“Have I finally broken you?”
She playfully asks
As they stop in the hallway.
“No, no,” comes his reply;
Long on the vowels,
upward inflection—
As his eyes smile
And his lips break
Into a knowing grin.
He thinks to himself,
“Broken me, yes,
But not the way you wanted,
Not the way you planned.”
© 2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, desire, frustrations, granite tablet, granitetablet2, introspection, poem
She asks a question of him, but of the group.
He cannot answer: mouth full of bread or soup.
Her query is met with silence,
Until another breaks it without violence.
Her left foot is propelled
By unmet expectation.
Her right spurred on
By hopes dashed, hopes felled;
She leaves the room gracefully,
Then passes by, looking in mournfully.
Another pass with greater sadness,
And finally, donned a coat for pass number three.
He wonders why the passes,
Why the sadness on her face;
Beautiful among all the pretty lasses,
What’s gone wrong in this case?
He finishes his meal, pondering.
His mind, wandering,
Comes to a clearing
Where he finds some meaning.
With haste he departs,
In search of this sweet dame.
He realizes in his heart
The coat means he is too late.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, communication, desire, frustrations, granite tablet, granitetablet1, love, poem
Author’s note: Carly Simon asks in the song Angel from Montgomery (written by John Prine): “How the hell can a person go to work in the morning, come home in the evening, and have nothing to say?” The situation described by those lines is rather sad. But it occurs to me that there are many reasons why one might have “nothing to say.” This poem is an exploration of some of those reasons.
When the cubicle is empty,
There’s nothing to say.
When it’s too hard to speak
You may think
I’ve got nothing to say.
When what I want to say, I don’t want to discuss;
Or the time or place don’t fit the content,
I’ll stay my tongue,
And I’ll think,
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
When my head fills with warnings:
A seizure may be imminent!
To avoid a repeat
I’ll have to retreat;
Catch my breath,
Guard my driving privilege.
When saddened by news
Or burdensome views,
Unless you’re my spouse
Or have lived in the same house,
I’m a startled field mouse.
When I want to slow
The gushing blood flow
From the mark of Cupid’s arrow,
For reasons above,
Hand in black glove
Covers my mouth.
When a loved one is leaving,
My sighs are my lungs heaving,
I want to shout “don’t go”
Until my voice fills the sky;
But the sorrow I feel
Drains my brain
Until my words
Are no longer therein contained.
And when I just want to sit—
The landscape moon lit—
Enjoy the view for a bit,
Silence is a hit
If you’re in it.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged Angel from Montgomery, aura (seizure), bliss and glad life, Carly Simon, communication, cupid, desire, love, poem, relationships, seizure, sorrow
Some may think it kind
To pray for others success.
But one may come to find
In that prayer, distress:
He wishes her success in her goals,
He prays fervently for it, but there’s a toll:
Much to his dismay,
Her goals will take her away.
Can he secretly hope she fails,
While praying she gets that letter in the mail?
No, ’tis selfish, ’tis not love.
He’ll send a unified message above.
Each time her departure is spoken of,
Part of his heart withers,
And though it goes against his druthers,
He’ll hope for that which sorrow comes of.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged atonement, become as a child, bliss and glad life, consequence, counting the cost, desire, empathy, introspection, karma, law of restoration, love, poem, relationships, resilience, self reflection, timing
He’s late so passes by with a nod.
She’s a step or two behind,
But he’s really got to go.
She’s on the phone;
Teaching from his youth
To not interrupt
Does battle with desire to talk
And wins the row.
He’ll try another jow.
Besides, “Happy Ash Wednesday”
Isn’t quite apropos.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged Ash Wednesday, communication, desire, poem, relationships, timing
She sees him below,
The one she desires.
She finds he inspires
As her heart closer grows.
He doesn’t know
It has taken a year—
But it is now clear,
She desires to be friend, not foe.
Year by year she closer comes,
In seven, she perceives,
Her goal she’ll achieve.
With delight she softly hums.
Six have passed,
She draws nigh,
And lets out a sigh;
Leans in to be kissed.
Excited for gifts next year will bestow—
She’ll have him aye, by and by.
In anticipation she finds the right tie;
She’ll decorate herself with matching bow.
But the cycle is done,
Her goal upheaved.
‘Twas quite naive;
Still, her heart is numb:
To Aphrodite Cupid will confide
That Valentine’s will have to abide:
The day for George and Abe set aside
Will never with her coincide.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged calendar, desire, frustrations, just for fun, love, President's Day, Valentine's Day
There’s a song playing so softly
It must be coming from far away.
But it’s coming closer, getting louder.
I can neither draw nearer nor flee.
I am a captive; I am not free.
There is no iron filled with gun powder,
Nor chain about my neck that makes me stay.
The song continues, on the air wafting.
Louder, nearer, then stopping; a new song
Plays, and with increase is the volume changed.
Out of fear I want to escape;
Fear the approaching song will tear me from my dreams.
So loud, so close I want to scream.
I push off the cloth with which I am draped.
I face the captor who has me chained,
And break free to prove I am strong.
I leave my captor behind,
Covered in fluffy cotton and goose down.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged commitment, consequence, desire, for real, getting out of bed in the morning, just for fun, sleep
My Atrium is no ordinary shop:
No wares are peddled,
We don’t do consignment,
There’s no cash behind the counter.
Here behind the fence
Of my serous pericardium,
You’ll find, if you request,
Emotions—free of charge.
But if you want an emotion
From my Atrium,
You’ll have to step up;
Step up to the counter and ask.
But if you want jealousy,
We’re fresh out.
Well, that’s not right:
We no longer stock it.
Jealousy is messy,
It gets in the cracks,
Turns the grout green,
Stains white things black.
Jealousy does not produce
Manliness nor masculinity;
Those are both best
Grown internally.
So when we find
A trace of jealousy
On the floor
Or oozing down the stairs
We fetch the mop
From the cupboard
In the corner
Of my Atrium.
So, what will you have?
What will it be?
You’ll have to step up to the counter
And make it known.
If you’d rather get your fill
From some other,
That’s your choice.
There are other customers at my till.
But the portrait I painted
While you stood outside
Window shopping
Is etched into the wall.
And there it will remain—
Whether you give your wants a name,
Or never come to my counter again—
In the middle of my Atrium.
Now, where’s that mop?
©2014 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged choice, communication, consequence, coping, desire, forgiveness, frustrations, jealousy, love, poem, relationships, resilience, sleepless
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Musings of a Kunderian Monster 