Mostly Poetry

Here I am
Stretched beyond my limits
My wings pressed tight
Against this incomprehensible net
And yet there I am
I can see me from a distance
A piece of me
A part
A portion
Smudged.

Three inches is a long way
When you’re separated from yourself
And trapped
Pressed against the sheet
Hopelessly
Helplessly
Separated
Smudged.

~wbv

P.S. RIP little gnat.

You run about
A glimpse, a glance
A brief aside
And then you hide

You come around
A gaze, a glare
A quiet prayer
And then you hide

You steal my world
A touch, a feel
A hint of real
And then you hide

Into the mist
Of rain, of bliss
Your moistened lips
And then you hide

Your fruit about
Take in, breathe out
A quiet shout
And then you hide

~wbv

In every moment
Hides an eternity,
Forever held captive,
Never to be released.

We only catch glimpses
In the moments we cherish,
In those we wish
Could last forever.

But moments,
They are fleeting,
We cannot keep them.
As quickly as they come,
So do they pass.

To cling to a moment,
Is a fruitless endeavor,
Once gone, it can never be
Restored.

Past moments
Are unreachable,
And future moments don’t exist.
This moment we have,
Is the one in which we can live,

Making the most of each moment,
Before it is lost forever,
And replaced by a new one,
Just as brief.

Then maybe
This chain of moments
That we call a lifetime
Will somehow, someday,
Be complete.

~wbv

If it were simple
It would be complete
If I were simple
Perhaps I would be too
If it were normal
It would be accepted
If I were normal
Perhaps I would be too
If it were honest
It wouldn’t be normal
And that I am
So that I’m not
If it were easy
It wouldn’t be worth it
And I’m especially difficult
So surely that’s worth something…

~wbv

You quietly hide in darkness
Where most believe nothing exists
You’re a creation of the mind
And and a tormentor of the heart

With your many arrows
Piercing many hearts
And many unsuspecting victims

Their lives falling to pieces
Because of your insatiable appetite

The arrows leaving your bow
Never miss their mark
Your quiver holding endless arrows
Your target doesn’t stand a chance

As if getting shot once weren’t enough
You repeatedly rain down
A barrage of fiery missiles

Those who fall and get up
Will be struck and fall again

And the only way to escape
The reach of your flaming arrows
Is death.

~wbv

Sometimes it seems that reaching
Is all an arm can do
Reach and reach and fail to grasp
That thing eluding you

While flailing in the darkness
Failing to find the way
Exhaustion snuffs the yearning soul
And promise fades away

Sometimes the hand is shackled
For ’tis wickedness to yearn
The hopeless aim of tired hands
That never seem to learn

That there’s no point in reaching
When it’s all an arm can do
To reach and never hold a thing

is painful
and mostly pointless.

~wbv

Step after unsteady step
Through golden fields
Find one, then another
Pulling rye

A traitor in disguise
Planted seeds of betrayal
It’s a world of absolutes
And you absolutely don’t belong

Walking, pulling, pulling, walking
Young lively eyes
Scour the ocean of gold
Looking for a chance
To uproot the betrayer

And soon before my eyes
The field turns to rye
And everything golden
Becomes the lie
The movement dies
With angry cries
Of shattered lives
Those pulling rye
They wonder why

We had to try
And so our love
Was never meant
To die

From pulling rye

~wbv

What can I be
if not the soil you are rooted in?
What can I be
if not the rain that quenches your thirst?
What can I be
if not the sun that warms you?
What can I be
if not the air that surrounds you?
What can I be
if not the strength that supports you?

I have no delusion
that I should be any of these things
more important
more needed
that you should depend on me

Still, from inside the void that this cold reality fills
stretches an indefinable passion
full of everything but utility
full of everything,
but empty of satisfaction

What can I be?

~wbv

Distant red
The setting sun
Pale moons rising
Over one

The bluish gaze
Of open skies
The wistful glance
Of lowered eyes

A Blazing fire
Kept within
With loving warmth
The night begins

There darkened souls
With moonlit hearts
Feel red’s deep warmth
Though worlds apart

Where planted seeds
In dampened earth
Yield shrouded blooms
Of untold worth

And distant red
Will come again
To wash with light
Borne from within

~wbv

October is national breast cancer awareness month… and a perfect time to work the subject of boobs into a poetry blog such as this one. Here are a few poetic bits about breasts, in honor of N.B.C.A.M.

(If, for some crazy reason you are offended by poems featuring breasts, then you probably ought to skip this post and read something a little more subtle.)

[...] may you rejoice in the wife of your youth.
A loving doe, a graceful deer—
may her breasts satisfy you always,
may you ever be captivated by her love.
Proverbs 5:18-19 (1)

Your two breasts are like two fawns,
like twin fawns of a gazelle
that browse among the lilies.
Song of Solomon 4:5 (1)

My lover is to me a sachet of myrrh
resting between my breasts.
Song of Solomon 1:13 (1)

Your stature is like that of the palm,
and your breasts like clusters of fruit.
I said, “I will climb the palm tree;
I will take hold of its fruit.”
May your breasts be like the clusters of the vine,
the fragrance of your breath like apples
Song of Solomon 7:7 (1)

Her foot sparkled like silver
splashing bath water
on her golden apple breasts,
grown heavy with their milk [...]
~Rufinus, 2nd century BCE (2)

My lover is a lotus blossom
with pomegranate breasts
her face is a polished wooden snare
And I am the poor wild bird
seduced
into the teeth of her trap.
~Anonymous Egyptian, 15th-10th Cent. BCE (2)

Spring quickly passes
Everything perishes
I cry out loud
whenever your touches
tingle my breasts.
~Yosano Akiko (1878-1942) (2)

Loveliness beyond words
this woman dressed
in a sari to match her skin,
those beautiful breasts
concealed and yet exposed.
~Bihari, 1595-1694 (2)

Display thy breasts, my Julia, there let me
Behold that circummortal purity;
Between whose glories, there my lips I’ll lay,
Ravished in that fair Via Lactea.
~Robert Herrick (3)

All fun aside, take care of your boobs, girls. Check them yourself or get them checked.  (Of course, talk to your doctor about what checking should be done considering your age and family history.)

~wbv

Sources:
(1) “Holy Bible”, New International Version
(2) “The Erotic Spirit: An Anthology of Poems of Sensuality, Love, and Longing”, Shambala Publishing
(3) Poetry Foundation (Upon Julia’s Breasts, Robert Herrick)