Sunday Afternoon

Making love on a Sunday afternoon
A warm breeze sails through the windows
City life bustles down below.
Is this what they meant by
afternoon delight?
Thoughts of Kerouac, Ginsberg,
and New York City fill my mind,
but I'm not sure why.
All I can think is the bliss of
this moment, the peace of my soul,
my love of you.

Comments

Ok, even though no posts any comments, I did change the setup so that anonymous users can comments as well. Maybe now people will start commenting. Of course, people have to read the blog, first. But, if there is a reader who has always wanted to comment anonymously, now you can.

Update

Well, it's certainly been a while, hasn't it? Of course, I don't even know how many people, if any at all, read this, so there is probably no one keeping track. I'm still doing my weekly poetry prompts, but lately my writing has been seeming to me to be... I don't really know what the word is. Not as good as I would like. It's been a while since I've written a poem I'm proud of, that I really like.
My fiction kind of bounces around. I still haven't really hit my writing stride. I basically just write until I get stuck on everything I'm working on, then I just stop. I don't know what to do next. Do I edit? Do I try to work on something new? I did manage to eke out a short, short horror story inspired by my friend Anita. She really liked it. It's the first horror I've ever attempted. I think I'm going to submit it. I had another idea pop into my head, and I wrote out as much as I could before writer's block forced me to stop.
Some writers say that there is no writer's block, you just have to keep writing. Just push through it. Yeah, that doesn't work for me. I can't write something that isn't there. And I'm not just going to write random stuff, even if it is just a rough draft. So, I'm just not writing much right now. My muse has abandoned me. He needs to be replaced. I used to write two pages a day, five days a week with no problem. Three pages a day five days a week was a little harder. Four pages a day ground everything to a halt. I have so many little blurbs of a dialogue, or little scences, that are all homeless. I'm having a hard time building homes for them. Boo.

Day 30: Farewell Poem

Well, it's that time,
time for you to leave out
on tour. I can't come
with you- I've obligations
of my own. I'll miss you
desperately, and cling to
your shirts, breathing in
your scent. I'll cry
the first few nights,
and write you a letter
everyday you're away.
I'll hold your pillow,
the same way I hold you.
Days before you come
home will drag on so
slowly. I'll wait for
you to come home
safely to me. I believe
in your talent, and
I trust you'll be
faithful. I'll wear
your dog tags everyday.
You smile and kiss me,
hugging so tight. As
you turn to the van,
I whisper: Farewell.

Day 28: Two for Tuesdays

Poem 1: Thoughts on Sestinas

Oh, you sestina
Why must you torment me so,
Causing writer's block?


Poem 2: Sestina

Sitting on my porch underneath the rain,
Navigating the mazes of my soul,
Searching for some kind of peace;
My heart runs faster in my chest.
The storm beats against the window
But the birds continue their song.

I'm trying to find my own song,
To raise my voice above the rain.
I want to open a window,
To the depths of my soul.
Buried way down beneath my chest
Screaming for the arrival of peace.

All I need is a small piece,
A fragment of a song,
To fill the emptiness in my chest.
I need my voice to reign
Above all in my soul,
To open up that window-

Drops trail down the window.
I'm still searching for that peace
To soothe my soul.
I'm still searching for that song.
I listen to the beating rain,
So like the beating in my chest.

In my room by my bed is a chest,
Underneath the window
Covered by shadows of the rain.
I've searched inside for a piece,
A fragment of a song,
To ease the suffering of my soul.

There is a crying in my soul
Far below my chest
That only wants to sing a song.
As I sit below this window,
Longing for peace,
Sheltered from the rain.

The rain falls deep into my soul,
Bearing peace into my chest,
Breaking the window with its song.

Day 26: Miscommunication Poem

It seems to be a theme in our relationship-
miscommunication. We seem to always
misunderstand each other- read too much
between the lines, hearing things that just
aren't there. We have such different ways
of revealing our innermost selves, yet at
the end of the day we always end up
on the same page.

Day 25: Event Poem

CD Release Party:

All of their friends, fans, and fellow
musicians are present. Their cd
flows from the speakers and
envelopes the revelers. He exits
his crowd of adorers and seeks
me out. Everything fades as we meet-
head to head, hand to hand,
hips to hips and heart to heart.