Tag: heartbreak

Ebb and Flow

I started a new journal the other day and was freewriting when this poem came. When I’m plugged into the Cosmic Signal, I never know what’s going to bubble to the surface or who’s going to speak.

Ebb and Flow

Already spinning lies, I enter you.

Outside, the world floods with tears
as you open your carefully crafted eyes,
seeing only what you want to see.

We ebb and flow, ignorant of love.

The Good Not Done, The Love Not Given (Classic Poem Series #6)

I was digging through some old poems (by old, I mean written when I was in college, some twenty years ago) and came across this one. This, and the others I’ve posted in the series, are classic only to me, and I’ll admit calling this the “classic poem series” makes me laugh. 

I remember the context of this piece quite well; it was during a painful breakup. The girl about whom it’s written never read the piece (and is highly unlikely to read this post), which is for the best. I also remember a poetry mentor being critical of the poem, suggesting that I revise it more closely with Larken’s work in mind. I didn’t agree with her then…and I still don’t. The line was a jumping-off point and therefore served its purpose.

The Good Not Done, The Love Not Given*

If I counted the times
I blackened others
with my presence,
you would curse the sky
and dig for solace in the earth
you love so well.

You don’t know defilement like I do,
when it becomes a second skin.

I have fought our extinction
for long enough, but I remember
touching you in the right places
at the right times, and your manic
screams that told me I would live forever.

Sex is broken origami now,
paper-thin and disabled.

I could be a Zen master,
so controlled is my breath
when you walk by.

I break into your room later
and place pennies on your sleep-locked eyes.
Outside the night gathers on dark legs,
and I love everything except you.

*from Philip Larken’s “Aubade”


This isn’t a post about the eclipse except that the upcoming event worked its way into a poem. Strangely, I thought I was going to write something funny, but the Muse wasn’t having it. “You’ll be writing this, instead,” she whispered. And so I did.


There’s a barrier between us,
and you drip with slow time,
content to ride the whole thing out–
but I can’t sleep for screaming.
I suppose you’ve learned to block it out.

I imagine you surfing brainless TV waves,
still cooking food for two, leftovers squirreled
away in the refrigerator that always hated
me and spoke bloody murder at 2 AM.
Of course, tt has only sweet nothings for you.

The eclipse is coming soon, I text,
I have your glasses if you want them.
Somewhere in my anxious breathing,
I think there’s a riddle you could solve
if you only put your quickfire mind to it.

I hear nothing from you, and that nothing
stretches, becoming the wordless normal,
and I decide to get my hearing checked,
just to be sure–catastrophes are known
to strike at times like this, when one is alone.

My hearing is just fine and dangerously
good at parsing meaning from the silence.
As the moon plays its trick on the clueless sun,
I stare unblinking at the cosmic spectacle,
hoping, somewhere, you’re moonstruck, as well.