Tag Archives: relationships

Grape Harvest

If it doesn’t work out,
If I don’t get to have her
In my life,

I will save myself from despair;
I will go to the grape vine,
Find some grapes out of reach.

I’ll tell myself lies to ease my pain:
“It would have never worked out.
She’s too young for me.”

If she is taken from me by another,
Or if she is taken from me by fate,
I’ll cherish what time we had;

I’ll make sweeter still, and keep near,
My fond memories of hands and heart;
The low-hanging fruit: I’ll recall the butterflies.

Harvesting Grapes, Finding Spider Egg Sacs

Harvesting Grapes, Finding Spider Egg Sacs

If she is taken from me by fate,
Or if she is taken from me by another,
I’ll soothe my heart trying to harvest sour grapes.

©2016 H.K. Longmore

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Caterpillars for Lunch

I’ve got to stop eating
Caterpillars for lunch.
They keep loitering on my lettuce;
Skulking in my sprouts.

When I put a fork in it,
They race to the back of my mouth.
I try to spit them out,
But they parachute down my throat.

Maybe they crave
Warmer temperatures inside;
Perhaps they thrive
On acid hydrochloric.

But faster development they find,
Until ’round dinner time,
I find I can but barely speak
For the butterflies trying to escape.

©2016 H.K. Longmore

Break Free

Trapped!
You feel stuck inside.
Turn the knob and pull.
Breathe in, break free;
Wide open spaces,
Fresh places and faces,
You can see for miles.

Step out into the unknown,
Let your inhibitions go,
Enjoy the ride.
Take a step inside;
Close the door behind.
As one door closes another appears,
Turn the knob and pull.
Turn the knob and pull.
Turn, turn, turn the knob.
And pull.

Step inside, come inside.
Here’s a nice jacket for you,
Your name on the door.
What you’re about to see?
Don’t panic, it’s all in your mind.
Lay down as you shrink small.
Strap yourself in, follow the hare down the hole.

Do you follow the white rabbit
Wearing your white jacket
In a room with white padded walls
Where no one answers your calls
Strapped in to save from a fall?

Let go, let go,
The doors you’ve opened
Lead nowhere worth being.
Breathe in, break free;
Leave behind the soft cushioned walls.
Open the door, return where you were,
Leave behind the thrilling ride—
Your lonely cage.

Best not to start, but no matter;
Return where you came from,
Return from afar.
There’s balm in a basin,
There’s tears on those faces,
The faces who knew you, though marred.

We can’t tell you how long
Until you’re free from the scars
But trust the promise, it’s not wrong.

Distrust on the rise:
You see no blemishes here—
But that’s proof of His promise sublime.

© 2016 H.K. Longmore

Red Eyelids

Bass Clef mid-F, in eighths.
Bass Clef mid-F, final quarter.
Salute completed, we stand.
To the left a head panned.

Those eyes contained
Unmistakable pain.
Pain at my performance?
Pain at my conformance?

The show must go on.

Standing, Bass Clef top line, staccato,
Then drop an octave, staccato; final note.
Applause.
But still the pain gives me pause.

It was the dry throat,
I tell myself.
It was the sloped chair or stage,
I want to believe.

But my lips, not the stage,
Missed the notes.
My finger, not the chair,
Depressed the wrong valve.

Show concluded,
We pack up and depart.
I watch for those red eyes,
But they don’t look at me.

My silence? Unintended;
Trying to fathom
What I cannot see.
Do I misunderstand?

Rough knuckles,
White back of hand,
In close proximity;
Moment in time ever on my mind.

Copyright © 2016 H.K. Longmore

Touché

A touch is made to lamé
With blade épée,
One’s mettle to assay;
Or for swordplay.

Another is to allay
The dread of possible fey—
A rope, not frayed,
A climber to belay.

One touch doth bewray
An attitude blasé
Toward fine bouchée
Or rich pâté

To one’s dismay,
A touch someday
Arises from sashay,
Dress, not step, soigné.

You may find it cliché,
Often child’s play:
A touch to parlay
One browsing goods you purvey.

And though it lacks visé,
This is no hearsay:
Loving touché
Alive through envié,

Becomes not forté
But Woodsman’s wedge doth convey;
On a line partway
Betwixt foray and force play.

Intended to assert revendiqué,
Yet with gentle touché,
A chasm généré
Between source and marqué.

© 2016 H.K. Longmore

Embuscade

Y at-il communicaton
Lorsque la conversation
Doit passer par un intermédiaire?

Y at-il le respect
Quand une simple plainte
Ne peut pas être géré en personne?

Quand les gens ne me respectent pas assez
Pour me parler de choses que je fais
Cela dérange eux afin

Il me amène près
Pour le sentiment que je devais une fois avant
Vouloir de disparaître.

Monster

Ages have passed
Since I faced this monster last.
Enshrouded by his shadow,
Dark thoughts filled my chateau;

Imagery of death or cage
Filled the breadth of each page.
Monster driven away, gone at last,
My wounds I left in the past.

Free for three-quarters of a score,
Now I hear his distant roar:
My scent has reached his page.
Enraged, he rattles his cage.

His shadow engulfs the meadow,
Darkens my porch, touches my door.
I tremble as my struggle I recall;
Knowing he seeks to even the score.

So I cling each day to the bright souls
Who know only happy care-free me.

© 2016 H.K. Longmore

Parting

Questions

Questions pour from his brain
Into the cup below.
Questions about the coming change.
They pile up and overflow.

Soon the saucer can’t contain;
The queries reach the picot.
Not to worry, they won’t stain;
Though covering the table they go.

Questions pour from his brain
Into the cup below.
But from partaking he’ll refrain,
From the cup he’ll not swallow;

Should he the cup drain,
At the bottom is a plea: “don’t go.”

The Means and the End

Somewhere there are brothers
Who didn’t know how to say goodbye.
They chose to alienate
Rather than shed a tear.

On one occasion, one gave a fist
To his son as a parting gift.
It happened unexpectedly,
In the face, among family and friends.

Another time, the other gave a threat,
Fist held chest high,
Waiting for the right moment;
Begging for the right provocation.

The provocation didn’t come,
In time the fist dissolved into a hand.
So long ago, it seems another time,
Another land.

Withdrawl

Refusing to be provoked,
Another who has difficulty
Deals with imminent departure
Antisocially.

His problem is not the violence of fists,
But the violence of silence,
The hand-to-hand of withdrawing.
He chooses to “drink alone”.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

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Interesting

I love the word interesting.
One can use it to describe:
Things that make my heart sing,
A lovely curious thing,
Something appealing,
Topics fit for a king,
A morsel of information for further pursuing;
Things bland,
Stories boorish,
Strange or psychotic behavior.

I hate the word interesting:
Once used to mean my words were a morsel,
It now means something akin to blasé.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

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