Songwriter

Dear Songwriter:

Will you write a song for me?

Put your pen to page & fingers to instrument

& think of me.

Paint a picture in your mind

of my lips kissing your soul.

Put your heart into it & into me,

& I promise the words will flow

from you & directly into me.

I will wait while you seek the

words to tell me your heart.

My pulse will race

when you combine the lyrics with music,

& my heart will pound in my chest.

I anticipate what you will sing next.

I anticipate your touch,

& I anticipate you.

Your music & rhythm keep me awake all night long.

Your words & mind distract me all day long.

Will you compose a song for me –

As the poet writes prose for you?

Will our words come together

& create a perfect dance of love?

I wait to hear the first draft –

the first raw cut with shaking

hands & voice.

I will roll around in your words & song

as if I were in your bed.

I know before you even begin to sing

what your story will say.

I know that neither the poet

nor the songwriter will be lost for words –

although we both know that nothing will be read or sang

when our arts collide.

Bring your song to me,

& will share my heart with you.

Bring your touch to me,

& I will melt under your fingertips.

Bring your rhythm & rhyme –

dear songwriter –

& I will fall into your mind.

The Agenda

I travel to you –

another conference on the books.

A week of learning, laughing & love.

My suitcase is packed, full of

suits that I will not wear.

For I am sure that I will only be wearing you.

If time has taught us anything,

it is that I am nothing without you.

You are my best friend, my best lover,

& I cannot imagine a world without you in it.

My world, my soul & my body

would be empty without you.

When I arrive, I want you to strip me bare

& clothe me with your body.

Suits & ties will go untouched –

mouths will go unfed.

I will fill myself with you.

I can anticipate you in my mind as we

have been here before.

Another room will bear witness to our love.

Another town will never be the same for either of us.

Passionate memories will keep us coming back for more.

Each year we grow older

& each year we grow closer even though

we are apart.

Each year an agenda is carried out

& neither of us will follow it –

we both prefer the unwritten word.

When I reach to you I know that I

will not have to ask to be held close.

When I hold you I know that I

will consume you with all of my pores.

When I kiss you I know that we will have already

started to plan our next meeting.

A Poem for my (Lover)

On these cold winter nights & days –

my pen scratching at the page,

madly recording my ideas & imagination –

I replay our passion in a poem.

I write for you.

Light the fire in the hearth

with your hands & heat the cottage,

just as your hands bring out the

heat within me.

Long mornings in your bed

make the weekend at your cottage

extend into a blizzard of passion.

I am gripped in your arms

& tangled in your sheets.

You ignite insurmountable pleasure

as gusts of wind chill the air,

& I layer you on top of me

as you stoke my internal fire.

We drift off to sleep; your bed holds us

& our dreams become a bridge of time

until we awake to the delight of the next blizzard.

We arise in the early evening –

escaping from your bedroom after being

held hostage to passion –

like two prisoners shown an open door,

we are unsure if we really want to leave

to tend the simmering soup on the stove.

(Although we are certain that we will return

to the heap of pillows & blankets later.)

Spoon with me after soup.

Eat with me after love.

Drink with me the wine I have brought

& lick your glass as if it were me.

Add fuel to the fire –

it’s going to be a long evening inside.

Ink Drop

Write me a letter, a poem, or a song.

Tell me how you feel and the way that you think it.

Will its contents be of love or longing?

Lost opportunity or found truth?

Sing to me in your words so that I will know

where your mind is, and if your mind forms

thoughts of me and about us.

When your pen flows to tell your story

will it find it’s way to me?

Where does this story you tell me start –

how will it end?

Will I appear in the final chapter or

will I form a piece of the middle – the thickest

part of the plot –

a build up to an explosive climax?

This story that we move through; yet unnamed.

I wait to hear the version of the author,

like the way two lovers long to touch between each minute.

Will you name each chapter or simply assign them a number –

to keep count of how your love for me started small, then

grew and climbed to higher peaks?

Will I successfully climb your mountain?

Line by line; verse by verse; chapter by chapter:

tell me your life and tell me your love.

Expose yourself to me; vulnerable to the touch

like fresh ink on the page.

I won’t wipe you away.

I smear your touch unto me.

A permanent mark stains my skin

and forever stamps the page.

It is the story of our love.

This is my ballad to you.

The Joy of Poetry

Hello darlings,

In advance of this blog, I have not shared my poems with many people. Being that poetry is a fairly sheer medium to express oneself, it's not something that I generally show at dinner parties. By sheer, I mean exposing, transparent and/or revealing of my sex life and partners. Secondly, I never know how people will interpret it. Will they start analyzing the poem...and therefore me, or will they just enjoy it for pure enjoyment sake, relating it to their own sexual or erotic experiences?

Inevitably, I am asked where my poetry inspiration comes from; who I am writing about; what was happening when I wrote a particular poem...etc, etc. So when it comes to revealing poetic inspirations, I have established some ground rules:

The Poetic Rules:

1) I never kiss and tell (i.e. reveal the source/inspiration/person of said poem). The reasons for this are basic privacy and respect but also it's not always a specific person that inspires a particular poem.  Also, the mystery of not knowing where the hell I come up with this stuff also keeps some of the fantasy alive for the reader.  That said, I will say that sometimes a poem stems from an event, a combination of times, places, or experiences that happened, or pure fantasy on my part. We read a lot in popular culture about songwriters writing nasty songs about their ex lovers and the pain they caused. This is the anti-thesis to my love poetry.  I'm not on a mission to divulge the particulars or identities of my lovers, when I had a particularly good lover, or not.

2) Sometimes, but not always, I will write a poem about a particular lover and may or may not share it with them, either at that time or in the future.  This guideline serves two purposes: a) If my lover knows about my "poetry" hobby, I wouldn't want them to believe I was only searching for new material and therefore using them for the sake of my art.  This is distasteful and really never leads to "The Good Stuff" regardless as it was not created from true passion; and b) keeps the time lines of poetry writing somewhat vague and therefore more intriguing.  I'm not trying to keep a chronology of sexual events here.  If I wanted to do that I'd just keep a diary.

3) The metaphors that I use as a "back drop" to my poems are common, every day things, events or places that most people can relate to.  For example, in The Grand Storm, the metaphor is a life raft in a nasty sea being torn apart by strong winds and rains.  However, the reader quickly learns that the "life raft" is a bed and the "ocean" is a hotel room. This particular poem also bears a few other personal reminders of the blessed event although one particular one is hidden so well only the other person who participated in the event would know what I'm talking about.  (See Guideline #1 as to why I will leave it at that.)

So those are the basics.  I enjoy writing in general and if I thought I could actually make a living at it on a full-time basis, I'd probably go for it.  Until then, I'll continue reach for my tattered poetry note book and hopefully the inspirations will continue to manifest before me.

The Joy of Poetry

The joy of my poetry writing is also attributed to my writing style.  I strive to draft a poem that would add to the experience for both the reader and the writer.  For example, I never rhyme words.  I think rhyming in love poetry is tacky and limits the essence of the experience.  Even when I'm drafting a poem if I accidentally rhyme words I will purposefully go back and re-write and come up with an alternate.  I only have one or two poems where an occasional rhyme sneaks in, but it was not on purpose.

I also prefer the "&" symbol for "and" for pure aesthetic reasons.  Not much mystery there.  I just like the way "&" looks in the poem.

Another thing I never do is utilize crass verbiage or offensive statements.  For one, they they look ugly in the poetic type and I consider them next to cheating.  Part of the creative outlet of poetry writing is trying to articulate a specific encounter in a beautiful way.  I have been considering throwing out the odd "f" bomb to see how it looks and works, but it must be done in a way that it doesn't distract from the experience of the poem.  Overtly saying "we fucked in a hotel room" just doesn't convey the same message as "lying next to you between rented sheets and walls," does it?  There was so much more going on at the time.  See how in that context it doesn't work??  Hmmm.  I'll have to ponder this one a bit longer.

Ok now that I've divulged a bit of info on The Joy of Poetry and my writing particulars, I need to get writing some poetry!

-L

The Latte Factor

Hours spent on our friendship thru

the years & we have managed to accumulate

love as a result.

Enough to last the remainder

of our lifetimes together – over a cup of coffee

& stacks of pancakes.

You bring me my morning coffee –

Extra hot passion, stirred with love.

The caffeine in my drink makes my

heart speed up as if it were you

in the cup.

The hot vanilla foam

is rich in my mouth.

Its creamy texture warms my throat and skin.

Sugary sweet & I gulp it down,

as if it were you.

Your love washes thru & over me

& I savor you whole.

You are worth all the time spent.

You are worth all the pocket change & coins found.

You are worth all the burned tongues & dribbled on shirts & stains.

You are my comfort; like this latte before me.

Extra hot & smooth.

I factor that your love for me

is worth more than you think.

Little by little, day by day;

it added up fast.

I set my empty cup down

& look up at you.

We both know that we have invested wisely

in our love for each other.

You drink me in.

I swallow you whole.

Love Junkie

Addicted to you –
I am a love junkie.
I wait for the next hit of your love to
wash over me with waves of pleasure.
I can find no substitute for the
eroticism that you give.

Drugged to you –
I am a love addict.
Your words whispered to me make me want
more and more of you.
I try to soak all of you in through my pores.
No alternative, no matter how hard I try,
will satisfy me the way you do.

Hooked on you –
I am a love slave.
Your touch robs me of my senses and my
body intuitively begs for more & more.
I shake uncontrolled without your
love flowing through my veins & heart.

High on you –
I am a love cloud.
I float above all the daily conundrums –
oblivious to such demeanour and routine tasks,
for my agenda involves only you.
The rush of love is no competition
for our daily world.
I feel sorry for those who have not experienced
anything as close as us.

Fixed on you –
I am a love wreck.
Two minutes without you seems two years.
I wait until the next time we will meet –
& we will engulf each other in passion
without missing a beat.

I am a love junkie.
You are my drug of choice.
It cannot be any other way for either of us.
We need each other to fuel the passion
Of our love.