I seem to have lost that command of words and simple turn of phrase that i had 16-18, its still there as i can think of a single line or two but it doesnt flow together as it once did : The following poem 'Sigh' was written around age 18 , the poem after it frost and flame around 20 , you can barely tell if its the same poet who wrote both.
I have been trying to move more into prose , as i hate being confined to rhyme schemes and meters , and i'v always wanted to be a storyteller. When i hammer out something slightly amazing in prose i shall post it...
Lastly : my hit counter has logged over 10,000 visitors, most of the hits in the last few months , i set up google ads to hopefully get some revenue out of my potential fans (assuming it isnt just a bunch of robots trolling the web to spam random blogs) . Please click any ad that interests you for my sake :p .
As before all poems are my intellectual property , but feel free to use them for greeting cards or to woo someone etc. I sanction any non commercial use of my poetry , please write my name along with the poem .
Sigh
A sigh a sigh,
A sign that feelings,
Inward lie ,
A tear , a tear,
A wound that cupid
Tore inward here,
Frost and flame- For a lover leaving
My love for you burned too hot,
I have charred away my former self,
the walls I built to keep out the four lettered insults of life are gone,
you have burnt me down.
I lie immolated,
your sacrifice.
I pray my fire can keep you warm on those cold winter nights,
I pray the flame can burn away the shame- I cannot afford a ticket to London to see you,
and I fear that I may die if I cannot bathe in your scent daily.
Every time I hear over nourished children call out for the mother country,
every English word,
pierces my core,
scabs of frost form around my heart.
The flame also burns into rage,
but I keep it from hurting you,
I douse anger's flame with my own tears,
their salty dew has not fallen in years,
For you I kindle and tame my flame,
it claws at my existence.
I feel frost growing in me, the temptation to lock my heart shaped box to save what is left,
But I rather a broken heart than an empty one,
I rather be frost-bitten by the cold north than not have tried,
I rather cross the Atlantic bare footed,
swallow the seas whole,
and drown a thousand times than give up.
There is some comfort in being sad, I rather be sad for you
than know only the transient joys of solitude.
My memories of you are my comfort,
My solace.
When you cannot see on those dreary Northern days,
the sun hiding his face from the cold,
Let the memory of tropical light guide you,
Like the memory of lying on a riverbank, side by side,
Birds singing, water laughing, Bamboo cackling,
Two hearts content, warm and at peace,
Remember how the purple bougainvillea spied ,
as we sat on your front porch,
sharing secret lives that we told no one else,
secrets as many as the indigo petals, and as thorny.
Remember being surrounded by green mountains,
looking down at the fertile Caroni, the concrete jungle, the grassy plain,
up on Saint Benedict's mount
-close to heaven
Remember when I whispered to you those three longest words,
" I love you".
But now you are leaving,
You are passing through a veil,
I cannot follow the celerity of your angel winged feet,
I keep a lock of your angel hair, its magic to bring you back to me,
I keep your love letters, our memories,
their magic to always keep you close to me.
When the cold British air hits you-
I wish my affection to burn like the tropical sun and warm your heart.
When the cold loneliness hits you
- know that I am distilling the lifeblood of my heart into another love letter,
for your hazel eyes only,
When we fight, remember my anger is not for you,
but at the 10,000 miles between us,
and when we kiss again,
remember the hardship that made it taste ever sweeter.
