Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder

One of my poems that will be placed in my book probably.

Heartache's Pride

Love kisses the tears, aiding the end of a heartbroken memory.
Love kisses the lips, takes over the ties of a heartbroken memory.

The pain of this split-screen sadness offers to sight an end of misery,
leaving a gaping hole from the wound of an arrow that was once love’s memory.

If there was a hint of glory’s light, the life of this love might be healing,
but all that remains as of yet, is a lonely sign of a love’s lost memory.

I can’t seem to shake off this hurt, my mind racing back and forth, trying to
obtain what once was there, her hand in mine, a single, blissful memory.

If I could see my jumbled mix-up, where things went wrong, it might be possible to salvage
the past, throw out all my inconsolable thoughts, create a new memory.

But through all of this, she is still there waiting, for a sign that she is still treasured,
still a part of my only memory.

When I finally see my faults, let my pride slip away, 
I’ll be able to tell her that I’m ready and willing, that I want to be her last love’s memory

Abstraction

This is one of my favorite poems I've written, by far.

Apathy

My girl is screaming at me,
nothing new I suppose. She
says she’s gonna leave, grabs
as much of her shit as she can,
stuffs it in a bag, and walks out,
slamming the door behind her.
I really didn’t have anything to 
say, and besides, She’ll come 
back, she always comes back.

But if she doesn’t, oh well,
She wasn’t that good anyway,
and I have better things to 
waste my time on. I grab 
the beer next to me, the one 
I opened the night before.  
I take a swig. It’s flat, 
but it’ll get my drunk,
and that’s all that matters.

I move around until I find
the perfect spot on the couch,
find the remote, and turn on 
the TV. Flipping through the
channels, I find nothing of
any interest to me, so I settle
on an infomercial, one about
knives.  

The host is cutting through 
a shoe with one of the knives,
and I think, “why would anyone
want to cut through a damn shoe?”
If I had one leg, and some extra
shoes lying around, then I might
have a use for such a knife.  

My girl walks in, just as I thought
she would, and gets in the path 
between me and the TV. She
always does shit like this, it’s
the only way she can get me
to pay any attention to her. She 
says to me, “I heard somewhere
that apathy kills.”

I look at her in a blank stare,
and say, “Yeah, but I don’t care.”  

Bukowski

I was at Roasters basically all day today attempting to put the finishing touches on my portfolio.  Now I've been writing a lot of poems about love, or rather the lack thereof, but for some reason, I changed that up a bit today.  I've been reading a lot of poetry by Charles Bukowski, and if you haven't heard of him, I totally recommend him.  He is one of the greatest contemporary writers of our time.  And, David Duchovny bases much of the storyline of Californication on Bukowski's writing and his lifestyle.  Anyway, I wrote this today, and it's in the same contemporary style of poetry; raw and honest.

Thanks For Nothing

The coffee shop is empty
I usually get my 
inspiration from this 
place, but not today.

I figure I might as well
go outside for a smoke.
It's a beautiful day,
so why waste it.

An old friend I haven't 
seen in years walks up
and says hi.  We strike

up a conversation, and
after a couple of minutes,
he asks if he could bum
a smoke.  I say sure, and
hand him one.

He lights it and says thanks,
then gets up and walks away.

Inconsiderate prick.

After writing this, I felt like I should keep writing like it.  I never really thought about poetry as being like this, but I like it much better.  And if you haven't checked out Bukowski, get on that.

 

Things Never Change

I'm having a bit of writer's block, being that this is my first time to use this.  Lately, I've been having problems figuring out where my life needs to be heading.  It's scary, knowing that I'll be 24 in a month, and I've done nothing big in my life...I want a change, I want to break out and start over again.  If I could, I would move to NYC right now, and leave everything behind.  Sadly, that cannot happen, but one can always dream.  My poetry class that I'm in right now is finally making an impact.  I'm finally able to write things that are meaningful to me, and that hasn't happened in a long time.  Granted, there haven't really been any changes in my life that would spark me to write again, but there is now, and there will be plenty of writing coming from these changes.  I'll leave with a poem that I recently wrote.  Enjoy.

Summer Romance

This love is as a shooting star,
a burning tale of romance.
Offering a quick glance into eternity,
and extinguished as quick as it was lit.

A burning tale of romance
lives between two young hearts
and is extinguished as quick as it was lit.
It is a soul-awakening summer flame.

Living between two young hearts
is an unending feeling of forever.
It is a soul-awakening summer flame.
His hand reaches for one more caress,

an unending feeling of forever
meeting its bitter end in timeless silence.
His hand reaches for one more caress
as love exhales its last weary breath.

The bitter end in timeless silence
fills his tattered and tired heart.
As love exhales its last weary breath,
The words, “I love you” leave his lips.

His tattered and tired heart
hangs on to love’s burning ember.
“I love you” leaves his lips
and that is more than enough.

Hanging on to love’s burning ember
he feels as though he could find forever.
And it is more than enough,
this love is as a shooting star.