Category Archives: Poetry

What’s In a Name?

Posted by fragmentedpoet on

Once upon a time, I wrote poetry. I also felt very damaged. Hence, fragmentedpoet was born. Also, once upon a time, my niece bought me fridge magnet poetry words, and it was super cool! I came up with some pretty unique poems that weren’t so much derived from a thought process, but made up on the spot with words that I had available…then of course, stuck on the fridge. Fun times!

This is such a poem and I’ve added to it, giving it context and a little meaning. Hope you enjoy, my faithful readers. xo

Lilith

“Use the voice.”

Her laugh was like smoke and poison

A broken flower to him,

A porcelain ghost to herself.

“Can the crap”, she whispered.

“Sex is just an iced peach martini –

Ask it to throb and feel it melt

Like a warm spring morning.”

He left her there,

In shadows that clung to her flesh like mist to a mountain

In half waking dreams and fingerprints of lust

“Come here”, she beckoned.

No. Demanded.

He never had a choice so why pretend?

Arms opened and eyes that left him

breathless with mingled regrets and boyish hope,

he followed her into nirvana.

Three Pounds of Brian

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I wondered what was really inside the bag,
Inside the other brown paper bag all non-descript looking, even slightly humble

There it sat up high beside the poem I’d written for you, forever framed in time
Beside your picture; it looked rather out of place and lost

I removed what used to be part of YOU, in that little paper bag, placed it tenderly on the floor

I stared at it.
I walked over and touched it
I picked it up

Gently took out the contents inside clear plastic, all tightly sealed
They looked harmless enough

I saw ashes, bone fragments and I cried

I held what was once a man I loved (or part of…) and washed my face with salty tears as a plastic bag filled with YOU sat in my lap

I imagined that part of those 3 lbs. contains your heart
I imagined you’d want it that way but I know it’s all mixed up

All shoveled together into one spot to be later separated so that you were shared

I’m taking that approx. 3lbs of you home to the Island
To where I grew up and you spent endless summers on the beach with your folks

I wish we’d gone back there, being both Island people, and walked on that beach
Remembering our pasts, contemplating possible crossed paths

We’re going to make that journey, 3 lbs. of you – and all of me
It’s taken us a while, but we’ll walk that beach and share

Share a past we could have known but never did
And I’ll let you go, there; among the sand, the shells, and the Pacific Sea

Setting you free in Qualicum Beach.

Beached 2

Your Watch

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Time. Time we didn’t get, all caught up in and
dragged through those months of hell

For you,

Time was running out.

For you, I would have walked on fire but there wasn’t enough
Time.

Time to change your mind, time to kiss you once more, to hold you close

Time.

It passes with the hands on your watch; the one I wear with your initials
so worn and faint on the back, my wrist from your wrist

Your soft flesh are ashes in a box on a shelf and I want to scream

Time. Time to remember, to release, to forgive.
Time.

I will keep your watch ticking, polish its black face, wear it often.
I will remember you in better days, your laugh, that smile, those eyes

I will honour your struggle through my words, my tears and your story
Time. There is never enough.

I wasn’t finished knowing you.

Some things just deserve their own poems…

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Coffee is one of them.

Ode to Coffee

Hello nectar of wakefulness
That warm soothing concoction that doesn’t judge
Sleep-filled eyes that roll at the reflection of bed-head and barely awake expressions

Hello warmth that sparks the core of me and brings in the morning light
Dazzling my taste buds with tales of hand-picked beans in tropical fields
I appreciate the work, the toil and the love that brings you to my lips

Hello staple of my life, my guilty ritual and pleasure
Your scent permeates the kitchen with childhood moments
A splash of happy memories dance with me; my whole being joyful with delight

What’s It Like Being a Hopeless Romantic?

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Gosh, I’m glad you asked! Even if you didn’t.

It’s really kinda sucky. You’re constantly wanting to put your best foot forward on all occasions and can come across as ‘over the top’ even when you mean well. You are compelled to do all the cute, romantic, wonderful things for the person in your life, even if they never return the favour.

Most people give up, but not us hopeless romantics; nope, we’re driven! We feel eventually you’ll ‘get it’ and will appreciate our efforts. Usually, you never do and don’t. In fact, you tend to feel guilty that we do SO much, rather than just being grateful.

I’ve written a plethora of love poems, been always supportive, loving, and generous and all the things that you’d THINK would make someone fall in love with you. Nope…that is not a given. In fact, most don’t and can’t comprehend why they even should consider it. It seems, people are drawn to the ‘bad’ girls and boys of the world…the one they CAN’T have, and with all common sense considered, really shouldn’t want.

People are focused on what we LOOK like rather than how we treat others. It’s the beautiful bitchy girls who somehow manage to get the sweet lovable guys to swoon over them and think because this person looks like an angel that they actually are. Usually they’re quite the opposite.

Now, I’m not unattractive by any means but I’m no Jennifer Aniston, either.

Looks aside, and even if this doesn’t even factor in (that being if someone actually thinks we’re all that and a hottie to boot) they still don’t really appreciate what us hopeless romantics and all the things we do for them. Again, remember, we’re compelled…to do stuff. We actually enjoy it!

But, we expect, at the very least, a thank you. You don’t need to reciprocate (although you’ll never hear us complain if you do) but a small gesture of appreciation, now and then, would be nice.

Flowers are always a good idea for the ladies. Just saying.

These days I dial it back a little; don’t want the new guy running for the hills. It’s happened; a LOT.

OMG, she wrote me a LOVE poem, about LOVE!!! FRIG!!! I can’t take it! She’ll expect something from ME and I SUCK at poetry! Whattodowhattodowhattodo…. I know! I’ll break up with her, that way, I don’t have to think about it because I don’t know how I feel. I’m a guy, I have ONE feeling, just ONE! Fuck, this is hard!! Best I be single and look for that hot girl to fall for, instead, even though she’ll break my heart and I may never fully recover. Yes, that’s a much better plan.

WRONG ANSWER.

No, we don’t expect an epic poem back. No, we don’t even think you love us (in fact, we already know you don’t) but we are getting there (if we’re not, already) and just want to test the waters a little to see if you MIGHT be there. Some. Day. Yes, we’re that hopeful (or hopeLESS).

So, just thank us, next time. Be sweet (force yourself if you have to). Be kind. Be respectful of our feelings, we are very much thinking about yours.

I suspect, like amazing artists, we’ll only be appreciated after we’re dead.

Gosh, that girl was SO awesome!

Yes, she sure was the one who got away!

I SO miss her!

There will never be one like her, again!

*SOB!!*

 

Yup. I should write a book and bequeath the inevitable riches that will occur after I’m long gone to a special charity set up for Hopeful (less) Romantics.

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An Unconventional Birthday Wish

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Does it make sense to wish someone a Happy Birthday when they’re dead?

I don’t know the answer to that one, but because his loss is still so raw with me and because he only ‘would’ have been 47, today…and tomorrow is Christmas, after all… I’ll do it anyway.

Happy Birthday, Brian. xo

For three months in my life, you were everything to me, although it seems I knew you for years. You mattered, most. Your presence made me a better soul. I learned so much from you. Your leaving still hurts like the most unimaginable hell. I hope you’re okay. I love you. I hope you’re being cared for and healing, where you are. I miss you. Thank you for being part of my journey. And finally, I’ll see you again, some day. 🙂

You’re so very missed and so VERY LOVED by so very many…

Those moments we almost dreamed

thoughts of better times

between a star and magic

I know you

By ghost or Angel

my love and friend

I lived sacred poetry in you

Sometimes Other Poets Say it Better

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I adore Pablo Neruda.

His poems are pure bliss that tempt the dreamers heart and dares it to hope…if only a little. I do write, I do write well – but today. Pablo says it better.

Here I Love You

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Pablo Neruda

The Point of Culmination

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Zenith

What is it?
this struggle that
keeps me awake
pondering my existence

Asking all who would listen
the question of our
lacking human capacity
for listening with our hearts,
speaking with our Higher Soul

This day I breathe
(listening to the ebb and flow of my life’s blood)

This hour I restrain
(myself from losing grip on perception)

This moment I succumb
(and lose it anyway – finding a whole new way to see)

The answer was always
obvious and poignant

Without one
how can we know the other?

We will always choose

To select the highest stars
while sitting in the pits of our broken selves.
Broken

Boxes

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Happy Father’s Day, Daddy…. You’re very missed.

Danced with grief
and you

Healing chose to neglect me-
same day they lowered you in your
little box
‘neath cold Alberta clay

Numb with guilt
I remember you small
still alive
hallucinating on morphine

You thought you’d won a watch
frustrated – we couldn’t understand
your rambling,
hard to speak with only half a tongue

I am angry
at you

Your ghost lingers – don’t think
I haven’t noticed
sneaking into my dreams still ashen – bent and aged
no words pass between accusing stares

I’ve buried my pain
and you

All that I could
locked away in secrecy
and sanctity
all the little gems I’ve put in my own box

Secured forever in my mind
in a thousand vaults with a million locks
not the drink, curses and violence
but laughter, cherry tobacco and of course, love

I’ve labelled this box

of you

Brush away dust and cobwebs – you’ll see,
Simplistic – a girl’s scribble
“Dad”.

That First Kiss…

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She flutters her lashes, tiny bird wings
eyes tilting up
a slow frame-by-frame movie
plays in his mind – he reaches

Yet not far enough, a space
of  in-between, of… not quite sure

A pause so sweet, the air is damp with
breath
drops of honey on quivering lips
a meeting of silky wet, curious mouths

fragility, that every second
captures in the small tremble of

quickly beating hearts, her hand
caught-up
in a lock of his hair
she likes the taste of him

He likes the feel of her fingers on his face
tentative tongues explore

A tango of warm passion
a teasing
lick across full open lips
sampling flavoured gloss

He likes the scent of her glistening skin
she is arrested by his hurried, gentle touch

Being Human

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I think it would be nice to tuck our emotions neatly away, a folded up cue card in our pocket labeled: anger, love, empathy and fear. We could take it out when we need it, quickly scan over the important parts and sum things up quickly and intelligently before retreating back into a serene world.

For the most part, it’s almost impossible, at least when you’re a fiery little thing with the absolute need to be heard and understood.

People react and overreact; it’s our nature. There are a few who hold everything back, take the deep breath and rise above it all. I really haven’t met too many of those people. When you’re not directly involved, it’s so easy to judge and prosecute, after the fact.

One should have done this and one should have said or not said that. If only life in the moment were that simple and executable. That’s the real crux of the matter…living and breathing it – in the moment.

I wonder if it is really possibly to walk in another’s shoes. Because, if we could and did, I somehow think there would be a whole different level of understanding.

Zenith

What is it?
this struggle that
keeps me awake
pondering my existence

Asking all who would listen
the question of our
lacking human capacity
for listening with our hearts,
speaking with our Higher Soul

This day I breathe
listening to the ebb and flow of my life’s blood

This hour I restrain
myself from losing grip on perception

This moment I succumb
and lose it anyway – finding a whole new way to see

The answer was always
obvious and poignant

Without one,
how can we know the other?

We will always choose
To select the highest stars
while sitting in the pits of Hell.

Rest In Peace

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I hope your travel to the other side was a beautiful one, John. I hope that you’re with God, free of pain and have found joy.

On the Edge of Dream
 
I’ve come back to tell you –
death took me home the other day
it wasn’t how I imagined
death did not come…

 

Shrouded in Black shadows – face an endless pit of pain
death had no scythe, or weapon to hurt

 

She,
child born of Faeries
moonlight reflecting pale skin
petals of newborn spring adorned strawberry curls
her eyes,
the very stars….

 

Taking her hand,
I touched gossamer wings
air shimmered, made of purest light

 

“I’ve come to lead you home love”
Her voice a whisper; crystal bells 
“Yet I think you already know the way”

 

I did
I had – only to fly on the edge of dream,
balance on the tip of all thought, and I was there

 

I’ve come back to tell you
death took me home the other day
it was the most beautiful journey
the most un-imaginable joy

 

 

Friends

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I don’t have very many of them, in fact, I can count them all on one hand. However, my loyalty is unwavering and my heart is true.

(I kind of feel a little Spock’ish on the last part) 😉

Friendship

I will:
listen to you,
really hear you
when you are
most needing to be heard.

I will:
empathize with your pain
not pity you – as
pity is for the weak
empathy is for understanding.

I will:
not judge
that is not my purpose or place
in the end-
we will judge ourselves
much more harshly than any
soul or God will do.

I will:
not offer advice,
but encourage you
to listen to your own
heart.

You already have all the answers.

I will:
help you to understand them,
help you to heal
showing you an incredible value –

Yourself.
Never doubt You

And,

if you fall,
I will help you up,
dust you off and make sure
your footing is on more solid ground

for the next time.

I am and will continue to be:
your friend.

In the Morning

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…to all those that I’ve had the odd tiff with…

In the morning –
our disagreements will look like paper clouds
we can fold them up,
make little areoplanes and fly them out into the wind
 
I’ll label mine: Impatience,
and I’ll use red ink
yours can be: Stubborn
blue as the azure sky above
 
We’ll joke over crumpets and thick
black coffee from Costa Rica – rich and sweet
you’ll tell me how you’d like to go
 
I’ll tell you how it was when I went
 
In the morning –
our disagreements will look like dust
I will blow them away
and send them to fly free into the impending day

For D.

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...because even now, sometimes I really miss you and England.  I’m glad you found someone and I’m really glad you’re finally happy.

Strefford

I dreamed you and I
stood once more
across from Jack’s house.

We became the ghosts
that are known to haunt these lanes.

No one could see
how coming back,
how coming home-
had made you weep.

Tears were cleansed
then lost in summer rain
we stood invisible.

You taking pictures
with your eyes,
me hearing the shutter
every time you blinked.

Trying to say your name
my voice became the wind
a gentle hush, a sigh
rushing through the leaves.

Tried to tell you
it was time to go
Time to let
go…

You’ve faded before me
like ghosts will do
I find myself alone, now
rooks flying in from the fields.

My memory walks the Shropshire hills
standing unseen among the sheep
I wonder, when you return, if you will remember

Ah…the Shades of Summer ~

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…and endless possibilities.

Shimmer

Show me your colours,
I’d like to taste them
sweet yellow and crisp
orange ,upon my
open thirsty lips

Break past all resistance –
that built up tension
let it flow and drip
through all senses oh…
I count your many hues

They dance in streams
naked light of slow
careful movements
Blue. An iris I picked,
just for you

I see you now,
in light filled glory
drops of electric sun on
water. I wish,
I would drown in you

I wish you could teach me

brilliance.