Tag Archives: unrequited love

Kicked Up In April

The cocktail waitress smoked a menthol cigarette,

saying it cleared out the snot and crap from her head,

left her sinuses dry as a bone, as pollen kicked up in April.

Out in the back of the restaurant, five minutes for a smoke,

before she went back to smiling for ogling men, fake flirtation,

and being a pretty dream for hopefully big tips.

I was smoking too, as night fell, and the hot afternoon faded.

I was in love with her, and was glad to be alone with her,

away from the sweltering, stifling, and noisy kitchen.

We looked up at the sky, a barren and cold and unbroken black,

with two, maybe three weak and blown out stars, and no moon.

So little in the banal lights of the city to dream upon.

Then a bright, bright red light streaked across that flat black,

zigged up and zagged down and made impossible moves,

leaving an open cut on the sky that bled for a few seconds, then faded.

Then it streaked off, gone forever.

The cocktail waitress stubbed her cigarette on the wall, sighed out her smoke,

Aliens, she said, their watching us, manipulating us, cross breeding us,

and we sold ourselves out for not even thirty pieces of silver, just some toys,

She goes inside, to smile and perform, and I’m alone in the cooling night.

This not our world, not even the world of the powerful, but the demonic hands they kiss.

The weight of that black sky that held only fallen angels was unbearable.

I too, went inside.

Once More See Mermaids

It’s the end of autumn, no more lurid colors
or golden sunlight, or mild afternoons.
Now it’s only the colorless and drab
wet days of an East Tennessee winter.
Her long, dark hair is tucked under the
hood of her navy blue sweatshirt.
Her head is nodding, like she’s listening
to music, maybe lost in a more tender world.
She’s wearing tight leggings, as grey as
this late afternoon, and I’m ashamed of
the thoughts I have looking at her, more
ashamed that I even feel love for her at all.
Lost in the rhythm, she looks out on the river,
that is fat and wide and slow with damnation,
but still beautiful, despite this ugly city
and these industrial remnants on the shore.
I love her, and I wish I could send it all away.
She never liked me, only polite because we were
co-workers, and because it would damage her
“Christian” image to be rude to someone.
I want to say goodbye before she leaves
for a post doc in Ontario, and she is gone
forever. I want to hear her voice, see her face,
let my heart choke it’s self in longing, one more time.
But I leave her to her reveries, to her music,
to her more tender world. 4 decades and I’m
finally learning to take a fucking hint and stay away
from people who really don’t like me.
It’s winter. It would be a fine time to walk
in the riverside park, and dream of whatever
worlds are childlike and mad, and have no truck
with sex or romance and it’s bastard desires.
To once more see the mermaids that were hunted to extinction.

Wedding Day

Awake in the night, watching sparse snow flakes fall,

wishing I could see the demon that is out there,

that can see me so clearly.

Hot, black coffee, because what is sleep? What are dreams?

Rebekah is in my mind, poetess, the impossible good thing.

Not her, not any other woman, will ever be at my side in these moments.

I lay down in my bed, knowing there is no hiding from the demon, he knows all.

My enemy is closer to me than any passing women ever was, knows me true.

The snow stops, the night goes on, and I dream of being innocent.

Of kissing Rebekah on our wedding day.

Just dream.


8th of December

Northern Dark

Kristen sits on the bed, only in her briefs, smoking a French cigarette.
The sunrise is weak and watery; it makes her skin marble pale, distant.
The freight train rumbles by, it’s horn the howl of an enraged demon.
She is enraged and numb and distant, only that same demon can hear her howl.

Coffee with her before I go to work, before she leaves for Rochester, gone forever.
She is in her old and stiff leathers, holding her scratched helmet, already gone inside.
There’s nothing holding her here now, and a shared past now ruined pushing her away.
I love her, but she only came for a bed, and someone to hold the sky up a little longer.

I watch her put on her helmet, fire up her motorbike, and speed away, leaving for good.
I watch until she’s out of sight, knowing I didn’t make her go, but I couldn’t make her stay.
The living room/bedroom/den still smells of her exotic cigarettes, homemade, lilac perfume.
I walk to work on campus, heart aching, and hoping she finds peace up in the northern dark.


Early Morning Warm

She wears the necklace I gave her.
The Tree of Life that will be hers.
The night before the wedding.
I may dream about mermaids tonight.

A bottle of red wine, the moonless sea.
She danced with me, early morning warm.
I’m waiting for the mermaids tonight.
To sing the song that told me her true name.

Drunk, the sea and stars spin a golden thread.
The Tree of Life is hers for sewing the sun.
I know good and evil, but not how to speak.
Mermaids sing, and I remember her touch.

Not The Light of The Moon

Dreamcatcher, can’t catch the threads of her hair

or the angry and distant look in her eye.

The lines drawn to paradise and sweetness

are death and life their on her thigh.

In my bed, dreams come unbidden, the desire

to be cut by her wire wings, sweet pain!

The dark eyes that are not the light of the moon,

or the washed out color of a winter rain.

Just a trinket, no magic, nothing can stop the dreams.

What you want is The Devil whispering in your ear.

Dream to dream, lust to lust, something to love

as the sun grows colder and stars dimmer every year.

Bright Colors

They want you in black and ashen finery, the harsh angel.

               I prefer you in bright colors, the girl next door, an autumn day.

               The pictures of you laughing as the leaves fall around you,

               And you seem joyous and full of warmth the sun is putting away.


               All the pictures in a folder, the autumn dreamer, the summer lover,

               The winter sweetheart, the springtime saint, all the brightness freely given.

               Unlike the faces you procure to perform and cut throats and rule in movies.

               Unlike the reaper of blood and damnation the other so fervently adore.


               A dream, unmade in its casting, the tenderness that is a shard in my heart.

               You and me and a happy world, silly movies and domestic happiness

               And soft and mischievous love making, and talks into the night,

               Sad songs and cuddling and so many bottles of red wine.


               I don’t want the demoness. I want the girl.

               But neither is real. All our faces are dreams.

               All eyes see are mirages and not the sainted sun.


The Stars of Paradise

I’ve been lost for years, dreaming, but not making it through.

               The stars of paradise, their light and warmth, from you I drew.

               The cold days are spring like, and there’s no silence in winter rain.

               I look at pictures, blue bikini, red wine, on holiday in coastal Spain.


               I try to conjure a phantom, a sense ghost, trick my skin to thin you’re here.

               That lovely one, in a crystal palace, queen of the moon, my bitter souvenir.

               Try to trick my lips to think it’s your kisses, not my own fingers running over them.

               Angels’ light can be so cruel, shining for only a moments, it’s daylight so very slim.


               All the people here are ghosts, maybe demons, or just not a bell rung by my voice.

               I dream of downloading all your movies, take a train to New Orleans, blasphemy rejoice!

               I try to conjure you, or a chimera that will dance with me, make me think it’s so real,

               In the videos and pictures and silly fantasies written in fan fiction, but truth will repeal.


The Silence In The Sky

I built a world around you,

               The silence in the sky,

               The girl that came to earth

               For a time in the last summer.


               You touched my face,

               And kissed me so softly,

               And lit the sun again,

               As the winter came again.


               I keep a place for you,

               In memory and devotion,

               Of all the wonders shown,

               And all the love you gave.


               I look to the stars at night,

               As you are an angel in heaven,

               And I’m still her in flesh and blood,

               Wanting to know holy light once more.


               I keep the place for you,

               Keep it tended and bright,

               To hold onto the light of you,

               The glory of the sky above.