GarGoyle-Design

I've decided that most people unknowingly express love in greedy ways. They make an assumption that love is X and X is a finite resource. Not only that but that there are grades of love in different levels of abundance. Grade 12a is for the unwashed masses, there's plenty of it and it's mostly worthless, while grade 99z is a rare commodity reserved for the romantic elite, that one most special person in the world - the soul mate. In between are the various grades of love measured and metered for friends and family, siblings and offspring.

I am here
forever with you
and so happy
that you love me

You are mine, love
and I am yours
but mostly
you are mine

I love you most
and then mostly
when children
change priorities

But you will love me
the same each day
with your generous heart
as I measure out my love

You will give infinitely to me
and I will return all of it
when the time comes
and I can focus on just you

Because you are mine, love
and I am yours
but mostly
you are mine

We've been struggling for awhile with my oldest son and with his sense of entitlement. It finally came to a head after he had stolen his mother's iPod and we had assumed it was lost for a couple of months. One of the other kids finally found it in his room. Mind you that he had his own mp3 player and his own phone with mp3 player and web browser, but none of that was good enough. So he got grounded and lost some privileges. But none of that stopped him or his bad attitude. None of that stopped his belligerence towards me or his mother.

Susan looked over the edge of the bridge to the cold water far below. She came here thinking she was resolute, that today would be the end. But the distance gave her pause. For a moment she was afraid she might remember some reason to live, but too late. Maybe half way down she'd remember that friend that's always been there or maybe as she drowned she'd catch a glimpse of some forgotten conversation with her mother.

Anxiety exchanged for a smile
Courage presents herself in black sheer
Flaws hidden in shadows
Doubts put aside, but not the fear

A momentary happiness
But the mirror reflects the mix
An eager smile returned
A frown for what she cannot fix

How easy it had been
To lay her heart out bare
But not so with her body
So why would she dare

But the deed is done quick
And with loving intents
All that she is and is not
To him she presents

Then courage is rewarded
With his eyes joyful and warm
His arms open in welcome
To her lace covered form

"Is that okay?"
Of course it's okay
They're only words
Not promises
Not hopes
Not dreams
Just words
Words are okay
Without meaning
Without action
Word's can't hurt
Without intent
Forget them
They're just words
Who cares
Of course it's okay
I have words
I'll use my words
They're okay too
They're only words
Not promises
Not hopes
Not dreams
Not effort
Not love
Not useful
Words don't do laundry
They don't pack a lunch
They don't tuck a child in
They're useless
What do I care for words
Without meaning
Without action
Without intent
Empty words
I don't care

A scene through the window, dust covered pages strewn across a table. The stains of drinks spilled indiscriminately across the pages and the crumbs of dinners long since past, left sprinkled here and there. Then for a moment there's sign of order, pages lain so perfectly that you look in wonderment, and then just as quickly, in fury, you wish to shuffle those pages, crumpling them, tearing them, making them lose their perfect shape, staining them with yesterday's coffee and this morning's breakfast.

you want for nothing
while I want
but you withhold
and I am without
your love ebbs
while mine flows
I seek you out
but am not sought
I dare to flirt
with you having little
love always teasing
at the edges of passion
my time spent in rhyme
pouring pain into words
for others to read
but not for you
you say the words
giving when it suits
but when wanted
it does not suit
you want for nothing
while I wait
wanting to hear
my words spark passion
and you to ask for more

Oh, Big Mad why do you vex me
With your torn pants and angry face
and mean words about my poetry

Oh, Big Mad why can't you feel
more than anger and contempt
and that men who feel are real

Oh, Big Mad with your cat calls
and your sweepy-swappy and your mixin'
and your longing glances down the halls

Oh, Big Mad despite the jeers
I am glad to call you friend
I hope for a great many years

I am stuck
in this void
between the warmth
of your heart
and the cold
tortured by the promise
of love's warm embrace
receiving only plattitudes
in its place
empty sentiment
without action
passionless
unmotivated
cold
I am crippled
my own actions
held fast
mired in confusion's grasp
unrelenting desire
stayed
quietly waiting
for some sign
some open window
or welcome door
with convincing invitation
to stoke the fires
of your heart
and once again
shun the cold
to bask in warmth