I know you’ll miss me, too.

When tomorrow starts without me
and I’m not here to see…
If the sun should rise and find your
eyes filled with tears for me,

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry
the way you did today…
While thinking of the many things
we didn’t get to say.

I know how much you love me,
as much as I love you…
And each time you think of me,
I know you’ll miss me, too.

But when tomorrow starts without me,
please try to understand…
That Jesus came and called my name
and took me by the hand,

And said my place was ready
in heaven far above…
And that I’d have to leave behind
all those I dearly love.

So when tomorrow starts without me,
don’t think we’re far apart…
For every time you think of me,
I’m right here in your heart.

I Don’t Think…

I don’t think you will
ever fully understand
how you’ve touched my life
and made me who I am.

I don’t think you could ever know
just how truly special you are
that even on the darkest nights
you are my brightest star.

I don’t think you will ever fully comprehend
how you’ve made my dreams come true
or how you’ve opened my heart
to love and the wonders it can do.

You’ve allowed me to experience
something very hard to find
unconditional love that exists
in the body, soul, and mind.

I don’t think you could ever feel
all the love I have to give
and I’m sure you’ll never realize
you’ve been my will to live.

You are an amazing person
and without you I don’t know where id be.
Having you in my life
completes and fulfills every part of me.

I Don’t Think She Knows

When feelings get so deep
Why did they take that big long leap
Going from friend to crush
What a rush
And I don’t think she knows

Since when did her smile make me go weak
Since when did her tears make mine start to leak
Why does this happen when i’m always so strong
When people call me Superman, I guess they were wrong
And I don’t think she knows

When she talks I can’t help but watch her lips
To notice their shape curves when they dip
Wait, why am I looking? I don’t even know
And I can’t help but wonder if she even knows

Her beautiful eyes are nothing compared like ours
They’re so deep and bright you’d believe they were stars
They pour forth emotions in raging rivers
They could make even me believe that Santa always delivers
And still she has no idea

Her body is perfection though she denies it
It makes my head spin with every glance I give
She could put any man under her spell
But she doesn’t know, yet I should I tell…
I told her

I love how she looks and who she is
And how she makes me feel like this
I love how she’s beautiful and smart with a heart so strong
Now she has a clue

Now that I’ve it with my poetic skill
I hope that all who see this will
Understand

Formed.
Well formed.
In relief
with the sweetness of silver
or gold
or bronze
copper also.
It is so much labor
to start from tar
and hammered metal.

So bright the pattern
so bright the smith.

I wonder why I never wrote, or tried to write, about the figures of women who I’ve thought of most of all. Pure egotism, I suppose. The images…the moments and memories..the very sensation of touching and of being touched, all key to my very development–and yet, not one mention except of how they made me feel.

I would very much like to write a love poem, someday.

A note: “…He’s been with your neice for a long time, right? I’d be interested in seeing what he had to say about her…”

So would I.

I am a dreamer

that’s what I like to do

and lately I have been dreaming mostly of you.

I am hopeful

grateful and bare

Most of me I have already shared 

I am numb

my feelings to rough

undefined and weakened

by the doubts

I am quite boring

quiet and nice

I am a gamble, only some role the dice.

I am what you need

but not what you want

the perfect relieve but not to grow

into tree from the seed.

I am a catch

You dare not to catch

and I myself will never again dare to throw.

No Matter

what
the cobwebs               spider groceries
all return to the corners
of the basement
my apartment
that blacks out with me
and smiles at the thought of you
also constricts
my urge to scream
and tear away
this veil of conformity.

WHEN I SLEPT WITH YOU

When I slept with you
it was like a dream come true;
my arms wrapped around
that soft, smooth, youthful body,
breathing the life that was you.

A.J. Chilson
27 November 2009
5:27 AM

The Secret Names Of Women

are as magnets or aphrodisiacs to me.
The flush and rush
of intimacy
new found first kiss
makes my skin
electric.
I need the gentle nipple erection ecstasy
new born beneath my thumb
to decipher the vast NOW
of desire and joy.

And then comes that moment
when She relaxes and enjoys Herself.
Wholly and Holy
Goddess and Woman
Maiden and Mistress
all women and herself only.
In that moment
I know her secret name.
And sometimes
so does she.

I’m very happy to learn about the NAXOS Spoken Words Library which is free to all Hong Kong citizens.  It’s a really great website for facilitating English language teaching and learning, especially reading and listening for language arts.   I wish I had things like this when I was a student and I’m sure I could perform far better than what I did before!… But being a facilitator of students to help them learn well now is not bad either!

This is one of my favourite poems, taken from this library, that I’d like to share with you:

Love’s Philosophy

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another’s being mingle –
Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea; –
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

                                                                  Percy Bysshe Shelley

Photo taken from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/barbaravalerie/3507048572/

Poem taken from:

http://hkpl.naxosspokenwordlibrary.com/mediaplayer/flash/fplayer.asp?br=64&tl=389080

Click here for my recording of this poem: http://ihome.cuhk.edu.hk/~s0803018/lp.wav

A Propensity

It’s been no time and all time.
But,
a frail ink tears out of my pen
to rain this page
with the sere memory of you
(Swan)
and knowing that our days passed by
as the quick game of pool we’ve played
over a beer and a shot of Jack;
I’ll see you on the dust-kicked road
to Greece and a hermitage that you
would share with me.
But,
Rather than lose the wars,
they settled on the spoils of boredom.
But,
Rather than lose faith,
they twisted your spine
into a hangman’s knot to die
(and die)
in the corner by your restless jacket.
But,
It’s been no time and all time.

goodnight

to have someone
who says goodnight
and to feel the weight
of that passion pressed
upon my own unguarded
desire is to comprehend the endless.

True, Love

Question not love, my love, nor doubt our love;
love was always true between me and you,
was truth and Truth and remains ever—Love,
my love, was our mutual sky, star-filled
and glorious, lifting us beyond our
limits of self toward higher potentials.
Yes, love, our simplest truth was love itself,
organic though eternal immortal
despite our mortality—
                                       enter here
Eden’s serpent and our fall, ejection
from paradise: love failed not us, nor we
failed love . . . it was relationship and trust
betrayed that came to part us, grew into
that sword-bearing angel standing between.

David M Pitchford
23 November 2009

I fell in love with a nomad.

His skin is smooth,

sandpapered by beaches and dunes.

Cold desert winds sleep in his heart

His soul is restless,

It tears us apart.

His feet have walked many a path.

Fragrant and coloured by the clay,

they crush my heart.

Like the grapes at taverns he stops at.

Stop a while with me nomad.

Dry my tears,

with the roving suns,

that are your eyes.

How long will the wind carry you?

It must be tired.

Let it fly to a green grove.

While you find home in my arms.

Fragrant

Fragrant is the flower
you give
for my spirit to know.

Gentle is the caress
you have brought
to my heart.

Lovely the vision
as you walk
across the floor to me.

Melodic is the song
you have played
in my body tonight.

Sweet is the taste
you have left
on my tongue.

Believe it or not, I have found, on this blog’s “stats,” that there are almost as many people interested in villanelles as in Robert Pattinson.  (Well, maybe not almost as many.)  Still, there is an interest.

This is fortunate for me as the villanelle form is one that I really like.  (Check out my other posts on this subject, if you would like to read explanations of the villanelle form and suggestions about how to write them.  Check these out especially if you also like Magnolia Bakery’s Banana Pudding.)

Today, I’m posting the villanelle, “The Nap,” because it it feels to me to have an autumnal aspect–after the fall, as it were.  (I was in upstate in New York when I wrote it, when the leaves were fallen, brown, and slowly drying out.)

To all those who are afraid to try writing a villanelle–you’ll see that  I cheated!  I modified the repeating lines;  in other words, I gave priority to meaning over manneristic form.   (Ha ha!)

Reading suggestion:  line breaks, in my poems at least, are not intended to denote pauses, unless there is also a specific punctuation break, such as comma or period.

Thanks as always for reading this blog.  I very much appreciate your sympathetic interest and time.  Comments are also always welcome.  Thanks again.

The Nap

Side by side, we slid to a dry, still, place.
It was not a woeful drought of age or dust,
the softer dryness of a tear-trailed face.

We never used to find this quiet space.
Any closeness quickly clambered into lust.
But side by side, we slid to a dry, still, place

where hands touched in a sweat-free interlace,
fatigue overwhelming pheromone fuss
with the softer dryness of a tear-trailed face.

Some other time we’d find that moist embrace
where pleasure mounts to such synaptic bust
I find myself side-sliding to a place

as blank as emptied well, as capsized chase.
(My brain reacts so badly to heart’s trust,
the softer dryness of a tear-trailed face.)

But today, we two, exhausted by the pace
of time and life and words like ’should’ and ‘must’,
side by side, slid to a dry, still, place,
the softer dryness of a tear-trailed face.

All rights reserved, Karin Gustafson.

Also check out 1 Mississippi by Karin Gustafson on Amazon.

I want to be the best I can for you,
I want all your dreams to come true.
How can one accomplish this;
and give their fullest love certain bliss?

Lets search these waters high and low
amidst the darkest shadows that we sow,
For the perfection one can bring forward
-and the likes to which your heart preferred.

So we have come past all the romance;
made our silent vows, now step our dance,
Within that I wish to obstruct parts of me,
to give to you the best that we can be.

Time with flow unincidentally betwen us,
and now before too late I must confess,
That be all the strength within me now
-to the unspoken fantasies, do avow!

The beach is hot but the game is on
Coach can’t hide in shade today
Cause my girls are working magic in the sand
They dig deep, volley perfect, and slam the balls over the net
the whole audience is in a trance from these toned witches spell

There going strong casting Hex’s on the other crew
Cause in the end both teams know what the loosers got to do
and this sun is hot enough to grill human flesh
Focus back on the game My girls are serving up match point
Damn compettition made a perfect spike

No they made the save and its our turn to hit em with that fire
yes we won the crowd roars for the undefeated champs putting another crew out to dry
the customary shaking of hands ends with a grimace as my witches lay back in the sand
the team loosers come by and remove winner panties to se whats been grilling underneath
team looser services my winners tilllustful screams are the only sound

They Talk, We Live, We see what They say
They Talk, We Did, Who cares what They say
Still they can’t’ focus on them They be talkin’ bout me
Talkin’ bout what I wear Talkin’ bout where I be

Posted with permisson from
Laren Neyland ©2009


the night
      and the moon
     and the light

I can almost see you.

the bread I bake for you
      your hair thick and soft
    and rich beneath my fingers

I can almost smell you.

the sand underfoot
       the sun melting us
    the sea caressing us

I can almost feel you in my arms.

When the Echoes Die

For months I clung to that hope: “No such thing
as too late . . .” Its echo the gravity
holding me close to that old orbit. Now
its echoes die away if not into
impossibility, then into slim
probability. Lost outside her light,
I listen for hints of hope, search shadows
within shadows without knowing not what
these distances hold outside love’s orbit.
“No such thing as too late . . .” echoes far
off, trailing into the past—such thing as
too late . . . these echoes die . . . and now spinning
into outer darkness, swallowed by these
shadows of my own making, I hear, “. . . too late . . .”

Daivd M Pitchford
18 November 2009

1.
There is the slimmest crack
of light in the front bedroom.
It attracts me but disappears
when I enter.

There is reflected mirror light
in the livingroom
with a touch of orange and blur
from the stereo.

There is pure GE light in the kitchen
melted only slightly
by the blond wood echoes
of the cabinets and cutting board.

There is only vague light
in the bathroom
and if I close the door
perfect dark.

There is glowing grey
light infiltrating
the woman’sbedroom making false
dusk gloaming soft.

2.
Thinking of woman who lies
next to me in bed.
I love her naked beneath
those sheets.
I see you always
natural and alluring.
A coarseness overtakes
and besets me.
Full of desire
eager love
too eager for you most times
but hard for you
none the less.

1.
There is the slimmest crack
of light in the front bedroom.
It attracts me but disappears
when I enter.

There is reflected mirror light
in the livingroom
with a touch of orange and blur
from the stereo.

There is pure GE light in the kitchen
melted only slightly
by the blond wood echoes
of the cabinets and cutting board.

There is only vague light
in the bathroom
and if I close the door
perfect dark.

There is glowing grey
light infiltrating
the woman’sbedroom making false
dusk gloaming soft.

2.
Thinking of woman who lies
next to me in bed.
I love her naked beneath
those sheets.
I see you always
natural and alluring.
A coarseness overtakes
and besets me.
Full of desire
eager love
too eager for you most times
but hard for you
none the less.