Love Does Not Dwell Solely in the Mind

For Amy Lynn Watkins

To make it burn you have to throw yourself in. – Galway Kinnell

‘Faith, love does not dwell solely in the mind,
And will not be controlled by intellect.
It infects the soul, and makes us blindly
Expose that which we oft’ strive to protect;
‘Tis lunacy to pretend we can love
Both truly and carefully – attempting
To keep one foot safe outside the flames of
Passion – for our own hearts are unyielding;
No breast can be proofed ‘gainst Cupid’s arrow –
The magic of love allows no defense.
We must fall completely, or grow hollow;
Razed in the battle ‘twixt madness and sense.
Real love can not flourish by increment,
We must submit and burn in sweet torment.

The Mad Sonneteer Featured in a YouTube Video

Yours truly has been included in a YouTube video promoting an anthology that published three of my pieces (including two sonnets).

The video includes the best picture ever taken of me, and two lines from my sonnet, "The Ways That My Body Remembers Yours."

Check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qzfj3fGJ5G4
(I come in around the 3:43 mark.)

Enjoy.

Two Sonnets in Eclectic Flash - September 2010

Two of my sonnets -- "A Simple Word Too Easily Said" and "Poets Never Really Die by Suicide" -- appeared in the September 2010 issue of Eclectic Flash, an online and print literary journal (eclecticflash.com/home.html).

Here is a link to the electronic version of the issue: http://issuu.com/eclecticflash/docs/vol_1_sep_2010?mode=embed&layout=http%3A%2F%2Fskin.issuu.com%2Fv%2Flight%2Flayout.xml&showFlipBtn=true

My works are on pages 13 and 40.

Enjoy.

There's Nothing More to See Here

The chalk outline, white against the concrete,
Marks the scene of the crime, as a crowd
Gathers, like greedy vultures, in the street.
“Did someone jump?” a voice calls out loud;
“Heart attack?” “Yes,” a cop answers, as he
Unspools police tape to control the mob.
“Well…no,” he thinks to himself. “Not really.”
“People, move back now, let me do my job!”
As a cold drizzle falls, he turns to see
Initials scrawled inside the dusty heart
Blur slowly, then melt away in a sea
Of tears, as two lovers, now torn, depart.
“Folks,” the cop says, as a dream disappears,
“Move along; there’s nothing more to see here!”

Poets Never Really Die by Suicide

The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.
– Ernest Hemingway

Poets never really die by suicide,
The sad victims of self-inflicted harm;
Though it’s often the cause the Times will cite,
In obits written while the body’s still warm;
They do not succumb to mere oven gas,
Single-car “accidents” on long, straight roads,
Exposure, starvation, or shotgun blasts;
Nor to drowning, slit wrists, or overdose;
Sadly, many fall long before they jump,
Or break their necks at the end of a rope;
They die when faith is lost and spirits slump;
When this mortal life leaves them without hope.
The cause of death need not be picked apart,
For poets only die of broken hearts.

There is a Poem in That Photograph

A sonnet to celebrate a photograph taken by Valena David

For Julie Thiry

There is a poem in that photograph;
The verse slyly hidden amongst the rain,
Writ on her luminescent skin, and half-
Concealed in the waves of her tousled mane.
Rhyme bubbles up from enigmatic eyes,
While the hint of a grin creases her cheek;
It spills words in a Mona Lisa guise,
Which says so much, although she does not speak.
Critics will explain away the magic,
With talk of composition and background,
Missing the mystery – the poetic –
Searching for meaning better left unfound.
I give my pen, weak as it is, to raise
Up both artist and Muse in highest praise!

The Ways That My Body Remembers Yours

For Amy Lynn Watkins

My lips remember the curve of your neck,
And my tongue recalls the taste of your skin.
My fingers can feel the warmth of your back,
And my ears hear you moan my name again;
Your wondrous perfume returns to my nose,
And your eyes penetrate…searching in mine.
When I think of the times I’ve held you close,
Each sense ignites a fire in my mind;
Our bodies entwined, melting together
In a warm and wet enveloping cloud,
Were caught in illusions of forever,
As lust wrapped us both in the Dragon’s shroud.
Muse, my passion demands that I explore
The ways that my body remembers yours.

I Would Write My Poems on Your Body (Redux)

For Amy Lynn Watkins

I would write my poems on your body,
With words that linger like kisses on skin;
Timeless lines praising all you embody,
And find no shame in committing this sin;
I would give sonnets like warm caresses,
To trace o’er your flesh eliciting sighs,
And pen for you most unworthy verses
Of love many know only with their eyes;
The fire of our passion would become art,
Raging higher as desire mates with rhyme,
Requiring no fuel but these beating hearts
To defeat assured death and outlast time.
On flesh and bone the world will take its toll,
But love grants endless life unto your soul.

'Tis Sin to Write for Thee Perilous Beauty

For Jamey.

‘Tis sin to write for thee Perilous Beauty,
Praising hair infused with streaks of gold;
While to hold peace is the law and duty,
I here defy God, and so curse my soul;
When by convention I should be silent,
Denying my pen the words you inspire,
Your loveliness compels me to relent,
And thus celebrate eyes cut from sapphire;
In truth, I am a scoundrel to transgress
Upon sacred vows with mellifluent
Rhymes of lips and skin, though I must confess,
I blush at my guilt, but do not repent.
Accuse me not of mere concupiscence,
In faith, my love will serve as my defense.

You Haunt My Soul With Unmerciful Eyes

For Christina Martinez

You haunt my soul with unmerciful eyes,
That wound my spirit where no blade can reach,
Down in the place my candescent heart lies,
And time no longer serves to heal the breach;
Before your torrid gaze once more I stand
Defenseless; searching for some safe harbor
On a sea of passion; I beg your hand
To save my heart and sustain my labor;
I have faced this peril before and know
Those orbs are filled with unspoken sorrow,
But delight and deceit be damned below,
To the Devil I’ll condemn my marrow.
Against this tempest love I am powerless,
And left but to rage in Lear-like madness.

Your Beauty Makes a Coward of My Tongue

For Erene.

Your beauty makes a coward of my tongue,
As if thy form has robbed me of my voice.
With Cupid’s blind-shot arrow am I stung,
Though, by my faith, I dote without a choice;
Your lips steal the very breath from my lungs
And drive my mind beyond the edge of sense.
By the heat of thy touch, is thought o’erwrung,
Yet, by that same palm, I crave indulgence;
While ‘tis sin to love thee, I’ll be brave still,
Praying such boldness overwhelms your heart.
Give me thy hand, if it should be thy will,
And I’ll stoke the fires of passion with art.
But speak my name and all I am is thine,
For with my pen I’ll praise thy love divine.

If Age Presented No Impediment

For Erene.

If age presented no impediment,
As it were but sand falling through a glass,
I would wish you to release the love pent
Within my pen, a love too long held fast;
Measure not the thread of my graying years,
Nor let your gaze linger upon my scarred
Visage, but let me live within your gyre,
And bestow upon me your love unbarred;
It is in thy pow’r to unlock my mind.
Oh, part the long centuries and grant me
The gentle touch of your Greek sisters nine,
And I will spend love’s labours but for thee.
Young heart, I would desire you my Muse,
To give, by thy love, words for me to use.

In Truth, How Worthless Have My Words Become

For "Her."

In truth, how worthless have my words become,
When I have so long pledged myself to thee?
Is’t possible to dip a pen struck dumb
By the absence of such a Muse as thee?
What shall I write when my prose is cheapened,
With patronizing rhymes dripping in ink,
When with denial my sadness has deepened,
And pain I endure when of you I think?
I must now doubt my course when next I find
A companion heart to beat next to mine;
The perfect match of body and of mind,
A soul content to paint outside the lines.
How may I again profess love as sweet,
When I have writ such ardent words for thee?

This Sonnet is a Requiem for Love

For "Her."

This sonnet is a requiem for love
Once blinding and hot as the August sun,
Now faded, awaiting the early fall of
Leaves as winter’s chill cools spring’s passion;
I do here repent the words, penned for thee
While I languished in love unrequited,
Tortured by touches used to deceive,
And forced from Diana’s table unsated;
For too long I sought asylum in your
Memory, finding instead a prison
Of false solace, and my mind given o’er
To an Ophelian loss of reason.
I pray my heart, like a phoenix, shall rise;
Reborn to delight in a new love’s eyes.

Damn'd Cupid has Forever Cursed Me

For "Her."

Damn’d Cupid has forever cursed me
To dote on imperfection’s perfection;
With my eye to admire her beauty,
While my heart bleeds, battered by rejection;
The Archer’s arrow easily pierced my breast,
Though she, to love’s wound, was proof’d it seems.
Now visions of joy have been smashed to dust,
And the failures suffered infect my dreams;
Am I thus condemned to crawl in darkness,
The blind victim in this malicious hoax;
Destined to be consumed by emptiness,
And forever doomed to pursue her ghost?
Oh, impious devil, pity my plight;
Release my heart that I may turn to light.

My Fault Lies Chiefly in Loving You Still

For "Her."

My fault lies chiefly in loving you still.
It casts a shadow over all I feel,
Clouding my mind, overwhelming my will,
And closing my heart in a tomb of steel;
This yearning is a malignant cancer,
Cut out time after time, but never cured.
Age only makes the failure grow larger,
Ensuring that my soul remains immured;
Memory serves to refresh my pain with cruel
Truth: I will never be free of this curse;
This defect will force me to play the fool
Until I draw my last breath on this Earth;
My splintered heart lives shrouded in darkness,
While my mind drifts further into madness.

A Universe Begins With Just a Kiss

A universe begins with just a kiss,
The gentle touching of trembling lips,
An exploration of innocent bliss,
And the measured tracings of finger tips;
We take each other in with ragged breaths,
Enduring the raw pleasurable pain,
Inhaling fragrances of mingled sweat,
As every move becomes the other’s gain;
We promise ourselves a lifelong romance,
While lying together in a close curve,
Intertwining in this tender dance
Of pulsating heartbeats and exploding nerves.
Love grows into passion, and leads to this:
A universe begins with just a kiss.

To the Lady With Whom I Would Grow Old

For "Her."

To the Lady with whom I would grow old,
The beauty who owns my heart, I offer,
Faithful companionship as years unfold,
And countless days of loving none but her;
When in long counted years I reach four score,
It is your company that I desire;
To hold your hand and feel my spirit soar,
‘Til I go to Heaven, or to Hell’s fire;
In the march of time, sharp-edged lust will dull,
To be replaced by smoldering passion;
An enduring heat that permits no lull,
And that will serve to temper devotion.
My love and muse; my friend and guiding star;
The faith I hold in thee can ne’er be marred.

Love, of You, I Desire a Favor

For "Her."

Love, of you, I desire a favor;
A tattered scarf or a plain strip of lace.
Some gift to sustain me when I waver;
A light to lead me from the darkest place;
I beg some physical inspiration,
A forgotten cloth that still holds your scent.
Some token to fire imagination,
And jolt my brain when my dreams are all spent;
What I wish is only a trifle, yes;
A simple item that you’ll never miss.
This lifeless object I need, I confess,
To comfort me when I can’t have your kiss.
My Lady, I humbly pray for your love
To all the bright stars in heaven above.

My Simple Love Poems Live in Your Eyes

For "Her."

My simple love poems live in your eyes,
And in the slope of your imperfect nose.
Your porcelain cheeks beguile, and belie
The strange magic that inspires my prose;
My poems lie in the warmth of your lips,
For their sugared taste enlivens my pen,
And causes my heart to stutter and skip,
While yielding the rhymes on which I depend;
The touch of your skin arouses my muse,
While quietly easing my troubled mind,
With a wondrous pow'r I can not refuse,
As your passionate breath steals away mine.
You are the womb that gives my lyric birth,
And the lungs that breathe love into my verse.