Poets I Admire

Edna St. Vincent Millay

As to some lovely temple, tenantless

Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass,

Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass

Grown up between the stones, yet from excess

Of grief hard driven, or great loneliness,

The worshipper returns, and those who pass

Marvel him crying on a name that was, –

So is it now with me in my distress.

Your body was a temple to Delight;

Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,

Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;

Here might I hope to find you day or night,

And here I come to look for you, my love,

Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.

 

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Original Work, Poetry

Lavenders in the Breeze

The fragrance of you
In my mind inescapable.
The wind carries you to me,
Lavenders in the breeze.
In an instant transported
Back against your chest
Arms wrapped around
The last time I truly felt
Contentment in who I am.
Left alone, no more lavender,
The dark doubts creep in
Whispering their words once more
You should not be.
But I am.
And I will continue to be
Because one day, once again,
The wind will bring you
Back to me.

Original Work, Poetry

Mind’s Eye

When I was a child, I never thought I’d reach twenty-five,
I’d just never felt all that alive.
When I reached the age I’d never thought so,
I will admit for a while – it was touch and go.

Now that age I’ve moved beyond,
To life I’ve grown attached, grown fond.
But sometimes in the deep dark of night,
It can be hard to see the light.

The child once more takes hold,
And I feel like I’ll never know what it’s like to be old.
To be sure, I must admit I don’t want to die,
But, my old self, I’ve never seen in my mind’s eye.

Original Work, Poetry

an answer to Why?

My constant companion,
Never far from sight,
Always there for just in case,
How rarely you see the light.

An Idea of what could be, a future
For the two of us, you and me.
Grand plans created so alive in my mind.
In reality, likely never to be.

Untold stories trapped,
So many of them locked inside so deep.
Fear of Failure – lies told – doubt of oneself in truth.
Your unblemished pages, yours to keep.

Original Work, Poetry

Together, you and me

I can still remember
The first day
I ever saw you
Standing there so
Self-assured
I filled with such doubt
Of who I was
And could yet be
But you always knew
Always could see
That part of me
I could never set free
Until the first day
I ever saw you
Standing there so
Self-assured
I was filled with such awe
Of who you were
And what we could yet be.
Together, you and me.