newsong (newsong) wrote,

  • Mood:
  • Music:


Book Learning

Soul music
is about the knitting
of emotion to verbal utterance
the woven fabric brushing
against smooth legs
as your fingertips brush the other side.
Hold that thought
until it melts sweetly in your breath
infusing air about you with
your inside book-smell.
Your intelligent thought is heard,
sweet music to the outside
if you're in the right place.

Pandora's Box

The certain evils of Pandora's box
are the same as the evils of
forgetting potential,
ordering the universe
by your own laws
destroying the construction of years of research
I'd rather watch you do it
after realizing that I know myself
better than the Greek male ideal
I'd survive the box
if I ever allowed myself to be entrapped in it
but I don't think inside the walls of that campus
I don't know the emptiness so fully
as the shelves of books explore it.

Same Time Next Year

I've made an appointment with destiny
for the same time next year
another finishing touch
on the emptier spot inside
when I think about it
one who doesn't care about me
shouldn't be worth my time
but time keeps ticking me off
off into a wasteland of music and wandering
through a world of wondrous
emptiness, again. Keep that appointment
open. The door will open when
I get there.

The Parting

fare thee well
my dearie
fare thee well
in the shadows you lie
fare thee well
as the hopes go on ending
fare thee well
but never ask why...

Silence at 4a.m.

Silence at 4 a.m. when the tears
flow inside because it's late
and the thin shell crumbles
hope comes with the sunrise, hours yet
hope is never lost until the darkness turns to
candlelight, soft flickers in my direction
daring me to love myself
though ever I believe my intelligence capable
of discarding my use
to every human life.
Having a real family
was never something I thought of
outside the fairy tale
happily ruins the phrase
pensively ever after?
but will the sex be challenging
or the children have disabilities
and will he care about me when the hormones run away
so I can sit writing poetry
with an empty nest
before anything but hearts have left it?
Fate may look kindly upon me
and the muses produce their arts
but I will remember this night
when the other music entrances.

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