a man who’s creative is never alone:
his drive to create has a mind of its own.
his imagination may sometimes play nice
but can’t be controlled like some tool or device;
he’s bound to its service, & soon he learns well
to put it to work lest it make his life hell.
word count: 86
If self-education is a way of life for you,
if your curiosity is part of your worldview,
if, at your full height, you still remember how to grow
& you have no problem with admitting “I don’t know,”
then there’s some potential for arousal between us!
Superficial beauty is a plus, but not a must.
I’m sapiosexual—it’s out of my control.
So, if my affectionate devotion is your goal,
turn me on by turning on my creativity;
then, my love for you will last into eternity.
word count: 66
I love it when your mind opens my mind
under the guise of simple dialogue!
Truths I deemed impossible to find
arise effortlessly; you lift the fog
& all that’s left is your naked brilliance.
I also admire your resilience
to false witness, propaganda & brain-
washing—how many men in history
have thought for themselves & yet remained sane?
You’re one of them because you’re stronger than pain.
word count: 74
like father, like son, it’s your destiny
to see honor eroded by rough spite
& insight blunted by blind scrutiny
& kindness surrendered without a fight
& innocence deformed by violent hate
& beauty overwhelmed by spectacle
& conscience crying out against its fate
& Mary ridiculed by Jezebel
& straightforward direction made obscure
& fear seizing sensuality
& power-hunger crippling strength, & pure
& simple truth labeled stupidity:
like father, like son, you endure all these
& so do i, by knowing you love me.
(a study of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 66)
word count: 99
my love of Shakespeare multiplies when shared
& is enriched when others love him differently—
since that’s true, why would i be at all scared
to share (& watch you share) your brilliancy?
taboo is an impartial arbiter
trying to justly serve society,
& those its verdict isolates are bitter
when they feel shunned for their identity;
i’ve felt this, some, with polyamory,
against which the whole planet’s been progressing—
am i not good enough for your “true” love?
no. love, you are too dear for my possessing,
& to your ownership i lay no claim;
you & Shakespeare i love almost the same 🙂
word count: 113
i think there’s no sense trying to be right,
but i might get a little bit less wrong
by being challenged in an honest fight:
that’s how i make my thinking muscles strong.
between us, conflict should be an illusion:
i’ll give you my best effort when we spar,
but i want us to both conquer confusion
& together become better than we are.
make no mistake: i’ll reveal my full strength
to make its limits (weaknesses) more clear;
how else can we get on the same wavelength
& know for sure there’s no reason to fear?
if i threaten you, it’s a false alarm!
i show my cards, which means i mean no harm.
word count: 101
my love, your genius is hosted in you
like a parasite, a demon, an ancient
ghost haunting your wanting eyes. how
those little windows burn with the immense,
intense magnificence inside! & what i’d
give to set foot in that cathedral, to
see the hoard of treasure being held there
hostage by the fire-breathing monster
whose lair you are—it’s true, love, all i do
enslaved to this blunt, unfeeling craft
is look for ways of understanding you
so one day i may be strong enough to
lay eyes on the unfathomable view
that is your soul & live to tell the tale.
word count: 76
wisdom is moderation of all things:
to neither be a puppet nor pull strings,
to lead with strength but not an iron fist,
to smartly borrow from but not consist
of lessons learned in lifetimes besides yours,
to seize the day while still doing your chores
& take action, but give in when you’re wrong.
balance & reflection make you strong,
except in love, which no wisdom can touch:
love proves it’s love by loving far too much.
word count: 97
i think Time itself understands
the commands of your quivering twin wands;
you shape Now as it passes your hands
infinitely docile, resembling strong
youth, infancy & age with equal grace—
some rhythms are warlike, some fight for peace,
right foot runs straight while the left syncopates,
teasing timelessness out between beats.
where is your totem pole? what tribe taught you
the primal ecstasy that invokes gods?
whose ancestral wisdom pumps life into
those hollow drums, mesh skins & tapered rods?
i know this one thing: if hearts measure time
for other hearts, yours keeps the beat for mine.
(a study of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 128)
word count: 97
i persephone though living wander
in death’s shade along the sidewalk by day
the moon raising her sickle overhead
reminds me monthly of the bloody dead
bodies who have carpeted battlegrounds
for generations laying their lives down
for the next generation & i am
a fly on the wall who will die with all
she has witnessed & not said & i’ve read
everything written about releasing
your final breath with ease & it’s no use
because fate just rolls a die & cuts the thread
but i wander in this land of the soon-dead
happy because i love you though doomed