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September's Newspaper Soup

When I was just a few month-old baby, before I even began to learn how to speak, my father fed me the alphabet, literally. He cut out the letters from the newspaper and mixed them with my baby food. This started my craving for words. And more words. To sustain me.

for keeps

Monday, November 09, 2009

I am afraid to write any more lines about this because
I know I'll sound ridiculous and sappy,
contradicting every emotion after each line.
sometimes the loneliness overwhelms me.
sometimes his absence thrills me because I know
it will be sweeter the next time we come together.
sometime he makes me so angry, I forget that i love him
then he makes me love him and i forget the reason for my anger.
and two nights ago i cried because... just because...
then he made it all better by just saying i love you
and saying the words back made it more than better
it made everything wonderful...
the more i repeated the words, the more i mean them
they become more true, more real, deeper, for-keeps
and if this is really it, then i thank God
because everything's good, and sweet, and yes
worth the wait.

posted on 6:39 PM

'tis about... love by Love

Time and Again

Rainer Maria Rilke
1875-1926



Time and again, however well we know the landscape of love,
and the little church-yard with lamenting names,
and the frightfully silent ravine wherein all the others
end: time and again we go out two together,
under the old trees, lie down again and again between
the flowers, face to face with the sky.



translated by J. B. Leishman

posted on 6:33 PM

'tis about... poetry

Bubble Wrap

Thursday, November 05, 2009

she said Love was happiness personified
running down the corridors
stepped and skipped, never missed a smile

yes, look, what Love can do

he said Love was blooming
as though she's just been kissed
the blush on her cheeks so becoming

look, what love can do to you

yet insidewas a silently screaming banshee
not knowing where to go, or what to do
love was not how it's supposed to be

see, this is what love does to you

it turns you blind, and you slam on a wall
hard, and you discover that the bubble
was not really there to protect your fall

posted on 4:54 PM

'tis about... love by Love, poetry

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