Monthly Archives: June 2024

Trashed

It was too personal, said far too much.
As for that one, I liked the imagery,
But it had no structure or rhymes as such,
And got no boost for lack of symmetry.
And that one, that one I tried to salvage
But the sands of time have not dulled the pain,
Nor have torrential rains become flame's bane.
So the bit grinder its soul will ravage.
Add to the heap this one I won't retouch;
Not that one, to which I cling: cripple's crutch.
Keep those on dreams that I've yet to obtain,
But let go those that are far too arcane.
Spare those that speak of my little cabbage,
Or of Christian journey telemetry.

Author’s note: i started a poem the other day in which I tried to salvage another that i have no intention of publishing, with a note explaining:

“This takes some bits and pieces from an unpublished poem that evolved over the course of about a year. One version of that poem took a dark turn after six or seven stanzas. One version was too much of a “when you know what you don’t know” situation. The most recent version of that poem doesn’t end as hopefully as I would like, though I think it does capture the sentiment of “things are falling apart, no matter what I try to do to hold them together,” or, “this is not how I pictured things would be a year ago” with an unstated “can we go back a year and get a do-over?”  I generally liked that poem, but often end up having to explain myself to some of my followers, and it was maybe too personal, and in some minds, lacking context, could be seriously misunderstood. So, I’ve opted to canabalize that one in favor of other art.

Ultimately I put that in the WordPress trash, providing the inspiration for this poem.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

The Moth and the Post-Workout Shower

Laundry room: sweaty clothes deposited.
Bathroom: bathtub water set not too hot.
Bathtub: shower stop up, cold posited,
Stand back, let that flow pass me by, I wot.
Under shower: water warmed, start the soak.
Tile wall: crawling upward, a smallish moth.
Amygdala: spray it off, spray the bloke!
Basal ganglia: let live, be not wroth.
Under shower: turn my back and lather.
Cortex prefrontal: rinsing fixation.
Window sill tile lip: condensation.
ADD: watch drip lip-water gathered.
Tile wall: moth takeoff, on silence bent.
Water drips: direct hit! Down with intent.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Beach Wreck

Author’s note: I initially titled this “#4” because it was the fourth of my “sauna sonnet” series, and I was trying to develop a habit of writing sonnets in the sauna during my post-strength-training sauna sessions. Lest some future historian discover my poetry and chide me for such an unimaginative title, I decided to give it a different name.

Across the distance of days long and dark,
And through fields littered with chords from our past,
Solace seek in knowledge, high water mark,
Try to make joy brought by your grand smiles last.
But it's been so long, the miles fade away,
White sands pass o'er the wings of time, beach-wrecked.
Waves at my feet mock recall of that day,
Digital palms lessen rip tide's effect.
I do not fear the shame of going back,
Nor the possibility I yet lack,
But if I see your face never again
I'll let sands trade sanity for bliss,
Dreaming always of that last parting kiss
We never had, through one lifetime or ten.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Hanging On Too Long

Sentimental doesn't do it justice,
It lacks the depth of hope unrelenting.
Delusional doesn't account, just this
Doubt for which I'm constantly repenting.
Hope springs eternal, but muddied waters
Are wont to flow from a well nigh to dry.
The flame, of hope, of love, burns far hotter
Though it be quenched by eyes too dry to cry.
Yet in holding on too long, I may lose:
I may not see missed opportunity;
May not catch meaning of your fleeting glance;
Until it's too late, and time seals my fate—
But I'll hope and pray that you may perchance
On rethought, let Cupid's arrow find mate.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Silence, Ye Fears of the Avoidants!

For my sister, who correctly guessed this was inspired by her situation when she read it.

It was smooth sailing when first you two met,
You clicked as random parts of happy dream!
You knew no commitment, to make you fret
Or stare down the dream, in eyes a harsh gleam.
But something made it real, took scene from seams
Of dream; into realms of possible let.
Reality, to your head a hard beam,
Or in your eye it makes vision all wet.
Now your system's in fight, flight, fawn, or freeze.
To confront your fears, excruciating.
To run away, not look back, it's a breeze.
Break-up could be ameliorating.
The solution's not terse, won't fit in verse.
Confront fears, or worse, relation in hearse.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore

Saline Rivers, Fresh Tides

"Come and play with us!' His fellows called out.
"Come dance with us!" Peers tried to remove doubt.
He put up no fuss, nor yet did he yield.
They knew not the reason future revealed.
Me, now, options weighed, I'd like to have played;
I'd like to have leapt and danced through the glade.
But, uncomfortable in my own skin,
I had saline rivers to cross.
For the victor is the field,
But also for the beaten down.
Both, one day, will wear a crown.
And know ye that I ye kin?
I float no better on fresh tides than salty currents;
My welcomings of the same, recurrent.

Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore