ABSENT-MINDED BELOVED
She loves me,
She forgets me not.
She forgets me,
She loves me not.
And in the gray field
Of forgetfulness
She remembers,
And falls in love
With me again.
A CHOICE OF FLAGS
I want to unfurl
My heart to you with pride
And shake it in the wind
Like a crimson flag,
The true color
Of my unbridled passion.
Or would you rather
That I humbly raise
It in the limp air
Like a white flag,
Signaling that
I surrender my love
Unconditionally
To you and you alone.
APPROACHING THE DRAGON
Remove your armor and amulets
And confront the monster naked;
Break your puny lance in half
And throw your useless shield in the lake.
There is a virtue in recklessness
That seduces the terrible dragon
To hold her incendiary breath
And embrace you in her scaly arms.
Close your eyes and open your lips,
Let fictive serpent kiss and gift you
With the magic jewel she keeps
In the treasure trove of her dark mouth.
Then you will behold the world from
The dragon’s mythical point of view
And undergo a change of heart
And turn, from being a mere dragon
Slayer, into her secretmost lover.
BANKRUPTCY
I have just declared bankruptcy
After losing all my hard-earned
Savings in that volatile business
Called love. The rest of my heart’s assets:
Skyscrapers, mansions, blue-chip stocks,
Lear jets, yachts, sleek cars and racehorses,
Which I’ve mortgaged to that shrewd banker,
Mr. Cupid, are all lost and gone
With the wind! Ah, now my only
Possessions left are the shirt on my
Back and some loose change of despair.
O woman of substance, I wonder
If you could spare me a modest loan
Of kisses from your love bank so I
Can proudly stand on my own feet and
Declare myself liquid in romance.
CASANOVA’S ADVICE TO ALL
ASPIRING ROMEOS
I
Love is always a hit or miss.
Say it with a stolen kiss.
II
If you are shy to speak to her,
Try proposing to her mother.
III
If still you cannot seduce her,
Practice your craft on her sister.
IV
If you cannot afford a rose,
It’s time to seduce her with prose.
V
If she’s insensitive to prose,
Try poetry or a pantyhose.
VI
If she’s got expensive taste,
Shower her with diamonds posthaste.
VII
If you run out of cash or honey,
Sting her cold heart with a bumblebee.
VIII
If she snobs you, don’t go further–
Blame it on the fickle weather.
IX
If you still fail, I must insist,
Be a born-again misogynist.
COLD WAR
Cold war is sheer deception.
It is a more dangerous game
Than conventional warfare
Where battle-lines are defined,
Enemies are easily identified
By their uniforms and insignias,
And combat is governed by rules.
In a cold war lovers are hypocrites
And pretend they are at peace,
Smiling politely at each other
In formal diplomatic circles,
Exchanging the warmest greetings
Without being the least sincere.
They hold hands out in the open
Without meaning and feeling.
He showers the secret enemy
With treacherous hugs and kisses
While undermining her internal affairs.
She subtly retaliates by destroying
His good image abroad among
Allies and neutral countries
Through dark rumors and intrigue.
CRYPTOGRAM
Love is saying
What you do not mean,
And meaning what
You do not say.
None can decipher
Love’s secret code,
Except blind lovers.
FLORAL LESSON
(for Katie Ditmanson)
And on that quiet late spring
Afternoon, while strolling
With you around the grassy block
Of your familiar neighborhood,
Together with your Muse-struck dad
And your cute daughter Gracie,
You gave me a short lesson in floral lore.
“this is a purple pansy,” you said.
“And that one is a red carnation.
That solitary bloom leaning against
The crumbling wall is a wisteria.”
Then from the ground you snatched
A handful of small, propeller-like
Yellow leaves that had fallen
From a huge swaying tree above us.
Opening your palm, you blew
At the tiny leaves, which amazingly flew
In the air and spiraled down
To the delight of the little boy
Hidden deep in the labyrinth
Of my being, chased by the horned
Beast of my adulthood.
“Those are helicopters,” you said.
A withered, brittle petal of memory
Crossed my mind’s blue horizon.
O how like flowers women are,
I secretly mused, who were, are
And will always be a perfumed
Enigma to me. How can I master such
Flower power, Kate, when your
Beauty and mystery are beyond
My depth and comprehension?
Little did you know that I basked
In your subtle lunar energy
On that cool, sunless afternoon.
I felt miraculously renewed,
A case of the healer healed.
My heart and soul mysteriously
Made whole once again,
Their bleeding fragments melding
Back into the pink of health,
And proving the axiom that
True love is greater than the painful
Sum of its shattered parts.
Your modest floral lesson
And your beatific smile after
Turned the sunset of my despair into
The surise of hope and love,
Filling my days with gentle sunlight,
O blonde, blue-eyed wonder of the world!
HEAVEN-MADE
Loving with the heart and mind
Is a flawless masterpiece
By faith and genius graven,
Conjuring harmony
Of shapelessness and marble.
Loving with the heart and mind
Demands royal breeding
And delicacy of taste
Like sipping vintage wine brewed
By angels, made in heaven.
HORS DE COMBAT
After years of hand-to-hand combat
And house-to-house fighting
With Love’s overwhelming forces,
I am now a casualty of war.
My right eye is beyond repair,
I have a permanent limp on my left foot,
And my heart is stiched and bandaged.
My comrades were not so lucky.
Most were mowed down like grass.
Some are still missing in action.
IF I COULD READ YOU
If I could read your
Body like a book
I would never pause and leaf through
Another bright body again
If I could only read
Your heart like a tabloid
And relish its screaming headline
Other hearts won’t be as newsy
If I could only read
Your mind like a mystery novel
The fickle minds of other women
Won’t be an enigma
If I could only read
Your soul like some sacred text
I’ll invent a new religion
And climb straight to heaven
INSOMNIA
He cannot sleep
and thinks of
his mistress
he counts ex wives
instead fo sheep
She cannot sleep
and pines for
her lover
she counts alimonies
instead of sheep
He is wide-awake
she cannot sleep
the problem is
they’re sharing
the same bed
LAUREL MY HEART WITH LEAVES
OF LIGHTNING
Laurel my heart with leaves of lightning, Love,
Or upon my skull let descend Death’s dove;
Knight my lips with an accolade, your kiss,
Or with your coldness’ edge my shoulders cleave.
Yea, bless this lover with the swiftest skill
To pluck from the three-horned dragon’s mouth
The fabulous gem it guards with its life.
(But are there any magical beasts left
In this cold, barren age bereft of myths?).
Still I must slay dragons that I may come
Loveward to you a most dazzling hero,
My mind spewing syllables of fire;
Laurel my heart with leaves of lightning, Love,
Or upon my skull let descend Death’s dove.
LOBOTOMIZE ME, LADY
Lobotomize me, lady,
With Love’s gleaming scalpel;
Transform me into that
Babbling zombie stumbling
In the cold, unfeeling night.
O wash my dome-shaped head
In a strong antiseptic
Of my own tears, then slowly
Shave it with your fine-honed
Razor of indifference
Until it is as smooth
As a newly waxed apple.
Inured to pain, this battered
Lover has no further
Need for a massive dose
Of anesthesia. Proceed
With the operation, beloved.
O cleave my skull with your
Double-bladed tongue and
Expose my brain’s bleeding
Mass and all its tangled wires
To the ogling public
With the cold-blooded skill
Of a sadistic surgeon.
Sever the lobe of your choice
From the rest of my gray
Matter. Or if you prefer
Simple surgery, lady,
Swiftly sunder my frontal
Lobes and love’s symptoms will be
Gone forever; only for
Me to suffer a minor
Side effect of no major
Concern to you my butcher:
A sudden loss of lust!
Lobotomize me, lady,
With Love’s gleaming scalpel;
Transform me into that
Babbling zombie stumbling
In the cold, unfeeling night.
METAL ME WITH YOUR LOVE
Metal me with your love
Beat me into a golden god
Hammer me with kisses
Upon the anvil of your lust
Fashion me a forehead
Carved out of emerald mountains
Pluck me some eyes of stars
That twinkle at your slightest touch
Forge me blue arms of sky
To encompass your nakedness
And lips of galleon ships
To circumnavigate your thighs
Craft me a manhood long
And sharp as a Toledo sword
O that I will plunge deep
In the center of your desire
And every pitch-black night
You conjure such forbidden art
Eve I am transfigured
From metal into supple flesh
Metal me with your love
Beat me into a golden god
Hammer me with kisses
Upon the anvil of your lust
POEM IN CELEBRATION
OF HER ABSENCE
It is not that I do not
Miss her palpable presence:
Her lips, her eyes, the entire
Geography of her body.
How can I forget her lilting voice?
But there is a part of her
Lingers here on the right side
Of this wide, empty bed.
It is her absence lying here
Beside me, warmer and more tactile
Than her flesh, so naked, beautiful
And permanently etched
Inside the bedroom in my head.
SOULMATE
Welcome to my bed, ideal mate,
Bless these lips with fictive kisses.
Embrace me in you arms of air,
Seduce me with Love’s lost legends.
You are my paradise regained,
O paragon of sweet-nothings.
You always keep your sacred pledge
Even in your long absence.
My heart is torn betwen unreal
You and women of supple flesh
Who are faithless and leave nothing
To my wild imagination.
SUPERMAN
Every woman hates Superman.
She prefers a more fragile lover:
His heart lashed by the elements,
His soul tattooed with wounds all over.
Not that only straw men arouse
Her deepest maternal instincts,
Or that she wants her man diapered,
Smelling of baby oil and powder.
Every woman hates Superman who
Goes flying through the sound barrier,
Garbed in a depressing blue suit
That comes complete with a red cape,
A pair of tight, synthetic boots,
And a screaming S emblazoned
On his granite-hard balloon chest.
Nor does she find his overwhelming
Strength, his x-ray vision, and his
Hurricane breath quite alluring,
Or intimidating, for she keeps
Kryptonite ores in her drawers
Just in case he comes in too strong.
She simply hates the Man of Steel
Because she is fully aware
That she’s no Wonder Woman herself.
YOU ARE BEYOND EUCLIDEAN GEOMETRY
(for Nur Salmah)
Axioms:
The supple curves of your brown body
Defy Euclid’s cold geometry.
Can a perfect circle compare with
The delectable arcs of your breast?
How can impotent calipers measure
The moist diameter of your kisses?
Most of all, there is no bright triangle
That can equal the wilderness between
Your thighs, whose hypotenuse is beyond
Frigid theorems and postulates:
Thus requiring Love’s plain geometry
To define its axioms of ecstasy.
THE ART OF LETTING GO
In Love you must be
A master of the art
Of letting go and dispel
All green shades and grades
Of jealousy and hate.
Do not put your beloved
In a golden cage,
A mechanical bird
Singing you paeans of Love
That ring holow and untrue.
Under no circumstance
Sculpt her into a proud
Masterpiece of your own
Shiny marble ego.
Love for her sake and let go.
SEVEN DEFINITIONS OF EVE
1. You are the reddest petals of my dreams.
2. You are the winged kiss of an amorous angel.
3. You are the diamond voice of eternity.
4. You are the distilled wine of newly pressed songs.
5. You are the graceful tryst of matador and bull.
6. You are the seven blushes of a rainbow.
7. You are the splashing embrace of sea and shore.
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