I once considered writing a novel in the thriller genre about a poet who was compelled to write a "good" poem each day in order to save the life of his loved one who had been captured by an evil doer. A friend convinced me this would be an unpleasant writing experience, which put me off. In this blog I am not attempting to write one poem a day, though this might happen, but my objective, my mountain to climb, as it were, will be 100 poems, a fine classic number.
Because the format of the blog allows it, I may as well illustrate them with some images of my art works, though these will not necessarily have any correolation to the text, the juxtaposition, or dialectic, if you will, might prove interesting in itself.
I hope it's an enjoyable exchange for both myself, and any who chose to observe them.
Poem # 1
Qui me amat, amat et canem meam
When you left I was an empty shell,
I was not alone;
but very lonely.
I was very depressed.
The nights were worst;
the matrimonial bed seemed a desert,
with me a question mark in one corner.
I'd roll out my sword arm to protect you,
but you weren't there,
and I missed that.
I missed the comfort and warmth of you.
One night I dreamed
I could feel you there.
Your rump tucked into
the curve of my belly,
your hair tickling my neck,
the rhythm of your breathing
rising and falling with mine.
This was reality, this was truth;
like a glass of water for a man
dying of thirst in the desert.
You wouldn't leave me.
You whose mouth was finding mine;
the rubbery flesh of your lips
nuzzling mine;
the wet rasp of tongue
mashing my cheek;
the whine of desire
rising from your throat;
but when I opened my eyes
all I could see was the family dog
by the side of the bed.
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