commons, Doorway in Muslim district in Ajmer

the beat and beat and pause

they are flowers, they are pens

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

perhaps all this fire just beneath the surface
presents me as a dangerous poet
a romantic with ocd
i can’t seem to stop the words
when i’m happy
or high
an intoxicating sheen
i try to infuse
even when i speak
i listen to the cadence
the beat and beat and pause
the heart of the words
i am trying to connect to her heart
linking us
to pull her closer
all with pause
and patience
and silence enforced
while the words pour on
i give her a rest
obsession is not pretty
rich romantic notions
can be unhealthy
overwhelm the fragile stability
i know
i am aware
of my own raging fires
i have learned
this venting process


fall and falling and me

burning leaves - poetry

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

tonight the burning leaves
bring mysterious memories to mind
of women, rough blankets, hard kisses
in this cold turning of dark
i am alone
and walking

is this exquisite longing
this curating of desire
an escape for jumping back in
into the pile of leaves
and dirt and chaos
and scraped knees
am i enjoying my musing
more than i would a good kissing

or something rarer perhaps
at play
at rest with myself
i am not longing with my soul
i am longing with my heart
refinding center
at peace
as me

i love the falling
i would love to fall
i have a fear of falling
an error could set me back 11 years

i miss falling
i won’t settle for hopping
or hoping
i need full flight
breathless abandon

without that
the fall is scented with imaginings
again of who or where she might be

i don’t want all right
i don’t crave steady, or solid, or sure
i don’t fall for youth or red lips
i see them, i see potentials everywhere
but they can’t hear me
there is not much to see at the moment
i am reforming


image used via creative commons: heat

accidental angels

accidental angels - the off parent

 [from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

accidental angels have landed in my life
only a few times
each had a message
usually about sex
sometimes about hope

imagine my surprise at 21 years-old
to find an angel in my car with me
taking her clothes off as we speed towards the lake
it’s too cold to get out of the car or swim
she is naked
says she’s a virgin, but I can’t believe that
and i remember the music
and kissing and
driving her back to her cousin’s house
she was visiting
i guess angels have cousins too

the second angel came with flower tattoo on her shoulder
and a smile that lit up the selfie network
unlike any before or since
and she spoke of rain and cure songs
as the chorus of mutually assured flight was determined
she liked tequila and sappy love songs
on her second return flight she hit a dense fog
and never arrived
though her smiling selfies and empty coffee cups
still flutter by occasionally

the most recent flyby was more dangerous
she was still encumbered in the process
in the leaving
and i must’ve seemed like a perch of pause
but i became a leaping off point
and she has since flown away
though her whispers are also still echoing
across the cellular airways

i’m not ready for another angel
i’d prefer a woman
and even then, i’m not sure i’m ready
but perhaps you never are
they are all angels
after all


image is used courtesy of ricardo acevedo and model sera

eyes to the bottom of the pool

a poem of missing someone before we even met

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

i’m not waiting for her to make the first move
kiss first
ask for the 2nd date
but I am anticipating that she will provide
some sign
an indication
that will fuel or foul my flames
and she did
and it was a no
and now I can move on
i may never know what why or how
and she will most likely not offer
so we drift
back to our lanes
eyes to the bottom of the pool
and swim on


image: hockney inspired photo

in the coils

in the coils of her dark wet hair

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

in the coils of her dark wet hair
i could lose a lifetime
slipping into something more comfortable
i would give up oxygen
if it meant i could stay safe
in the fresh deep smell
of a woman
so clean
so completely


image: untitled used by creative commons license

the slivered moon

the off parent - slivered moon

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

there they go again
those coyotes
reminding me of your absence
i walk
i look
i better myself
and nothing

the slivered moon sees you
but i don’t

the howls remind me
the bed reminds me
the feeling beneath my chest
knows something is missing

a dark moment
full of promise
maybe they are talking to me
to her

i am not ready
i am not ready
i am not finished
completing myself

this perfecting loneliness
is honest work
if you can stomach the hours

perhaps the howling
is felt
by many


seeking each moment

cold clear stars

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

kissing this night
and the crickets singing
in harmony with the clear cold stars
holding this image of fascination
with just where you are
how the light of this darkness
strikes your heart
your fancy
and are you longing too


word after word seeking another

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

ensnaring her in my imagination
she stumbles across my words
rapt and tingling from the assumptions
she is young and old
and finding new pleasures
where the previous ones have gone missing
i meet her in my projections
lover, romantic, singer, dancer
i too am shutting down old wings
unproductive castings
lost kisses
in this very word
and this one
she is taken


word after word seeking another

fall arriving

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

and the weather changed and changed everything
i smile, imagining your smile
as the leaves swished down and past
rain smell and damp earth hunger
and memories, hopes, and dreams
of you

you called


fall arriving

peacefully anticipating someone

wing tattoos

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

we don’t have much time
and all the time in the world lies before us
it is about what we choose
who we are to become
and what cast of characters we’d like to
write into the next scene

i sit here
type type typing
and you there
type type typing
working for a living
and a moment
and the space

if we choose something else
we have decided
if ‘maybe’ is the constant answer
no is the result

i am not saying this
i am typing this
i am afraid
to say

i want you
to crave you
to have and to
it might be easy
but only time will tell
this time
that tics and clicks away
beneath our fingers
across the backs of our wings

i have known flight
and i can remember what that feels like
the ground is no place for dreamers
and lovers

perhaps the lover in you is still obscured
or perhaps it is me

any moment
is every moment
and without you
they are alone

but alone

i am ready to be not-alone

i imagine smelling your neck
and the coarseness of your toes after a long walk
the dampness

this rain comes
blows and goes
this breath returns again and again

i am singing as loud as i know how
but i am still learning
i am working on it


you must work on yourself
and the lover you may become
if you want to

i can ask

i can sing, and swoop, and dip
i fly nearby
i flutter

i type type type
you type type type
but the words are not for each other

the words
the wings
the wind beneath my heart
peacefully anticipating

arriving here again
at patience


an easy wish

from my point of view

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

if i had a way to reach out and stroke your back i would
just a touch to let you know i am here
i am thinking about you
and hope that you are smiling
it is an easy wish
there are so many strands between us
communication devices and channels
but this is different
i want you to feel me
i want you to notice my absence
and in that moment
i want you to remember how often i touch
not with a question or a request
just a hello
a reassurance
a nudge towards a happy direction
this is what i am imagining right now
to you
this touch



diving into the ocean

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

after the 27th unanswered love poem
i discovered
of course i already knew
that i was making the whole thing up
maybe i had been ambiguous
or lacking in direct action
a poem is not exactly a kiss


i believe, i pray, i fly

poem of desire - love poem - beach[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

and if i bring poems to her and she doesn’t understand
when i sing songs and she gets bored
if i offer a casual massage and she’s too busy
what then?

and if i ask and provide opportunities
when i wait and hold out hope
can i become addicted to longing
what then?

i know what missing you feels like
before we’ve even met
i can smell you, and feel your hair in my face
i know what i have lost

and if the shower after the day on the beach
and the cool dark unfamiliar room
rough and clean white sheets
the curtains billowing in the blow of the ac

and if my longing does not call you in
and my waiting proves fruitless again
i can still send out sirens songs
and use this desire as a sail

of course i hunger for her
and a near miss is a miss completely
and a word, a poem, a song, are precious
even without an ear to whisper into

in fibers deep in my soul i know
she is nearby, doing her thing
i am not finished with my baking
these ‘projects’ are just beginning

perhaps at this moment
she would be a distraction
and from afar she is muse, lover, mother
vixen, tease, goddess, everything

i know what longing feels like
i learned to do without even when she was next to me
i can thrive alone, in desirous creation
i don’t want to, but i do

sing along little bird
bring your bright feathers into my mouth
give flight to your fantasies as well
there is time, there is time, there is always time

hearts a flutter in beautiful presence
i am still becoming more loveable
my plan is drawing you in
even as I have failed to execute in the past

i can call, and write, and throw
poems and intentions and agendas at you
i can wait and be patient
to see if you will ignite

perhaps you are that one
that madonna that brings me to god, again
again, I am ready
i believe, i pray, i fly

i believe, i pray, i fly



it’s about time


[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

and then i open my mouth and I have no idea what comes out
i’m nervous, in love, tortured to make contact
and nothing

it’s not that absence makes the heart grow at all
absence is just lack of you, face time, touch time, touch
all these virtual pokes and likes and touch-ins
are no match for the rush of time, tic, time, tic
it’s about time

it’s about time



endless running

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

she opened her mouth like she opened her mind
i could not stay there
a language i did not warm up to
running, all this endless running
she was fit and pretty
and must have heard a similar discord
she paid, but didn’t return my texts


girl in running shoes

anticipating the rain with you

i am anticipating you

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

i am anticipating the ocean with you
the rain and the clouds
the sounds and the smells
of you

i am anticipating the touch of your hand
the taste of your lips
and how i feel when i think of being
with you

i am anticipating your next move
falling into step
and falling asleep
beside you

i am anticipating how you sound
when you laugh or moan
in an instant i can almost
imagine you

i am anticipating someone who can light the sky
silence the night
walk down beaches in the dark
holding you

i am anticipating the disruption of everything i imagine
of plans and hopes and dreams
now even more real than my hopes
about you

i am anticipating



i want to know again

drawing the little black dress

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

i will find my next great love
there will be no trail of little black dresses
across the countryside
i will slow down the runaway train
i will listen
i am patient

i wait with intention
i listen and learn
even what I am saying I want

and she will assemble for me
necessary shapes and smells
she will embody

i will find the next great love
and I will love again
without tether

actively seeking
i slow my roll
i clear and cleanse my palette
i get quiet and hollow
i can feel the emptiness
that once was filled
joyous and thrilling

she arrives when she comes
she arrives and asks me the tough questions
she had other plans
she opens just a little to see how I will respond

i am not waiting for someone to board my train
i am not looking for enmeshment
i am looking to stand strong and together with her
when she is ready to let me in
when the trust, and passion, and easy living of life
is too much to resist
she will be in my arms
and I will know
i have arrived
at possible

i had her once and lost
i will have her again
she is mine
she is ripe
she waits without waiting
she knows nothing

everything is an opening before us
and in the fresh air of the morning or the late chill of the evening sky
i can imagine what it will be like to be with her
in this moment

and she is fluttering nearby
she is sleeping
it is late

i cannot reach out to her just yet
it is too soon to tell
what kind of lover she will make
it is too soon to meet her child
it is too soon to hope beyond the doubt that awakens inside the hopefulness
it is too soon to give my poem an object

if we find a connection
and we both ask for more
if she listens and speaks
if her flame is brightening and warming

if i know anything, i know that i love well
and i will love her with everything i have
i do not hold back

i know that i will love well again
i know that the little black dress is a metaphor and a gateway
i am looking for that drug that never ceases to amaze
that cosmic mist
to come over our eyes and make everything sparkly

i want to sleep, laugh, cuddle, caress on into my hundreds
and i’d like to do it with one more woman
all these sirens are confusing
i think i know
i don’t know

i want to know again


little bird

Screen Shot 2013-04-23 at 9.03.49 AM

[from a coffee love letter – poetry]

little bird
i would do nothing to hurt you
underestimating my strength
pausing to let you pass
opening hand