An invaluable gift
About a week ago, in a moment of uninhibited forthrightness usually only afforded me by alcohol-induced alterity, I eked a confession out of my friend Jordan. I could feel that he had a crush on me but in a moment of blissful narcissism, I decided that I wanted to hear it spoken plainly. Emboldened by the confirmation of my suspicions, I pushed the cheekiness a step further and said that I expected him to compose a love poem for me for Valentine's Day. I was mostly kidding. He agreed immediately and I believed that he was just playing along.
Tonight, I playfully asked him if he had written me that love poem. He said he had composed not one, but three. I was delightfully surprised but not nearly as shocked as I was after hearing the first of them. With his permission, here they are.
What Good is a Muse?
Your love demands of me that in a day
I write poetry as if I were born with a pen
in my hand and a wonder in my heart!
Well, I have the wonder, but without
a proper muse I am lost! A proper muse!
That’s right—what good is a muse
if her influence is so powerful
that she scrambles mortal thoughts
and addles mortal minds?
I am no god, and though I find
no solace in this knowledge,
it is clear that I cannot comprehend
you! You, whose very presence sparks
the infernos of chaos in the thoughts
of lesser beings, tell me! What breeze
will come borne on wings of cool spring,
to extinguish the raging fires of discord
in my heart? If you can conjure such
a comfort then I beg of you to do so!
For chaos is not the only fire in my heart,
but it burns me just the same, consuming
my mind and body day and night,
burning but never burning! Temperatures
immeasurable by even the most divine
of scales, blazes so close at hand
--so concrete!--but simultaneously enigmatic,
obscure, ungraspable! What torture
your unknowable power does upon me;
what imprint will be left behind on my soul?
Will I, in some abstraction of reality,
ever fathom it? Can you show me
this enigma and let me hold it in my arms
like a small child cradles a newborn babe,
unable to grasp the implications of such
a wonder, but able to appreciate it with
naïve and guileless reverence? Would that
I would understand such a nature. Ah,
well. So, where did we begin?
Love Is My Excuse
I would ride upon a star for you—
creating a wake across the dark silk
of the night sky like a water skimmer
of the infinite whose ripples are felt
into forever,--and put it in your palm.
I would bear the fires of Hell for you,
taking them onto myself so that you
might walk free into Paradise
and sip the wine of divinity,
my thirst all but forgotten
in my weeping for your joy.
I would tame the wildest beast for you,
whether it be ant or lion or man,
and teach it to eat from your hand,
to sit at attention, or to live and die
by your command.
I would compose 10,000 poems for you,
take up my pen and splash its ink
across endless paper, to find that only
one unequivocal poem
in all that sea of soggy thoughts
exists to sate your heart’s hunger.
I would spend those endless hours with you,
sparing you the silliness of such poetry;
I would compose 10,000 poems for you,
and a million, million more, if you would but
consider our time together poetry.
I would sit in our wondrous silence with you,
commanded by your soul to connect
on a level
so much deeper
than poetry.
Feline
Look at you, strolling regally,
as though you were meant to be,
a queen.
Sparing nary a glance for passersby,
wondering, knowing, secretly where you've been.
Not until you’ve passed them by,
do you bother for
a peek.
You turn around to see them there,
looking back, their heart weak.
You stop and see them learning there,
knowing, seeking, yearning there,
for truth.
In your glance you have them there,
in the dominion of your youth.
You have comfort in your surety,
that they find you genuinely
divine.
You know that looking back at them,
they are emboldened by their find.
You peer with incandescent gems,
searching, demanding that they
are pure.
They tell you with their heart laid bare,
what their eyes have told before.
You nuzzle at their heartstrings now,
curled up, their mistress never
to cease.
You forget unnoticed time,
like a feline masterpiece.
Thank you, Jordan, for a touching Valentine's Day gift.
Tonight, I playfully asked him if he had written me that love poem. He said he had composed not one, but three. I was delightfully surprised but not nearly as shocked as I was after hearing the first of them. With his permission, here they are.
What Good is a Muse?
Your love demands of me that in a day
I write poetry as if I were born with a pen
in my hand and a wonder in my heart!
Well, I have the wonder, but without
a proper muse I am lost! A proper muse!
That’s right—what good is a muse
if her influence is so powerful
that she scrambles mortal thoughts
and addles mortal minds?
I am no god, and though I find
no solace in this knowledge,
it is clear that I cannot comprehend
you! You, whose very presence sparks
the infernos of chaos in the thoughts
of lesser beings, tell me! What breeze
will come borne on wings of cool spring,
to extinguish the raging fires of discord
in my heart? If you can conjure such
a comfort then I beg of you to do so!
For chaos is not the only fire in my heart,
but it burns me just the same, consuming
my mind and body day and night,
burning but never burning! Temperatures
immeasurable by even the most divine
of scales, blazes so close at hand
--so concrete!--but simultaneously enigmatic,
obscure, ungraspable! What torture
your unknowable power does upon me;
what imprint will be left behind on my soul?
Will I, in some abstraction of reality,
ever fathom it? Can you show me
this enigma and let me hold it in my arms
like a small child cradles a newborn babe,
unable to grasp the implications of such
a wonder, but able to appreciate it with
naïve and guileless reverence? Would that
I would understand such a nature. Ah,
well. So, where did we begin?
Love Is My Excuse
I would ride upon a star for you—
creating a wake across the dark silk
of the night sky like a water skimmer
of the infinite whose ripples are felt
into forever,--and put it in your palm.
I would bear the fires of Hell for you,
taking them onto myself so that you
might walk free into Paradise
and sip the wine of divinity,
my thirst all but forgotten
in my weeping for your joy.
I would tame the wildest beast for you,
whether it be ant or lion or man,
and teach it to eat from your hand,
to sit at attention, or to live and die
by your command.
I would compose 10,000 poems for you,
take up my pen and splash its ink
across endless paper, to find that only
one unequivocal poem
in all that sea of soggy thoughts
exists to sate your heart’s hunger.
I would spend those endless hours with you,
sparing you the silliness of such poetry;
I would compose 10,000 poems for you,
and a million, million more, if you would but
consider our time together poetry.
I would sit in our wondrous silence with you,
commanded by your soul to connect
on a level
so much deeper
than poetry.
Feline
Look at you, strolling regally,
as though you were meant to be,
a queen.
Sparing nary a glance for passersby,
wondering, knowing, secretly where you've been.
Not until you’ve passed them by,
do you bother for
a peek.
You turn around to see them there,
looking back, their heart weak.
You stop and see them learning there,
knowing, seeking, yearning there,
for truth.
In your glance you have them there,
in the dominion of your youth.
You have comfort in your surety,
that they find you genuinely
divine.
You know that looking back at them,
they are emboldened by their find.
You peer with incandescent gems,
searching, demanding that they
are pure.
They tell you with their heart laid bare,
what their eyes have told before.
You nuzzle at their heartstrings now,
curled up, their mistress never
to cease.
You forget unnoticed time,
like a feline masterpiece.
Thank you, Jordan, for a touching Valentine's Day gift.
posted by Nathalie at 11:58 PM
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