Archive for heart

On Love and Lunchmeat

January 29, 2011 heart, high school, love, on-the-spot, poetry, punctuate.with.a.kiss 8 comments

I do not love the way you lie.
—Me, on not wanting to burn like Rihanna

In four days (and some minutes here or there) it will be February—a month of brevity and breathlessness, prepped romance and popped hearts.

I can already see you, your personality, flippant; your hair, flipped. And I can feel my heart pounding, beating, drumming for a heavy metal band; then slow real girlie-like til it pauses, awaiting a kiss, three words, and a grab for a finger, then a hand. My little hand, because, boy, yours is always bigger. And then I catch my breath, blush burgundy, and laugh, because god only knows I’m either in love or ready for birds, bees, and tomorrow’s promise of pancakes. Blueberry or chocolate, baby. Please. But then you leave—because the day after just ain’t that special.

An on-the-spot poem about love gone wrong:

You gnaw at the chicken bones
of us,
exposing the shine of it,
this, this thing—
all ripped jeans,
our love the hole in the knee,
stretched out
because they’ve been worn
since
like
high school.

And I’m waiting
here among lockers
and lunchmeat
watching clocks tick
or tock
until you knock me flat
and throw those jeans,
those chicken bones,
into the trash.

A Poetic Love

July 5, 2010 heart, love, on-the-spot, poetry, punctuate.with.a.kiss, writing One comment

I liked the idea of on-the-spot poems, since they moved me to write similarly to how I write my song lyrics. It starts with a line or an initial image (in this case the verb, then the heart, a fragile thing) and in the three poems below, I take that line or image and use it to feed the rest of it all. This is just a small window into how my mind works: with a hint of darker things, a dash of optimism, and a tendency to make things rhyme.  

Three brief, on-the-spot, sort-of-OK poems about love: 
He chewed her heart, a fragile thing,
and spit it on the floor
then ripped his own out of his chest
because he wanted more.
or
She bashed his heart, a fragile thing
and kicked it with her shoe
and said the words he couldn’t hear:
“My darling, we are through.”
and maybe
He cracked her heart, a fragile thing,
and fixed it up with glue
then added macaroni
and in glitter, “I love you.”

And on a completely unrelated note, I am thoroughly enjoying the following two CDs: Eminem’s Recovery and Scissor Sisters’ Night Work.